Sleep should have come easily to Lucien after the day's revelations, but his mind refused to quiet.
The unfamiliar ceiling of Bobby Singer's spare bedroom stared back at him as he counted the minutes ticking by on the ancient alarm clock: 1:17 AM... 2:43 AM... 3:22 AM.
His thoughts raced in endless circles. The Force. Death. His family - both past and present. The supernatural world he now inhabited.
The question that kept returning: was this truly the world of Supernatural as he'd known it from television, or does his existence open the possibility to everything being different?
After five hours of tossing and turning, Lucien finally surrendered to not being able to sleep.
He slipped out from beneath the covers, careful not to let the ancient bedsprings creak. The floorboards were cold against his bare feet as he padded to the door and eased it open just enough to slip through.
The hallway was dark except for a faint glow from downstairs - Bobby must have left a light on somewhere. Lucien made his way down the stairs, instinctively avoiding the third step that looked like it might betray his midnight wandering with a loud creak.
Bobby's house was different at night. During the day, it had seemed cluttered but homey.
Now, shadows transformed the piles of books and hunting paraphernalia into looming sentinels.
The air smelled of old paper, whiskey, and something else - herbs, maybe (or protective magic? Did magic have a smell?)
Lucien found himself drawn to the library, where earlier he'd glimpsed shelves upon shelves of books.
Knowledge was power in this world - especially for someone like him, who has more potential than anyone.
The room was lit only by moonlight filtering through dusty windows, casting everything in silver and shadow.
Lucien ran his fingers along the spines of ancient tomes, reading titles that made his skin prickle: "Daemonica Compendium," "Bestiary of the Americas," "Rituals of Binding and Banishment."
He pulled a slim volume from the shelf: "Vampyr: A Hunter's Guide." Flipping through it revealed detailed anatomical drawings of vampire physiology, methods of killing, and nesting habits.
Much of it aligned with what he remembered from the show, but there were curious differences - notes about regional variations in vampire species, references to "Old World bloodlines" with unique characteristics.
Another book caught his attention: "Witchcraft Through the Ages." This one contained symbols and sigils he'd never seen in the show, along with warnings about different types of magic - some borrowed from demons, others drawn from nature or ancestors.
Something tugged at the edge of his awareness - not a sound or sight, but a feeling.
(The Force, whispering to him.)
Lucien closed his eyes, trying to feel what his instincts wanted him to notice- trusting them right now above everything.
(Internally still wondering what to do about the fact that Yellow-Eyes watched him when he was in his old home. At the time he wanted to dismiss it, but he knew that was stupid. But he also knew he couldn't simply call him out on it, because it may accelerate whatever fucked up plans he currently has.)
The sensation pulled him toward the far wall, where a bookshelf stood partially hidden in shadow. As he approached, the feeling grew stronger - a gentle but insistent pull, like a magnet drawing iron.
His hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching for a particular leather-bound volume wedged between two larger books.
The moment his fingers touched the spine, he felt resistance - not physical, but something else.
The Force seemed to be telling him this wasn't quite right.
"What do you want me to do?" he whispered, feeling slightly foolish talking to an invisible energy he barely understood.
He closed his eyes again, letting the sensation guide him. His hand remained on the book, but instead of pulling it out completely, he found himself pushing it back in gently, then pulling it roughly once, then pushing it back in, then pulling it out completely.
A soft click echoed in the quiet room. The bookshelf shifted slightly, revealing a small compartment built into the wall behind it. Inside lay a single book, older and more worn than the others, its leather binding cracked with age.
Lucien hesitated before reaching for it. Bobby wasn't the type to appreciate someone snooping through hidden compartments in his home. But the Force had led him here for a reason.
He carefully extracted the book and carried it to Bobby's desk, where a small lamp provided just enough light to read by. Opening the cover, he found an inscription that made his heart skip:
The Journal of Samuel Colt, Volume I: 1835-1837
"Holy shit," Lucien whispered.
Samuel Colt's journal.
The legendary hunter who created the Colt - the gun that could kill anything except five things in creation.
In the show, the Winchesters had found this eventually, but Lucien couldn't remember how or when.
Was this that legendary "Winchester luck" at work? Did he have it too, or was this Sam and Dean's luck that led this into Bobby's hands for them to have eventually when needed?
