Eight months later
The rusted sedan hung fifteen feet above the ground, suspended in midair as if held by invisible strings.
Dust particles swirled around it, catching the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through the clouds above Bobby Singer's salvage yard.
Lucien Winchester sat cross-legged on the ground - training.
His eyes were closed, breathing steady, hands resting on his knees. To a casual observer, he might have appeared to be meditating - if not for the two-ton vehicle floating above him.
Eight months had passed since Roanoke. Eight months of being benched, protected, sheltered. Eight months of turning frustration into focus, weakness into strength.
Without opening his eyes, Lucien extended his right hand, index and middle fingers pressed together.
The air around him seemed to compress, the Force gathering like an invisible tide. With a single, precise movement, he swept his fingers horizontally through the air.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, with a groan of protesting metal, the sedan split cleanly in half - cut by an invisible blade of pure Force energy.
The two halves remained suspended, not a single component falling, showcasing his control. After holding them in perfect stillness for several seconds, Lucien gently lowered each half to separate piles on either side of the platform.
Only then did he open his eyes, as he smirked at the sight.
'Finally. It seems my first step in my Jujutsu training is done,' he mock thought, joking to himself, something he's learned to do about things as a... coping mechanism, as one may say, to being so... inactive.
'Man... I miss JJK. Dying before Gojo vs Sukuna became animated... The tragedy.' he mock sighed, shaking his head.
Like that was even a thought after he regained his memories. For weeks he was internally fixated on his parents, and had to hide his tears, as he cried himself to sleep, after things had calmed down enough for him to grieve.
"Not bad," Bobby commented from the porch, nursing a mug of coffee that smelled more like whiskey. "Though I was kinda hoping to sell that one for parts."
Lucien rose to his feet, brushing dust from his jeans. "Sorry. I can weld it back together if you want."
"With what? Your laser eyes?" Bobby questioned with a raised eyebrow.
Lucien grinned, showing full teeth as he said, "No, with lightning. Would make quite the light show."
"Would also explode my yard." Bobby countered with a snort. "Don't push it, kid. Your telekinesis is impressive enough."
Lucien grin turned into a small smile. "Yeah, I've been practicing precision cuts recently. Last week I could only get halfway through the engine block before the entire thing exploded."
"Well, congratulations on your improved car-slicing abilities. I'm sure that'll come in handy next time you're faced with a '87 Buick-shaped werewolf." Bobby's sarcasm couldn't quite hide the pride in his voice.
The distant rumble of an engine drew their attention. Lucien recognized it immediately - the distinctive purr of the Impala's V8.
His heart rate quickened slightly. John, Dean, and Sam were back from their hunt in Wisconsin, two days earlier than expected.
"Sounds like your daddy's home," Bobby observed. "Better clean up your toys."
Lucien nodded, using the Force to stack the car halves neatly against the fence line. The movement was as casual as someone brushing crumbs from a table.
The Impala pulled into the yard, dust billowing behind it. Dean was driving, with John in the passenger seat and Sam sprawled in the back, his long legs cramped in the limited space.
They looked tired but uninjured - a successful hunt, then.
"Hey, Bobby! Lucien!" Dean called as he exited the car, stretching his back with an audible crack. "Miss us?"
"Like a toothache," Bobby replied, but his smile was genuine.
Lucien approached more cautiously, studying their expressions. "How was the hunt?"
"Wendigo," Sam answered, extracting himself from the backseat. "Nasty one. Had a taste for campers."
John emerged last, his movements slightly stiff - hiding an injury, Lucien guessed, though not a serious one. "Bobby," he nodded in greeting. "Anything happen while we were gone?"
"Just your son turning my salvage yard into his personal Force playground," Bobby replied. "Cut a sedan in half today."
John's eyebrows rose as he looked at Lucien. "That so?"
Lucien shrugged, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "Just training."
"Well, come on inside," Bobby said, heading toward the house. "Got chili on the stove and beer in the fridge. Non-alcoholic for the minor," he added with a pointed look at Lucien.
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Inside, the kitchen quickly filled with the familiar post-hunt routine. Weapons were cleaned and stored, injuries - minor scrapes and bruises - were treated, and food was distributed.
The conversation flowed around hunting techniques, the wendigo's unusual behavior, and local lore they'd gathered.
Lucien sat quietly, absorbing the information but feeling distinctly outside of it. This had become the pattern - they hunted, he trained, and the gap between their experiences widened.
"So get this," Sam said, pulling out his laptop. "While researching the wendigo, I found reports of something similar in Michigan. Three hikers missing in Huron National Forest."
"Could be another wendigo," Dean suggested through a mouthful of chili. "They hunt in similar territories."
"Or it could be something else entirely," John countered. "We should look into it."
"I've already started," Lucien said, reaching for his notebook. "Cross-referenced the missing persons reports with local folklore and weather patterns. It's not a wendigo."
