January 24, 1984

The staccato blasts of gunfire grew closer. Ever closer. And yet, this could not be stopped.

Three women writhed on cots in the dimly-lit room. Each time the gunfire intensified, the bare bulbs would swing and flicker.

One of the women groaned as the baby she bore slid into the hands of the midwife. "Is... Is she..."

"He," the midwife corrected roughly. "It is male."

The new mother curled in on herself, sobbing with grief and hate, as the midwife hurried the boy-child to a corner of the room, away from her sight. Nevertheless, the obscene "SNAP" was clearly heard.

A second one echoed loud in the makeshift maternity ward when a second male child was born.

The third, however, was held aloft with a sob of triumph. "She is born strong!" Then the child was swaddled and held close to the midwife. "Marita..."

The baby's mother nodded. "Take her. Do what you must." Another barrage of gunfire sent plaster raining down on the women. "She must live!"

The midwife hesitated, eyes flicking toward the stairwell that led to the warehouse several stories above. "Mistress?"

"She must live," the head woman said. "Take her through the tunnels. Give her mortal milk for her first food – it will suppress her true nature. She must live – so that through her, we all will live."

The midwife nodded and turned toward the tunnels. "Wait..." the newborn's mother said.

"Marita," the head woman chided. "There is not time-"

"There is time enough for this!" Marita spat. Then she turned to the midwife. "Tell them... Tell them her name is Jessica."

"Yes, Marita." With that, the midwife turned again toward the tunnels, and ran as though the hounds of hell itself were snarling at her heels.

She burst from the tunnels into a clearing, then ran to the road she saw in the distance.

Seeing a parked truck, she banged on the window until it was rolled down. She drew in a horrified gasp as she recognised the youngest of the Hunters that had converged on her sisters. "Please," she sobbed, holding the baby out. "I care not for my life – but this child is human! Her name is Jessica!"

The startled teen took the baby from her. "Human? She's... She's human?"

The midwife nodded, stepping backward before turning and bolting for the woods, vanishing swiftly from sight.

The teenager looked down at the baby in his arms, who looked back up at him with large blue eyes. "Jessica, huh?" He found a small bit of milk that his older brother used for coffee, and dripped it into her mouth.

He was so focused on his task that he failed to notice the slight flare of energy in her tiny eyes as the mortal food "reset" her system.

"...what the hell!" his brother gasped as he came back to find a little baby in the truck.

"Her name is Jessica," the boy said. "She's human. The Amazons kidnapped her."

His brother snorted as he got into the truck. "We ain't keepin' her, Caleb. She's not a pet!"

"I know," Caleb said, rocking the sleepy child.

His brother sighed, turning on the truck. "Let's get her to a hospital and leave her there. They'll take care of her."

Caleb nodded, whispering, "Thanks, Joshua."

Without another word, Joshua put the truck in gear and drove off into the night.

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Baby Jessica was a sweet-tempered beauty of a child, and was quickly adopted by the Moore family. She grew up in California, developing at a normal human rate. Nobody suspected that she had started life as anything but a normal little girl.

Not even Jessica herself.

There were a few oddities, however, about this child with the big smile and blonde ringlets. For one, she rarely got sick, and when she did it was mild. Even the badly scarring strain of chicken pox that had swept through her school had left her with little more than a slightly itching rash on her chest.

The athletic child was taller than either of her adoptive parents, and well proportioned. She was slightly stronger than any of her female friends, and had a brain like a steel trap. She remembered everything she read or heard.

Her parents were excited and nervous when she earned a full ride to Stanford on an athletic scholarship. Excited and proud of their exceptional child, but nervous because of the nightmares she'd had all her life, the ones that caused her to sit up in the middle of the night holding her right wrist and screaming.

Jess had been at Stanford for four months when she met the young man that would change her life. Sam Winchester was pre-law, and they had several of their prereqs together. She got to know this tall, shy young man rather well.

So well that by the end of their junior year, they had moved in together and were an exclusive couple.

His secretive nature troubled Jess. She knew there was more to the fascinating Winchester boy's past than he was admitting. She knew that he had a brother and a father and they didn't get along. She knew there was a familiarity with danger and injury that alarmed her as well as comforted her when her screaming nightmares didn't freak him out.

