Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Haunting That Started It All
Somewhere outside Chicago
The rain was relentless, turning the industrial district into a blurred mess of puddles and shadows. John Winchester, going by "John Smith" for this gig,pulled his beat-up truck into the lot behind the warehouse.
He'd gotten the tip through hunter channels: some crime boss needed a "specialist" for a problem her usual muscle couldn't handle. Twenty grand, cash.
Enough to keep him and the boys fed and moving for months.He stepped out, shotgun slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the perimeter. A black SUV idled nearby, two suited goons watching him like hawks. One nodded toward the side door.Inside, the place reeked of damp concrete and old oil. Crates stacked high, chains dangling from the rafters. And her,Kate Milligan, alpha boss of the Milligan syndicate. Tall, sharp features, suit that screamed power. Her scent hit him first: steel and cedar, commanding without trying.
"You're Smith?" she asked, voice low and even.
John nodded. "That's me. You the one with the ghost problem?"
Kate crossed her arms, sizing him up. "Call it what you want. My men are dying. Broken necks, crushed by nothing. It's costing me. Fix it."
They walked the floor as she laid it out,details on the deaths, timelines, the relic they'd lifted from a rival's safe during a heist, right before the deaths started.
John listened, probing with questions: "Any patterns? Cold spots? Objects moving?"
She answered crisply, no bullshit. "Yeah. Chains rattle before it hits. Air gets freezing. One guy saw a shadow,thought it was a rat until it threw him across the room."
John knelt by a bloodstain, sprinkling salt experimentally. "Poltergeist. Tied to that relic you mentioned. We'll need to find its anchor,bones, object, something personal."
Kate raised an eyebrow. "You talk like you've done this before."
"Couple of times," he said, standing. "You?"
She snorted. "My world's guns and deals. Not... this. But I can adapt."
They spent the next hour mapping the warehouse, John drawing sigils, Kate directing her men to clear space. Conversation flowed in fits,practical at first.
"Why hire outside?" John asked while loading rock salt rounds.
Kate leaned against a crate, watching him. "My crew's loyal, but they're not equipped for fairy tales. And discretion matters. Can't have word getting out that Kate Milligan's spooked by shadows."
"Fair enough." He paused. "You run a tight ship. Heard about the Milligans even in my line of work."
Her lips quirked. "Flattery? Or fishing?"
"Observation. Takes guts to hold territory like yours."
She met his eyes, alpha intensity flickering. "Guts and no mercy. You? Wandering fixer. No roots?"
John's jaw tightened. "Roots get you killed."
A beat of silence, then she nodded. "I get that."
By midnight, the poltergeist stirred, air chilling, crates shifting. They talked strategy on the fly.
"Stay back," John warned as chains whipped overhead.Kate grabbed an iron bar from the floor. "Like hell. This thing's costing me money."
The fight was chaos: John chanting Latin, blasting salt rounds; Kate swinging iron, dodging debris. They synced, her covering his flank, him pulling her out of a collapsing stack.After, the spirit burned out in a shriek of light. Warehouse silent except for their ragged breaths.Kate wiped sweat from her brow.
"It's done?"
"Yeah." John holstered the shotgun. "Anchor destroyed. Gone for good."
She exhaled, a rare crack in her armor. "Good. Payment's in the office. Twenty grand, as agreed."
They walked to the back room. More talk,unwinding."You handle yourself well," John said, accepting the duffel of cash.Kate poured two whiskeys from a hidden flask. "You too. Not many betas hold their own like that."
He took the glass. "Practice."
They clinked, sipped. Conversation deepened,guarded stories. Kate on building her empire: "Started with nothing. Alphas like me? We fight twice as hard. No room for weakness."
John nodded. "Know the feeling. World's not kind."
Her gaze lingered. "What keeps you going, Smith? The money? The thrill?"
He stared into his glass. "Necessity."
Tension built, air thick. The alpha in her scent sharpened; John's beta steadiness wavered. One moment talking, the next, her hand on his arm, pulling him close. Raw, urgent. Kate leading, John yielding. No words, just need crashing like the rain outside.After, they dressed in silence. Kate watched him sling the duffel.
"If you need work again..."
John shook his head. "One and done.Roots get you killed."
A motel outside Chicago
The warehouse fight had ended in a blaze of salt and light, leaving only the drumming rain and the sharp scent of ozone.
John Winchester ,John Smith to anyone asking, accepted the duffel of cash from Kate Milligan with a curt nod. Their bodies still hummed from the adrenaline, from the raw collision that had followed the spirit's banishment. No promises exchanged. No numbers. Just the understanding that some things ended when the door closed.He drove back to the motel in silence, the cash heavy on the passenger seat, his mind already shifting to the boys waiting in Room 7.
The neon sign flickered "Vacancy" in red, the parking lot empty except for the Impala.
John killed the engine, sat for a long moment staring at the door. The curtain twitched, Dean, always watching.He stepped inside to find Dean perched on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, green eyes sharp even at ten years old. Sam was curled on the other bed, small form buried under the thin blanket, asleep but fitful. The room smelled of cheap coffee, motel soap, and the faint, suppressed sweetness of two young omegas trying to stay invisible.
"You're late," Dean said, voice low so he wouldn't wake Sam."Job took longer than expected."