The conversation paused as all eyes turned to him.
"What?" he asked defensively. "Just because I'm stuck here doesn't mean I can't help with research."
Dean exchanged a look with John. "Sure, but maybe leave the analysis to the people who were actually there, huh? No offense, Lu, but there's a difference between book knowledge and field experience."
Something inside Lucien snapped. Eight months of patience, of obedience, of being treated like a child despite everything he'd faced - it crystallized into a cold, hard point of frustration.
"Right," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Because I'm just the kid who stays behind. The one who faced down a mutant vampire, broke the chains of Fate, and created a cosmic force. But sure, I need more field experience."
The room went silent. John set down his spoon, his expression unreadable. "Lucien-"
"Eight months," Lucien continued, standing now. "Eight months I've been benched. Training every day. Learning everything I can. And for what? So I can sit here and be patted on the head while you all go out and face the real dangers?"
"We're trying to keep you safe," John said, his voice firm but not angry.
"Safe?" Lucien laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Katherine found me in my dreams. The Fates tried to unmake me. There is no 'safe' for me, Dad. Not anymore."
Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Lu, we get that you're frustrated-"
"No, you don't," Lucien cut him off. "You don't understand what it's like to have this power and be told to sit on the sidelines. To know I could help - could make a difference - and instead I'm cutting cars in half to pass the time."
Sam, surprisingly, nodded. "He's got a point."
John shot him a warning look, but Sam continued.
"No, really, Dad. Look at what he just did to that car. His control has improved exponentially. And keeping him isolated here isn't preparing him for what's out there. We say he needs experience, but how can he have experience when we keep him from going on hunts."
"It's like asking a someone fresh out of college for a decade of experience to get an entry-level job, when he needs a job to get that experience. It's nonsense."
"Thanks Sammy," Lucien said with a smile towards his older brother, who smiled in return.
"You know I always have your back Luci," Sam stated as he gently punched Lucien's arm.
Sam's been the one who baby'd him the least since the incident, the most understanding of what it feels like to be different, and sidelined when others hunt.
"You want to see what I can do now?" Lucien asked as his face turned back to his dad, his voice steadier. Without waiting for an answer, he raised his hand toward Dean's knife in his jacket.
The weapon rose out of it smoothly into the air, spinning slowly. With a flick of his fingers, Lucien sent it flying across the room - only to freeze it mid-flight, the tip hovering an inch from the wall.
He brought it back, the blade weaving through an intricate pattern before settling gently on the table.
Next, he turned to Bobby's glass of water. With a subtle gesture, the liquid rose from the glass in a perfect sphere, hovering and rotating before separating into smaller droplets that danced in the air like a miniature solar system.
He guided them back into the glass without spilling a drop.
Finally, Lucien closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly rose six inches off the floor, hovering there for several seconds before descending.
"I'm not the same person I was in Roanoke," he said quietly. "I'm stronger. More controlled. And I'm going crazy sitting here while you're all out there risking your lives."
Bobby whistled low. "Kid's got a point, John. That was impressive."
John's expression remained stoic, but his eyes betrayed his conflict. "It's not just about power, Lucien. It's about experience, judgment, knowing when to use that power."
"And like Sam just said - how in the Hell am I supposed to gain experience if I never leave this yard?" Lucien challenged.
Dean looked between his father and brothers. "Maybe... maybe he's right, Dad. Lu's not getting any better sitting here. And honestly, having someone who can stop a charging monster with his mind might not be the worst backup."
John remained silent, considering. Sam leaned forward.
"What if we start small? And this time make sure it is small. No mutant ghost, no mutant and ancient vampires, no gods or goddesses out to kill him, something simple, straightforward. A basic salt-and-burn where Lucien can observe and assist."
"I've been studying, too," Lucien added. "Not just training. Bobby's collection has some of the most obscure lore in the world. I've been translating texts that haven't been touched in decades."
Bobby nodded confirmation. "Kid's got a knack for languages. Found some Carpathian dialects even I couldn't crack."
John drummed his fingers on the table, the only outward sign of his internal debate. Finally, he sighed.
"One hunt," he said firmly. "Something simple. You follow orders without question, stay where I can see you, and if I say run, you run. No heroics, no improvising."
Lucien's face lit up before he could control his expression. "Yes, sir. Absolutely."
"We'll find something appropriate," John continued. "A straightforward haunting, nothing complicated."
"I might have something," Sam said - having during John's internal debate opened his lapted -turning it toward John. "Small town called Millhaven, about two days' drive from here. Reports of cold spots, electrical disturbances, and a local man who died after claiming to see his a man with a black bag."
John scanned the article. "Could be a simple haunting. We'll need to research the history, identify the remains."
"Already on it," Sam said, typing rapidly.