He turned to the first page and began to read.
The Journal of Samuel Colt Volume I: Beginnings and Discoveries
1835-1837
April 17, 1835
Reckon I ought to keep account of these strange happenings, lest my memory fail or death come calling 'fore I pass this knowledge on.
Should these scribblings survive me, perhaps they'll serve some other poor soul who stumbles into this shadow world as I have.
Samuel Colt, that's my name. Gunsmith by trade, though lately I've found myself in a business far removed from simple firearms.
Weren't but three months past I was returning from securing patents in England when fate saw fit to tear the veil from my eyes.
'Twas on the outskirts of Hartford, just as dusk was painting the sky. Heard a woman's scream pierce the evening quiet, coming from an old Matherson place - abandoned since the fever took the family last fall.
Being neither coward nor fool, I approached with my pistol drawn.
What I witnessed through that broken window haunts my dreams still. A man - though I use that term loosely now - crouched over a young woman like some feral beast, mouth fastened to her throat.
When he raised his head at my approach, his face was slick with blood, eyes reflecting the dying light like some hellborn cat.
I fired true, bullet striking center in his chest. Should've dropped him dead where he stood. Instead, he turned to me slow-like, annoyed as if I'd merely interrupted his supper.
Emptied every chamber into him as he advanced, moving faster than any natural thing ought.
Would've been my end right there, no doubt about it, had the Almighty not seen fit to intervene.
A stranger appeared behind the creature, swinging an ax with the practiced ease of a man splitting kindling.
The monster's head separated clean from his shoulders, both parts dropping to the floor like stones.
"Ain't no use putting lead in 'em," the stranger drawled, wiping blood from his blade. "Gotta take the head. Only sure way."
Called himself Elkins. Been tracking this "vampire" across three states after it slaughtered a family in Springfield.
Thought him touched in the head till he showed me the creature's teeth - fangs like a rattler's that slid from the gums when he pressed the jaw.
I write this from my workshop, sleep being an elusive companion these nights. Elkins rode out yesterday, heading west after another of these abominations.
Left me with more questions than answers and a mind that can't settle back into its previous certainties.
The firearms I've spent my life designing seem pitifully inadequate against such threats. Though perhaps there's purpose in this discovery.
Only the God can guide me.
May 23, 1835
Two weeks of careful inquiries led me to a tavern outside Boston where I met another of these "hunters" - men who track and destroy unnatural creatures.
Fellow by the name of Griffin, scarred from brow to chin, eyes that had seen too much to ever rest easy.
Weren't inclined to talk at first, taking me for some curious greenhorn likely to get himself killed.
Only after I shared my experience with Elkins and displayed the knowledge he'd passed to me did Griffin's tongue loosen, helped along by several glasses of whiskey.
Griffin's been hunting nigh on fifteen years, ever since something he called a "vengeful spirit" took his wife and child.
His tales would curdle milk - creatures that shift their skin to look like anyone they choose, men who transform to beasts under the full moon, spirits with enough hatred to move objects without touching 'em.
Most peculiar was his account of different breeds of blood-drinkers. The one I encountered was common to these territories - brutal, animal-like, traveling in small "nests" as he called 'em.
But Griffin swears he encountered another sort some years back.
"Daywalkers," he named 'em. Move about in sunlight without harm, appear as gentlefolk to all observers, and possess the devil's own ability to bend minds to their will.
"Compulsion," Griffin called this power, claiming he witnessed a well-respected judge release a murderer on the daywalker's mere suggestion.
"Older than our country," Griffin said. "Come from across the ocean, most of 'em. Fewer in number, but Lord help you should you cross paths with one. They don't forgive, and they don't forget - not even after centuries."
I remain skeptical of some details - particularly his accounts of witchcraft and demonic possession - but can no longer dismiss anything outright.
The world's proved itself stranger than any natural philosophy prepared me for.
Griffin provided the name of a man in St. Louis who might further my education - Daniel Holtz, European-born, hunter of vampires across two continents. I leave on tomorrow's stage, my regular business postponed indefinite.
June 12, 1835
Holtz ain't what I expected. Lean as a winter wolf, with eyes that never settle. Speaks with the precision of an educated man, though his accent marks him foreign-born. Been hunting longer than Griffin, with methodical attention that borders on obsession.