She chose to keep quiet about his screaming nightmares, since it was clearly obvious that he wanted her to think he didn't remember having them and thought she was half-asleep when she comforted him after.

She didn't press the issue, even though it felt like she was making a huge mistake.

The timing of the 2005 Halloween Party co-incided with the results of Sam's LSAT test, and Jess was determined to celebrate two birds with one stone. During that party, Sam and Jess found themselves alone at the table and talking about the interview Sam had that upcoming Monday. "You're going to do fantastic," Jess assured him. "You're gonna knock them dead and get that full ride – your entire future on a plate."

Sam chuckled and looked her in the eye. "What would I do without you?"

Jess shrugged. "Crash and burn," she giggled, leaning forward and kissing her boyfriend.

They both dismissed the shudder when their lips met as the effects of too much alcohol.

That night, Jess was shocked to awareness by the sounds of fighting in her living room. She reached instinctively for Sam – to find his side of the bed empty. She got right out of bed and raced to the living room, in time to see Sam stand up and pull a slightly smaller man to his feet as well. She snapped on the light, startling both of them into turning to face her. "Sam?"

Before Sam could say anything, the other man stepped forward. "Hey there. I'm Dean." He grinned toward her chest. "I love the Smurfs," referring to her nightshirt. He took a step backward, pointing at her. "And I gotta tell you, you are way outta my brother's league!"

"Wait," Jess grinned, the light dawning. "Dean? Your brother Dean?"

To his credit, Sam looked like he'd had his hand thoroughly stuck in the cookie jar. But again, Sam's brother beat him to it. "Sorry about this, honey-"

Jessica bristled. Honey, indeed!

"—but I need to borrow your boyfriend for awhile. You get how it goes – family business and all. It was nice meetin' you, though!"

"No," Sam said, pushing past Dean and putting an arm around Jess's shoulders. "Whatever it is, you can talk in front of her."

Jess looked up at him, confused by the – possessiveness? - in his voice. She'd never heard that tone from him before.

"All right," Dean said slowly, and his whole stance seemed to shift to focus on Sam. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam shrugged. "So he's workin' overtime on a Miller-time shift. He'll be draggin' in soon enough."

Dean licked his lips. "You're not hearin' me, Sammy. Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Jess felt Sam's whole body tense, and his voice echoed that tension. "Scuse me, Jess. We gotta talk." A quick kiss and he let her go, shoving on shoes and pulling on a hoodie before grabbing Dean by the elbow and all but dragging him out the door.

Confused, Jess watched them go and then slowly walked back into their bedroom. She padded to the window and watched as her boyfriend and his brother emerged from the stairwell and moved to a huge car, almost invisible in the darkness. By Sam's gyrating hands, he was arguing a point. She watched Dean turn and reduce Sam to stillness by just a few words.

They moved to the trunk and Dean opened it. She saw Sam's head tilt a few moments later like he was listening to something. Dean's head nodded, then tilted toward the trunk – and then she saw Sam's head drop, his shoulders slumping like he'd made a decision he wasn't happy with.

Jess sighed as she let the curtain fall. She knew at that moment she'd be spending the weekend alone.

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The next 48 hours seemed to crawl by. Jess passed the time with chores and hanging out with her friends. When she would get very lonely or concerned, she would call Sam. Twice she left a message, and twice she got to briefly speak with him.

When she reached him late morning Sunday, Sam was more guarded than usual, unwilling or unable to tell her exactly what he and Dean were doing. But she was able to tell that he felt confident he would return that night for his interview on Monday. She told him firmly that she still believed in him, and she could hear some of the tension leave his voice when he told her he loved her.

She sat there for a long moment after he hung up, tapping her phone against her lips, before a smile spread. She stood up, humming as she went through her kitchen and made a list for a quick grocery run.

Sam loved her chocolate chip cookies. She'd have a fresh plate waiting when he came home.

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Jess smiled as she pulled the last tray of cookies out of the oven and snapped it off. Sam was going to love these. Hell, she might have a few herself! She could always go jogging later...

She piled a few on a plate and put the rest in the cookie jar that sat on the counter. She grinned as she wrote a quick note to Sam – Missed you! Love you! - and propped it on the plate. She stepped back, capped the pen, and dropped it beside the plate.

"Damn, that smells good."

Jess jumped, gasping as she spun. "Brady!" she gasped, hand pressed over her wildly beating heart. "You scared the hell out of me!"