Dean clapped Lucien on the shoulder. "Welcome back to the family business, Lu. Try not to slice any ghosts into shish-kebab with your Jedi powers."
"I make no promises," Lucien replied, but he was smiling - the first genuine smile in months.
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Three days later, the Impala crossed the city limits into Millhaven, population 827 according to the faded welcome sign.
The town had seen better days - empty storefronts lined the main street, paint peeled from Victorian-era buildings, and the few locals visible moved with the slow resignation of people who'd given up on leaving.
"Cheery place," Dean commented, driving slowly down the deserted main street.
"Perfect spot for a haunting," Sam replied, consulting his notes. "Town's been dying since the mill closed in the '80s. Most young people left, leaving the elderly and those who couldn't afford to move."
Lucien sat in the backseat beside Sam, taking in every detail.
"We'll start at the library," John decided. "Sam, you and Lucien research the town history. Dean and I will check out the scene of the most recent death."
They split up as planned, with Sam and Lucien heading to the small brick building that served as the town's library. Inside, a single elderly librarian looked up in surprise at their entrance.
"Visitors?" she asked, adjusting her glasses. "Don't get many of those these days."
Sam smiled his most charming smile. "We're with Midwest Historical Preservation. Documenting small-town architectural history before it's lost."
The woman brightened. "Oh! How wonderful. Millhaven has such history - founded 1876, once the lumber capital of the county."
"We'd love to learn more," Lucien said. "Especially about any... unusual histories. Tragic deaths, local legends, that sort of thing."
"For cultural context," Sam added smoothly.
The librarian - Martha, according to her name tag - seemed delighted by their interest. She led them to a small room containing local archives, dusty volumes of town records, and bound collections of the Millhaven Gazette dating back to the 1880s.
"Dr. Elias Thorne," she said, pulling out a leather-bound book. "He's our most famous ghost."
Sam and Lucien exchanged glances. "Ghost?" Sam prompted.
"Oh yes," Martha nodded enthusiastically. "Town doctor from 1918 until his death in 1926. They say he still walks the old medical building on moonless nights, carrying his black bag, looking for patients."
"How did he die?" Lucien asked.
Martha's expression darkened slightly. "Officially, suicide. Found hanging in his examination room. But there were rumors..."
"What kind of rumors?" Sam pressed.
"That he was experimenting on patients. The Spanish Flu hit us hard, you see. Dr. Thorne became... obsessed with finding a cure. Some said he went too far." She shivered. "The medical building is at the edge of town. Abandoned now, of course."
Sam took notes while Lucien scanned the materials Martha provided. The story was consistent with a standard haunting - tragic death, possible unfinished business, a pattern of manifestations tied to a specific location.
By the time John and Dean returned, they had compiled a thorough history of Dr. Thorne and his supposed appearances over the decades.
"Matches what we found at the Wilkins place," Dean confirmed as they regrouped at a local diner. "Guy said he saw a doctor with a black bag right before he felt like he was choking. Died of respiratory failure according to the coroner."
"Classic ghost MO," John nodded. "We'll head to the medical building tonight, locate what anchors Thorne since his remains were cremated because of the disease."
Lucien studied the old photograph of Dr. Thorne they'd found in the archives - a stern-faced man with piercing eyes and a prominent mustache.
"What's the plan?" he asked.
John laid it out simply: they would enter the abandoned medical building after dark, locate Thorne's remains (likely still in the examination room where he died), salt and burn them, and be done.
"You stay with me at all times," John told Lucien firmly. "No wandering off, no heroics."
"Yes, sir," Lucien agreed.
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The medical building loomed against the night sky, a two-story Victorian structure with boarded windows and a sagging porch.
Moonlight filtered through broken clouds, casting shifting shadows across the overgrown lawn.
Dean led the way, shotgun loaded with salt rounds at the ready. Sam followed with an iron crowbar, then Lucien, with John bringing up the rear, watching all directions.
The door creaked open at Dean's touch, revealing a dusty foyer with peeling wallpaper and a reception desk covered in decades of grime.
"EMF's active," Sam murmured, checking the meter. "Something's definitely here."
They moved deeper into the building, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness. The air grew colder with each step, their breath forming clouds before them.
"Examination room should be at the back," John said quietly. "Stay alert."
They passed through what had once been a waiting area, chairs overturned and rotting, into a narrow corridor lined with doors. At the end stood a larger door marked "Examination."
"This is it," Dean whispered, reaching for the handle.
The temperature plummeted suddenly, frost forming on the walls around them. The EMF meter in Sam's hand shrieked, lights flashing red.
"He's here," John warned, raising his shotgun.
The figure materialized between them and the examination room door - Dr. Thorne, exactly as in the photograph but with a bluish glow surrounding him.
His eyes burned with an unnatural light, and around his neck, a bruised ligature mark showed how he had died.