John dropped the duffel by the dresser, shrugged off his jacket. Blood,his and Kate's,stained the cuffs.Dean’s gaze flicked to the stains, then back to his father’s face.
"You hurt?"
"Not bad."
John sat heavily on the chair by the window, rubbing his ribs. "It's done. Money's good. We can move on tomorrow."
Dean didn't move. "You smell... different."
John froze. Beta scents were neutral, but adrenaline and alpha pheromones clung like smoke. Kate's cedar-and-steel lingered on his skin, faint but unmistakable.
"It's nothing," John said. "Just the job."
Dean's jaw tightened. He was too young for this conversation, but the world hadn't given him the luxury of childhood.
"Was it an alpha?"
John met his son's eyes. No lying,not to Dean. Not anymore.
"Yeah. The client. Female alpha. Strong one."
Dean swallowed. "You... with her?"
John exhaled through his nose. "It was the night. Adrenaline. Nothing more."
Dean's fists clenched in the blanket. "You said never trust them. Never let them close."
"I know what I said." John's voice softened, the exhaustion bleeding through. "Sometimes the job blurs the lines. Doesn't mean I forgot."
Dean looked away, toward Sam’s sleeping form. "Sam asked if you'd come back tonight. He was scared."
John's chest ached. "I always come back."
"Not always fast enough." Dean's voice cracked, just a little. "What if something happened? What if she... what if she wanted more than the job?"
John stood, crossed the small room in two steps, knelt in front of his oldest. "She doesn't know about you. About either of you. And she won't. I made sure."
Dean searched his father's face. "You promise?"
"I promise."
John rested a hand on Dean's shoulder, firm, grounding. "This world wants to take everything from us. From you and Sam especially. That's why we move. That's why we train. That's why I don't let anyone in."
Dean leaned forward, forehead against John's for a long moment. Small, rare vulnerability. Then he pulled back, wiping his eyes like it never happened.
"Get some sleep. I'll watch the door."
John stood, ruffled Dean's hair,earning a half-hearted swat, and checked on Sam. The youngest stirred, mumbling something about monsters. John smoothed the blanket over him, whispering, "It's okay, Sammy. Dad's here."
He didn't sleep much that night. Sat by the window with the shotgun across his lap, watching the rain streak the glass, replaying the warehouse. Kate's voice, her touch, the way she'd looked at him like he was more than hired help.He wouldn't see her again. Couldn't afford to.
Across town, Kate Milligan sat in her office, staring at the report her man had slipped under the door an hour earlier.Motel. Room 7. Two boys. Omega scents, young, suppressed. Smith's truck. No sign of trouble.
She set the paper down carefully. Hand drifted to her stomach, still nothing visible, nothing certain. But the possibility was there, sharp as a blade.Female alphas didn't carry easily.
And even if she did... those boys. Omegas in a world that registered them like livestock, trafficked them, barred them from schools and jobs and futures. If word got out, her name tied to a hunter with vulnerable children, they would be targets. Rivals would come. Others to. Alphas with less restraint would come.Traffickers. Alphas looking for an easy target. She couldn't risk it. Wouldn't. Kate folded the report, locked it in the bottom drawer. Stood. Walked to the window overlooking the dark city.The rain kept falling.She wouldn't look for him.
Nine months later
Milligan Estate, outskirts of Chicago
The labor had been brutal, hours of pain, private doctors on payroll, no hospital records. Female alpha births were rare enough to draw attention; Kate made sure none was drawn.When the baby finally cried, strong and angry, the room went still.A boy. Alpha scent already sharp,cedar smoke, iron, a hint of something wild and unyielding. Kate took him in her arms, exhausted but steady, and looked down at the tiny face scrunched in outrage.
"Adam," she whispered.
The name she'd chosen months ago, when the tests confirmed it was real. Adam Milligan. Her heir. Her secret.The nanny,a trusted beta,hovered nearby, ready to take him. Kate shook her head.
"Not yet."
She carried him to the nursery herself, a room she'd had prepared in secret: dark wood, reinforced windows, no windows facing the road. No nursery rhymes on the walls,just maps of territories, a small safe for documents, and a mural of the Chicago skyline at night.She laid him in the crib. Adam's tiny fists waved, alpha instincts already kicking in,he didn't cry for long. Just stared up at her with eyes that would one day be piercing.
"You're going to be strong," she told him softly. "Stronger than me. And you're going to rule this family one day."
She didn't mention the beta hunter who'd given him life. Didn't mention the two omega brothers out there somewhere, running from the same world that would try to chain them.Kate touched his cheek once,gentle, almost reverent,then stepped back.
"Keep him safe," she told the nanny. "No one outside this house knows he exists until I say so."
The woman nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Kate left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.She never looked for John Smith again.Adam grew up fast, too fast, maybe. By age three he was already shadowing her in the office, tiny hands clutching toy guns instead of stuffed animals. By five he was learning to read ledgers, to spot weakness in a man's posture. By eight he was throwing punches in the basement gym, alpha strength blooming early.Kate taught him loyalty, control, ruthlessness. She never taught him about ghosts, or salt lines, or hunters. That world stayed locked away, because if he ever knew the full truth, he might want to find the father who'd never known he existed.And Kate couldn't let that happen.Not yet.