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Benefits of being

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The sound of liquid being swallowed was the only noise around, in the room sat a man. Not just any man, he was a Hunter a Hunter with the name Winchester.

John Winchester slaughtered the supernatural with a cold heart, why it was cold is a question that those who didn't know him asked frequently.

It was because he failed to protect his wife from a demon, and his two sons from a witch. Both he had yet to locate, though he suspected they had something to do with each other.

His newest vehicle stood large and proud, something to replace the Impala...the car meant for his oldest son.

His memories of the blond freckled fifteen year old child still made itself known, Dean. His oldest. Shrunken and vulnerable, in the hand of a witch. Trying desperately to protect his younger brother, only to be discouraged by large fingers.

He would never allow himself to forget the ten years old he foolishly ignored, Sam. The youngest Winchester. Crying for him, for everything scary to stop.

If he had listened to her, the two would be alive...shrunken but alive. She had told him to stop and drop his weapons, he didn’t listen and because of that they were crushed before his eyes.

His glass clinked on the table as his thoughts moved to Bobby, the older hunter informed him of tiny people and made John feel worse. His boys would have learned to live like that, and it was his own fault.

He stood up with a growl, he needed more booze. His footsteps were echoing through the cheap room as he approached his equipment, a silver gleam caught his eye.

He had left Dean's gun and his old journal behind, but he had his own gun. The gleam still haunted him, he killed all those in his way.

He sighed as he remembered that he was on a case, apparently children had been disappearing once again. He just knew the witch was behind it, and he had to stop it.

He left his room and eyed a suspicious blonde maid entering a room three doors down. Much like when he arrived, except a maid instead of a cleaning trolley.

A flash of light shone under the door, and that broke John from his depressing thoughts. He took off towards the room and gasped, the witch had stomped two grown adults.

He didn't hesitate this time, using the Angel Bullets, he shot and killed her. Though it didn't matter, he lost his family and nothing could bring them back.

His eyes wandered to the ground and that's when he noticed a small curled up body on the ground, from what he could see it was a little girl.

He slowly lowered himself and scooped her up into his palm, he put two and two together. The two adults were her parents and now she had no one. Like him.

He felt conflicted on what to do, she looked around two inches and telling by her tiny face that she seemed to be at least seven.

John cursed at himself before rushing back to his room to pack, while he did so, the child laid on his pillow. He kept an eye on her, and found himself a little protective.

No one will ever harm her, or suffer the Winchester Wrath.