"Leave," the ghost commanded, voice echoing strangely. "This is my domain."
Dean fired without hesitation, salt rounds dispersing the apparition temporarily. "Move!" he shouted, rushing toward the examination room door.
Inside, they found a space frozen in time - examination table in the center, cabinets of antiquated medical equipment along the walls, and a heavy ceiling beam from which a frayed rope still hung.
"Look for remains," John ordered, scanning the room. "Bones, hair, anything."
The ghost reappeared, more solid this time, rage contorting his features. He raised a hand toward Dean, who suddenly clutched at his throat, gasping for air.
"Dean!" Sam swung the iron crowbar, dispersing the ghost again. Dean collapsed to his knees, coughing.
Lucien with hurry looked all around, looking for a place they hadn't searched, that a ghost would possibly hide his anchor. He saw a cabinet in the corner. His instincts - not Force related ones - drew him to it.
"There," he called, pointing.
John trusting his son's instincts, broke the rusted lock with a swift blow, revealing a small wooden box. Inside lay a collection of human bones - finger bones, arranged carefully in a pattern.
"His own fingers," Sam realized. "He must have removed them during his experiments."
The temperature dropped again as Thorne reappeared, this time between them and the exit. His form seemed to grow, filling the doorway, darkness swirling around him.
"You will not take my work," he hissed, voice distorted with rage.
John raised his shotgun, but before he could fire, the ghost gestured sharply. The weapon flew from his hands, clattering against the far wall.
Lucien stepped forward, raising his hand. The ghost's advance halted as if it had hit an invisible wall. Surprise flickered across Thorne's spectral face as Lucien held him in place with the Force.
"Sam, the bones," Lucien said, voice steady despite the strain. "Hurry."
Sam quickly salted the finger bones while Dean flicked open his lighter. The ghost shrieked, struggling against Lucien's hold as flames engulfed the remains.
Dr. Thorne's form flickered, then burst into flames that consumed him from within. With a final, inhuman wail, he disappeared, leaving only silence and the smell of burnt bone.
Lucien lowered his hand, exhaling slowly.
"Well," Dean said after a moment, rubbing his throat, "that was almost too easy."
"Good work," John acknowledged, "That was quick thinking."
Lucien nodded, accepting the rare praise. "Thanks, I trusted my instincts. Like you always tell us."
Indeed, John always tells them to trust their instincts, they are their guide in this world.
Though, even if John never said it - Lucien has always been one to believe in instincts, even in his first life.
They gathered their equipment and headed outside, the hunt apparently complete. The night air felt refreshingly clean after the musty interior of the medical building.
"First hunt back, and you didn't even need to cut anything in half," Dean joked, clapping Lucien on the shoulder.
"Next time," Lucien promised with a small smile.
They are almost back to the Impala.
Suddenly, the air pressure changed, dropping like before a massive storm. The temperature plummeted, far colder than the ghost had caused.
Around them, the few streetlights of Millhaven flickered and died.
"What the hell?" Dean muttered, reaching for his gun.
A woman's scream cut through the night from somewhere in the town. Then another. Soon, doors were opening as Millhaven's remaining residents emerged, pointing skyward in terror.
The Winchesters followed their gaze, and Lucien felt his breath catch in his throat.
Above the town, impossibly suspended in the night sky, a massive structure was materializing - a dark castle of medieval design, towers and battlements silhouetted against the stars.
It seemed to phase into reality, becoming more solid with each passing second until it hung there, defying gravity.
"What-" Sam began, but his question was cut short.
From the highest tower of the floating castle, a figure leapt. Even from this distance, they could see it was mounted on horseback, plummeting toward the town below.
The impact when it hit was catastrophic. The mounted figure crashed through the roof of a house two blocks away, the sound like a bomb detonating. The ground beneath their feet trembled, and a shockwave of dust and debris billowed outward.
As they watched in horror, blood began seeping from beneath the damaged house, flowing into the street.
"It may have been years ago," Dean suddenly began, his voice trembling a bit, slightly hysterical, as he took a step back, "I hate to, but I am going to say it - I fucking told you all so! Lu is fucking cursed! First day back and this shit happens!"
"Get back," John ordered, ignoring his eldest son's words, pushing the three of them behind him.
The dust began to settle, revealing a figure emerging from the wreckage.
Atop a horse that seemed composed of bone and shadow sat a knight in full black armor, face hidden behind an ornate helmet.
The horse's hooves left smoking imprints on the asphalt as it advanced toward them.
The knight raised a massive sword that had blood dripping from its edge.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.
Do tell me how you found it.
So... Who is it that is gracing us with entertainment by making our dear Winchester family into danger?
Do tell me your ideas. I have given... Hints. It's somewhere on this book, far closer than you think.
Do tell me if you found it.
I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)