He laughed. "I'd say I was sorry, but your reaction made it totally worth it."

"Bastard," she snarled, pushing past him and stalking into the living room. Suddenly she froze, eyes widening as she looked at the door. "Brady..." She turned slowly, facing him again. "How'd you get in here?"

"I still have Sam's key. Hey, I got you something."

She shook her head, ignoring his last statement. "No, you don't. Not only did we change the locks after you stole that money from my purse, but the chain is still on the door. So I'll ask again - how did you get in here?"

Brady sat a box down on the coffee table. "That doesn't really matter anymore, Jessie." He slid the lid off and lifted a white nightgown with lace trim out. "What do you think?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Not my style. And what do you mean it doesn't matter anymore?"

"It doesn't matter how I got in here. And it doesn't matter that it's not your style." His hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist. "All that matters is that that's what you are going to be wearing tonight."

"What?" She jerked, trying to break his grip. "Let me go! What the hell are you doing?"

He laughed and pulled her closer. "You are going to be wearing that dress when Sam finds you."

"F-Finds me?" She froze.

Brady nodded. "Finds you. You see, sweet Jessie?" He blinked, and his eyes turned black from corner to corner. "I'm going to kill you tonight."

If he expected her to scream, she didn't give him the satisfaction. Her wide eyes slid to where he was holding her wrist – the right one she had clutched all her life in nightmares of fire and pain – and then slid back up to meet his black ones. Something seemed to smoulder in her own, narrowing eyes as she gave her reply in a voice that dripped icicles.

"Like hell you are."

Brady gasped and released her as heat flared from her wrist, searing his hand. He grabbed his own wrist and looked at his injured palm and the stylised 'H' burned into it. His eyes flicked to her smoking wrist, where the symbol sat in raised skin. He knew that symbol...

Slowly, Brady's eyes traced up Jess's arm to rest on her face. They locked onto eyes that now were blood-red surrounding irises so pale they seemed to glow.

"...oh, shit," Brady whispered.

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Half an hour later, Dean's sleek Impala pulled up outside their apartment building. They sat for a moment, and Dean said, "You know, it's not too late. You could still come with-"

"I really want to go to this interview," Sam told him. "Full ride – my whole future on a plate, remember?"

"Right," Dean sighed. "Okay."

Sam got out of the car. "Let me know when you find him, okay? I... I don't want us to lose touch again."

"Deal." Sam tapped twice on the door and Dean added, "Hey, Sam? We made a hell of a team back there."

"We did." Sam smiled and opened his mouth to add more, when a sharp cry from above sent his head snapping around. "JESS!"

Swearing, Dean snapped off the engine and barely registered slamming the heavy door behind him as he raced up the stairs only two or three steps behind his little brother's panicked flight.

"Jess!" Sam yelled, trying to open the door - only to be frustrated by the still-linked chain. "Jess!"

Suddenly Dean shoved him to the side and took care of the door with one steel-toed boot slamming into it. The brothers raced through side by side, freezing at the sight that met their eyes.

Jess, breathing hard, was simultaneously backing away from her attacker and half-curling into a protective crouch, a hand cradling her lower abdomen. Her attacker's back was to the brothers, but it was plain that he'd used a knife on her, because the bloody implement was spinning away from a hand with a plainly broken wrist.

Before Dean could even react, Sam lunged. His long form slammed into the man who had dared to invade his home and hurt his girlfriend, sending both of them to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Dean ran to Jess, who waved him off. "It's Brady," she ground out between clenched teeth. "He's our friend...something's wrong with him; he came here to kill me!"

"You need new friends," Dean couldn't resist, and her snort of startled laughter was worth it as he got her out of the line of fire, settling her against the wall in the hallway. "You okay?"

"I'll live," she groaned. "Help Sam!"

He studied her face, and she saw his eyes narrow as they looked into hers. Before she could even wonder, he'd pulled out a handkerchief and pulled her hand off her belly, pressing the handkerchief to the wound and replacing her hand over it before he spun on his heel and waded into the fray unfolding in the living room.

Jess closed her eyes and tilted her head against the wall, shaking her head. Third fight in as many days in the living room.

If they got out of this, they were so losing their deposit...

Dean raced into the room just as Sam was being flung across it. "That's enough!" he yelled.