These past weeks under his tutelage have been illuminating.
Unlike Griffin's wild tales, Holtz focuses on practical matters - identification, weaknesses, effective methods of dispatch. Man's got a library in his head of creatures I never imagined walking God's earth.
The vampires common to American territories differ from European lore in significant ways. They transform no more than men do, myths of bats and wolves being superstitious fancy.
Sunlight weakens but doesn't destroy 'em outright. Crosses and garlic ain't worth spit. Only sure method is separation of head from body, though dead man's blood acts like poison, slowing 'em considerable.
Holtz confirmed Griffin's account of another breed. Encountered several in Mystic Falls -more human in appearance and manner, yet far more dangerous.
These daywalkers move freely in sunlight with aid of enchanted jewelry, bend human will to their purpose, and possess strength that increases with age rather than diminishes.
"Some are hundreds upon hundreds of years old," Holtz told me, voice gone quiet as if speaking too loud might summon them. "The oldest ones... they're something else entirely. Not vampire as we understand it, not truly. Something more."
He spoke of rumors - whispers among hunters of an "Original" family, first of their kind, impossible to kill. Truly immortal. The fathers of the beasts. Searching to break some curse, that can unseal their bound might, and conquered God's light during the day.
Even Holtz, who believes nothing without evidence, seemed troubled by these stories.
"Pray you never encounter one," was all he'd say when pressed.
Tomorrow we investigate reports of wild animal attacks near the Mississippi. Holtz suspects vampires establishing new territory.
I find myself both apprehensive and curiously eager to apply what I've learned.
"What the... fuck." Lucien muttered under his breath as he looked up from the journal.
Originals. The journal specifically mentioned Originals - the first vampires, impossible to kill. Just like in... The Vampire Diaries?
Did this mean Klaus, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, Finn... could they actually exist in this world?
'Is this world not only Supernatural, but also the Vampire Diaries? But if that's the case, is it only these two? Or is there more? God damn it! Everything's gotten so much more fucking complicated!'
Lucien shook his head, deciding that best way to know is by continuing to read. He returned his attention to the journal, fingers trembling slightly as he turned the page.
June 17, 1835
Participated in my first proper hunt yesterday. Holtz tracked three vampires to an abandoned mill south of St. Louis. They'd already claimed two local farmers and taken a third, whom we found alive but sorely wounded.
The efficiency with which Holtz dispatched these creatures was something to behold - no wasted movement, no hesitation. Man's done this more times than he can count, I expect.
I managed to slow one with dead man's blood before Holtz took its head, but my technique needs considerable refinement.
The survivor saw too much to return to normal life ignorant. Holtz explained the situation with surprising gentleness, offering the man a choice - learn to protect himself or retreat to a life of fearful ignorance.
He chose knowledge over comfort. Seems there's more hunters than I realized, forming a loose network across the country, sharing information when paths cross.
I find myself thinking on my firearms work with new purpose. The conventional weapons I've designed seem woefully inadequate for this shadow world I've discovered.
I wonder is there a way to create better specialised tools for these fights?
July 8, 1835
Returned to my workshop with fresh perspective on my craft. The standard firearms I've designed, while innovative for conventional purposes, are poorly suited for hunting supernatural creatures.
Reloading takes precious time one rarely has when facing such threats. The materials, too, are ineffective against many beings.
I've begun sketching designs for a weapon specifically for hunting - a revolver allowing multiple shots without reloading, incorporating elements Holtz suggested might prove effective against various creatures.
The metallurgical challenges are considerable. I've written to contacts in Europe regarding certain alloys that might serve my purposes.
Holtz has continued westward, tracking rumors of a vampire nest near the frontier.
Left me with several journals containing his accumulated knowledge and the name of another hunter should I require assistance - a Professor Visyak in Boston who specializes in more obscure lore.
I ain't the man I was three months ago. My previous ambitions seem trivial compared to the knowledge I now possess.
There exists a shadow world alongside our own, populated by monsters from our darkest tales, and pitifully few stand against it.
August 3, 1835
Encountered something new today. While investigating reports of missing travelers near Hartford, I found not a vampire but a creature that could change its appearance at will.
Witnessed it shift from the form of a young woman to that of an elderly man in mere moments.
