Winfair Elementary School let out at 3:30 pm, and it was 3:15. I tapped my pencil impatiently, wishing that minute hand on the clock would move faster so I didn't have to keep listening to the teacher about grammar, something about prefixes. God, being a kid again was so boring.
Looking at the clock again, I noticed that the hand that counted seconds was being particularly slow, and with a sigh of frustration, I looked out the window, to my left. There wasn't much to see, just a typical green lawn, the road called 6th avenue, and a neighborhood of houses on the other side, obscured by trees. Minnesota was mostly a flat place, with little variation in the surroundings, and little room for a view.
In my past life, I had lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, a place that had mountains, and sat in a rift valley. Here in Windom, Minnesota, it was flat. Really flat.
Oh well, at least it wasn't the deep south, where the vegetation was so thick it was claustrophobic for people used to wide open spaces.
I glanced at the clock again. A minute had passed, and the teacher was still droning on about prefixes.
Funny thing, this new life I had found myself in: when I had first woken up at the age of three, I simply thought that I had time traveled to the past, and was living a different life than my original one. My name was Adam Milligan, and I didn't realize the significance of that for many years, not until four years later when I had found an old, faded photo of a man, a man that seemed vaguely familiar to me, but I just couldn't put my finger on why.
I had found the photo while helping my new mother, Kate Milligan, reorganize her home office. When I had asked her who the person in the photo was, she had spoken a name that chilled me to the bone: John Winchester.
At that moment, all of the pieces of the puzzle had come together, and I realized the significance of who I was and where I was.
I was the kid that had gotten mauled by monsters called ghouls in the TV show, and I was in the supernatural universe, the universe of a horror show that had gone on for over a decade.
I glanced at the clock again. There was five minutes left until the end of day bell rang. The teacher, who's name I hadn't bothered to learn cause I had larger concerns, had finished talking about prefixes and was now handing out homework sheets. It was the third grade, the last year I would attend Winfair, and almost my birthday. I would be turning nine in a few weeks.
I wasn't planning on having a birthday party, as I hadn't bothered to befriend anyone at the school, as they were children, and I wasn't particularly fond of children. I was known as the loner boy, the guy who spent lunch reading books on supernatural lore (whatever I could find at the local library), and spent recess running laps around the playground. The adults probably thought I was weird, and the children avoided me, I had no idea why.
I didn't mind, though. Less time spend dealing with children meant more time to spend on my interests.
The bell finally rang, and I instantly jumped up, packing away the homework sheet in my bag and dashing out of the room before the teacher could say another word. It was Thursday, and we had tomorrow and Monday off this week cause of labor day next week.
I was glad to have a long weekend, cause I planned to use it constructively. I planned to nag mom about dad all weekend, so that by the time labor day rolls around, she'll want to call him just to get me off her case.
I stepped out of the school doors, and walked down the paved pathway to 6th avenue, before coming to a halt on the sidewalk. Go home, or go to the library? I thought for a moment, and recalled that mom had said she was working a late shift tonight, so she wouldn't be home. Home was only a short walk from the school, so I had no problem getting there on my own.
I was itching to go to the library first though, even though it was a longer walk away. Mom preferred that I did my homework as soon as I got home, but it was a four day weekend, I had plenty of time.
Destination decided, I turned south, walking down 6th ave. To get to the library, I had to go down to 10th street, make a left, then make a right at 4th ave.
When I had finally figured out where and when I was, I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to be helpless. After all, I didn't want to get mauled by a ghoul like in the show. I didn't know if I was the right kind of person to be a hunter, but I suspected that I may have to become one, in the end, if only to protect myself.
The thing was, the Ghouls were the least of my problems. My real problem was Michael. I wasn't really interested in becoming a meat suit for some douche-bag arch-angel, and I definitely wasn't interested in being tortured by said douche-bag arch-angel's sycophants into saying yes.
The thing was, to become a hunter, I needed training, and there was only one person who could realistically provide that training, and that was John Winchester.
However, it wasn't just enough to call up John Winchester and ask him to train me. No, I had to show him I had the potential to be a hunter. To that end, I had asked Mom to sign me up for martial arts training, and started taking morning runs around our block. In my spare time when I wasn't at martial arts training, or at school, I was at the library looking up lore on monsters, demons, ghosts, angels, you name it.
Fortunately, I had discovered that the Masquerade was surprisingly porous, as much of the lore I had looked up in the local library seemed to match up with what I remembered about the show.
Now, a year later, I felt I was ready. A year studying mixed martial arts didn't really mean much, but what really mattered was that I had made the effort, that I was willing to improve myself. And the reading about mythology and monsters? Meant to plant the idea in his head that I was trainable.
Then, all I would have to do is ask him what he did for a living. If he lied, I could call him out on it. And if he told the truth…
I suspected it wouldn't take much to convince him that once a Winchester, always a Winchester.