Brady turned to him, eyes an oily black from corner to corner. "You're right," he growled. "It's enough. I have failed and I will be punished severely. But know this - Winchester - your beloved Jessica is as much a thing of evil as I am!"

With that, his head threw back and he screamed as a cloud of darkness spewed from his mouth and up through an air vent.

"...what the hell?" Sam gasped. "Brady?"

Brady curled into a ball, head in his hands. He rocked back and forth, sobbing.

Sam climbed to his feet and turned toward the hallway in time to see Jess stagger into the living room. "...Jess?"

"Sam," she gulped, eyes huge. "What was he talking about?"

"Come here," he said, holding out a hand for her. "I'm sorry, Jess, but you're going to have to trust me."

She nodded. "I trust you. I always- OW!" She yelped as his knife bit into her arm. "Sam, what the hell!"

He shook his head. "Silver. I'm sorry, Jess, I had to be sure."

"Sure of what?" she gasped. "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

For answer, he took her shoulders and turned her to face a mirror.

She gasped as she saw her eyes. She blinked once, twice... and suddenly they were her regular dark blue surrounded by slightly bloodshot white. "...Sam... what was that?"

"She doesn't know," Brady half-sobbed, half-laughed. "She doesn't know what she is!"

"What is she?" Dean demanded.

Brady looked up at him. "Amazon," he gasped out. "One...One of the last..."

"What?" Sam and Jess yelped together.

"And what are you?" Dean ground out. "What was that smoky thing?"

Brady looked away. "Possessed," he gulped. "I...I was possessed...middle of Sophomore year..."

"Possessed?" Sam demanded. Then he frowned. "That would explain his weird personality change."

"What did you mean, you came here to kill me?" Jess demanded.

"Not me," Brady shook his head. "I would never hurt you – it wanted you dead. It was under orders...it was to kill you the exact same way its master killed Sam's mother – on the exact same night."

Jess saw Dean and Sam's jaws both set.

Brady shook his head. "But...Amazons are immune to demonic telekinesis. Couldn't raise her, couldn't telekinetically open her belly... had to use the knife... and her own strength was almost a match for its strength...it tried to obey with a knife...but she kept fighting it to a standstill...and you know the rest."

Sam turned to Jess. "How bad?"

"I'll live." She pulled the handkerchief away. "Gonna be sore for a bit, but I'll be okay."

"Sammy?" Dean asked, eyes still on Brady.

"She's right. She'll need stitches, but no hospital."

Dean nodded. "I think he might, though."

Brady shook his head. "No...I'm done for."

"What?" Sam gasped.

Brady laughed softly. "Before it came here...it made sure my system was loaded up with everything it could find. I'm dying."

"Come on," Dean hauled him to his feet. "We'll see about that. I'll be back, Sammy."

Jess groaned. "We'd better go with him."

"No, I can do the stitches," Sam said.

"Sam," Jess argued. "We are going."

At the hospital, Jess's wound was stitched and Brady was treated for an overdose and a badly broken wrist. He, too, would live.

Jess declined to press charges, since the wound was not very serious and he had clearly done it while high out of his head. "He'd never hurt me on purpose," she told the doctor. "But I think Dean was right," she added to Sam. "We do need some new friends!"

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Sam made his interview Monday morning. However, he was distracted by the events of the night and weekend before. After the third time he'd had to ask the interviewer to repeat the question, he was pinned by a pair of intense brown eyes and asked pointedly:

"Mister Winchester, do you even want to be here today? Because you seem to be wasting both of our times."

Sam studied his hands for a moment, then he met those eyes squarely. "No, sir, you're right. My girlfriend was stabbed last night and my brain is back with her. But I disagree with you that this has wasted both our times."

"Really? And how did you come to that conclusion?"

Sam stood up. "Because now I realise that I have wasted my time for the last four years. Law is not where my passion ultimately lies. So, for that insight, I thank you." He held out his hand.

The interviewer stood and gripped his hand tight. "And you are most welcome, Mister Winchester. I would rather have a student realise that now than midway through the course." As he let go, he added, "If you don't mind my asking – where does your passion ultimately lie?"

"I'm not sure," Sam said. "But I know that right now, I'm needed at home." He smiled. "At the very least, I've got some research ahead of me."

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Jess looked up when the door opened. "Hey!" she frowned. "You're home early!"