My bullets had no effect, but when my hunting knife - which has a silver edge - cut its arm, the wound sizzled like fat in a hot pan.
Tracked it to an abandoned mill, where I found evidence of at least three different identities it had assumed.
Finally cornered and killed it with the silver knife Holtz had given me. Upon death, its eyes flashed with a strange light, and its features melted away to reveal something barely human.
Griffin mentioned these ones I believe, Holtz's journals state as well that they are shapeshifters, creatures that can assume the appearance of anyone.
Silver is their weakness, and their eyes flash when caught in reflective surfaces. I've preserved samples of its tissue for further study, though I'm uncertain what I might learn from them.
Must expand my research beyond vampires. There are more monsters in this world than only them, and each requires specific methods to combat.
The sound of a floorboard creaking behind him made Lucien jump. He turned to find Bobby Singer standing in the doorway, arms crossed over a faded t-shirt worn beneath an open flannel robe.
"Bit late for reading, ain't it?" Bobby asked, his voice gruff with sleep but not angry.
Lucien froze, the journal still open in his hands. "I - I couldn't sleep."
Bobby's gaze shifted to the book, then to the open compartment in the wall. His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Now how in the hell did you find that?" he asked, stepping into the room. "That hiding spot's been my little secret for going on fifteen years."
Lucien hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "The Force... I think it guided me to it."
Bobby sighed, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin. "Course it did. Why not? Cosmic powers, secret compartments... just another Tuesday around here." He pulled out a chair and sat down across from Lucien. "How much have you read?"
"Just the first few entries," Lucien said, though in truth he'd read considerably more. "It's somen named Samuel Colt's journal."
"Yep. One of 'em, anyway. Man is actually a Legendary Hunter. He kept detailed records of his hunts and research. That there's his first volume, from when he was just starting out."
"How did you get it?" Lucien asked, genuinely curious. The show had never explained how Bobby acquired such a rare artifact.
Bobby's expression softened with something like nostalgia. "Hunter named Daniel Elkins - descendant of the same Elkins mentioned in those pages - gave it to me for safekeeping 'bout twenty years back. Said too many folks were after Colt's secrets, especially regarding that gun of his."
Lucien's eyes widened. "The Colt? The gun that can kill anything?"
"Almost anything," Bobby corrected. "And I don't recall mentioning that particular detail to you. Read only a little you say, huh?"
Lucien realized his mistake. "I, uh..."
"Yeah, 'Uh.' I'd be a hypocrite to say you should never lie boy, but try to be truthful when it comes to people who help you."
Lucien's cheeks felt warm with shame- he didn't lie. But because he couldn't control his mouth, now it seemed like he was lying, when he always prided himself on speaking the truth.
"Well, you ain't wrong to be curious about it. That gun's something special, alright. Whereabouts unknown at present, unfortunately."
He nodded toward the stairs. "Now, you ought to be getting back to bed. Growing boy needs his sleep."
Lucien looked down at the journal, reluctant to part with it when there was still so much to learn. "Could I... maybe read a little more? I don't think I'll be able to sleep anyway."
Bobby seemed about to refuse, then sighed again. "If I send you back upstairs now, you're just gonna lie there thinking about this book, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," Lucien admitted with an eager nod.
"Figured as much." Bobby stood and walked to a cabinet in the corner. "Well, if we're gonna be up reading forbidden lore at four in the morning, might as well do it proper."
He pulled out a bottle and two glasses, then seemed to reconsider. "Milk for you, I suppose. Ain't exactly proper to give whiskey to a nine-year-old, cosmic powers or not."
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of milk, setting it beside Lucien before pouring himself a finger of whiskey.
"This ain't exactly how I planned to start your hunter education," Bobby said, settling back into his chair.
"Usually begin with the basics - salt, silver, iron. Colt's journal gets into some advanced stuff. But seeing as you've already read a fair bit and you're a special case anyway, might as well roll with it."
"Thank you, Uncle Bobby," Lucien said, the term of endearment slipping out naturally.
(Lucien personally chalked it up to this kid body affecting him, making him act a bit more childlike. Which is in fact true. The body affects the emotions of the soul to an extent.)