"Yeah," Sam said slowly as he shoved his keys into his pocket. "Interview didn't go too well."

"Oh, honey," she groaned.

"Future wasn't handed to you on a plate?" Dean asked, coming from the kitchen with two steaming mugs on a tray.

"It sure was," Sam smiled. "Turned out not to be the future I was planning, though. What's that?"

Jess smiled. "Dean made me tomato-rice soup. He said it was a magical cure-all for whatever ails you."

Sam's smile grew. "He'd always make it when we were sick or injured." He watched Jess sit up painfully and take the mug in both hands, sipping it gently. "You doing better?"

"Little bit," she admitted. "It's going to take time."

"Good. We have to talk."

"That's never a good way to open the conversation," Dean said. "I'll just-"

"Stay," Sam said. "This affects you, too."

Dean sat on the couch beside Jess. "Oh?"

"Soon as you're better, honey," Sam said, "we have to move. That thing knows where we live now. We're vulnerable."

She nodded. "I figured as much. And we'll get new friends. Where did you have in mind?"

"I know you're close to your parents," Sam said gently. "But we can't live close to them. We need to be somewhere where we can find out exactly what you are, what being an Amazon means, and what that creature that possessed Brady was."

Dean took a deep breath. "And we need to find Dad."

Sam nodded. "And there's one place I know where we can do all that."

Dean frowned, then his eyes widened as he shook his head. "Oh, no! Uh-uh! We ain't goin' back there!"

"Dean, I'm pretty sure that threat was only meant for Dad, not for us. I'm willin' to take that chance."

"But—" Dean began, then he looked at Jess, then his shoulders slumped and he stood, heading toward the hallway. "Okay. Fine. I'll call him."

"Thanks." At Jess's frown after Dean, he smiled. "Friend of our dad's. His name's Bobby Singer and he's a grouchy old coot – but he's got a library that rivals the Library of Congress."

Jess snorted. "Exaggerate, much?"

"Just a little," Sam laughed. "Seriously, though – he threatened to put a load of buckshot in our dad's ass if he showed his face there again. Dean assumed he meant us, too. But I seem to recall the blast being just a present for Dad."

Jess sighed. "Do you think Brady was right? That I'm a creature? That I'm evil?"

Sam took the mug out of her hands and then took her hands. "You're not evil. Every one of us has that capability. You might be an Amazon – whatever that turns out to mean – but you're not evil."

"How do you know?" she asked pointedly.

"Because you're questioning it," Sam said as Dean came back into the room. "Creatures don't find ways to figure out what they are. They hurt. They kill. They revel in it."

Dean nodded, adding: "Even when you got stabbed, you didn't want to kill Brady, just stop him. I could tell by the way you were fighting. And now, you still don't want to hurt anybody. You just want to find out what you are and how to control it. Trust me, Jess. I've dealt with a lot of creatures over the years. You're not a creature."

Sam nodded, smiling. "You're about as far from evil as it gets, Jess."

Dean grinned. Picking up the discarded nightgown, he dangled it and – trying to lighten the mood – quipped, "Planning something, guys?"

"Burn that," Jess spat. "That - thing – was going to dress me in that after he'd killed me and left my body for you to find."

The smile vanished. Dean bundled it into the box and went outside. Seconds later, a tendril of smoke rose to the living room window as he came back inside.

"Burned it in the dumpster?" Sam snorted.

"Salted it, first. Just in case." Dean looked at Jess. "I think we need to move as fast as we can. What do you absolutely need?"

"Clothing and a couple of my paintings," Jess said. "We can sell them. If I take my paints and pencils, I can get canvases and make more to sell."

Dean grinned. "Nothing else?" At her headshake, he looked at Sam. "Keep her." And he went into the bedroom get her clothing loaded for transport.

Sam looked at Jess. "Are you okay with this?"

"No," she said, honestly. "None of it. But we've got to know, Sam. I've got to know what I am and what this entire damned mess is about."

He carefully hugged her. "I'm sorry you found out about this world like this."

She hugged back. "We're in it together, now. That's all that matters."

Sam kissed her. "I'll go help Dean."

Jess nodded and watched him go. She looked at her right wrist, at the stylised 'H' scarified into her skin. She ran a finger over it and whispered, "Wonder Woman was an Amazon. Worse things to be, I suppose."

END