Bobby looked momentarily surprised, then his expression softened. He reached over and ruffled Lucien's hair. "Don't go thanking me yet. Knowledge like this comes with a price, kid. Once you know what's out there, you can't un-know it."
"I think that ship has sailed," Lucien said quietly.
"Fair point," Bobby conceded. "Alright then, let's see what old Samuel has to teach us. Any questions so far?"
Lucien hesitated, carefully framing his question to avoid revealing too much. "He mentions different types of vampires - the regular kind and these 'daywalkers.' Are they really that different?"
Bobby nodded solemnly. "Different as night and day, no pun intended. The vamps we typically hunt - what hunters call American strain - they're nasty but straightforward. Sunlight hurts 'em, dead man's blood slows 'em, beheading kills 'em."
He took a sip of his whiskey before continuing. "The European strain - these daywalkers - they're another matter entirely. Sunlight kills 'em unless they've got one of those special rings Colt mentions."
"Vervain - that's a herb - keeps 'em from their mind control tricks and burns 'em on contact. Stake through the heart puts 'em down, but you gotta leave it in for a little while or they heal right up."
"Have you ever encountered one?" Lucien asked, filing in the information- especially the leaving the stake in, since that isn't something that was in the TVD Show.
"Once," Bobby said grimly. "Few years back. Nasty piece of work called the Ripper of Monterey something-or-other. Nearly got the drop on me before I figured out what I was dealing with. Most hunters go their whole careers without running into one. They're smarter, more careful about covering their tracks. Though..."
"Yes?" Lucien questioned, completely focused. Ripper of Monetery meant Stefan.
"To be honest, when I say I figured it out, and that he nearly got the drop on me, he actually could've killed me right then and there, but for some reason didn't and up and left. Still baffles me to this day."
'Yep, that sounds like guilty Stefan alright. If he is anything like the show, then he should've been newly back on the wagon or something.'
"What about these Originals?" Lucien pressed, trying to keep his voice casual. "Are they real?"
Bobby's expression darkened. "Most hunters think they're just stories - bogeymen vampires tell each other about. But I've heard enough over the years to think there might be truth to it. A family of vampires so old and powerful that nothing can kill 'em. Most of the lore's contradictory or just plain missing."
He leaned forward, voice dropping. "Word is, they've been around for over a thousand years. Started as a single family somewhere in Europe. Some say they made some kind of deal with a powerful demon, others say they're cursed. Details are scarce because anyone who gets close enough to learn more tends to disappear."
"Do they have names?" Lucien asked, holding his breath.
Bobby shrugged. "There's mentions here and there. Most common one I've heard is Klaus. Supposedly the oldest and most dangerous of the bunch. Then there's another brother - Noble they call that one. Rumors of a other ones too, but names change depending who's telling the tale."
'Okay, yep, Klaus is a fucking thing. Elijah most likely too. Now, which fucking version? Books? Show? Which one?'
'I don't know jack squat about the books besides some powers. Read and heard some crazy shit about them in the books being older than the pyramids or something, able to bring down lightning, control the elements, et-fucking-cetera - hoping to God, that, that isn't what I'm dealing with here...'
'I really need to train my control over the Force better. If I have enough control over it, even Lucifer and Michael won't be problems.'
"Anyway," Bobby continued, "they're not something you need to worry about. Originals - if they're real - operate on a whole different level - old world politics, power plays spanning centuries. They don't typically cross paths with hunters unless someone's dumb enough to go looking for 'em."
Lucien nodded. If the Originals existed, what about the other things from The Vampire Diaries? The moonstone curse- Colt implied it in his Journal. Doppelgängers- if the curse exists, the Doppelgangers likely do too.
The Five? Silas? The Other Side?
What else was really there? And was Supernatural and The Vampire Diaries the only things, or was there more this world was made up of?
"Let's get back to Colt's journal," Bobby suggested, pulling Lucien from his thoughts. "Man had some interesting theories about supernatural creatures that even modern hunters haven't fully explored."
And so Lucien turned the page, eager to learn more.
The two of them seated- the old man with his whiskey and the boy with his milk.
Reading the tales of the most legendary hunter to have ever existed.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.
Do tell me how you found it.
Yes, the Force can draw Lucien to something that he wants if it is very close to him.
Also, sorry for the long wait for chapters. I'm still working on the lore of this world and all that.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)