Chapter 26 : THE WINCHESTER PROBLEM
The System alert hit like a lightning strike.
I was reviewing the Djinn intelligence Catherine had provided when every notification channel blazed simultaneously—red warnings overlapping until my vision swam with urgency.
[CRITICAL ALERT] [PROTECTED ENTITIES DETECTED] [DISTANCE: 300 MILES SOUTH] [CLASSIFICATION: EXTREME AVOID] [DIVINE PROTECTION: CONFIRMED] [RECOMMENDATION: NO CONTACT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES]
I'd never seen the System react like this. Not to Cormac. Not to Catherine. Not even to the abstract threat of the approaching apocalypse. Whatever had triggered this warning transcended normal threat assessment.
I queried for details.
[ENTITY IDENTIFICATION: SAM AND DEAN WINCHESTER] [DESIGNATION: HUNTER — MAXIMUM THREAT] [KILL COUNT: ESTIMATED 200+ SUPERNATURAL ENTITIES] [PROTECTED STATUS: DIVINE MANDATE — COSMIC SIGNIFICANCE] [ENGAGEMENT OUTCOME: GUARANTEED FAILURE] [NOTE: DO NOT ATTEMPT CONFRONTATION, RECRUITMENT, OR MANIPULATION]
The Winchester brothers.
I'd known about them, of course. My meta-knowledge included extensive information about their role in the coming apocalypse—vessels for archangels, destined warriors in a war between Heaven and Hell, the fulcrum around which supernatural history would pivot.
But knowing about them theoretically and having the System scream warnings about their proximity were entirely different experiences.
"Jenny."
She appeared within minutes, responding to the urgency in our bond. Her eyes swept the room, looking for threats.
"What happened?"
"Sit down." I waited until she complied. "There are two hunters operating three hundred miles south of our territory. The System has flagged them as the highest threat we've ever encountered."
"Two hunters?" Her brow furrowed. "We've faced multiple hunters before. The Morrison group had four—"
"These aren't normal hunters."
I pulled up the data the System had compiled—newspaper reports, hunter network chatter, pattern analysis of their movements. The scope of their activities painted a picture that made even the Morrison operation look insignificant.
"Sam and Dean Winchester. Brothers. They've been hunting since childhood. Their kill count is somewhere north of two hundred confirmed supernatural entities. But that's not why they're dangerous."
"What is?"
I chose my words carefully. Couldn't reveal too much—my meta-knowledge about their destiny, their role as vessels, their protection by cosmic forces. But I could share enough to convey the threat.
"Something is protecting them. Something bigger than anything we've encountered. The System can't fully identify it, but the signature suggests..." I paused. "Divine involvement. Angels, maybe. Forces that don't normally intervene in earthly affairs."
Jenny absorbed that. The bond carried her processing—skepticism giving way to concern as she recognized I wasn't exaggerating.
"How do you know they're protected?"
"Pattern analysis." The System had given me enough data to construct a plausible explanation. "They've been in situations that should have killed them dozens of times. Facing things that routinely destroy entire hunter teams. And they keep surviving. That's not skill alone. That's something else."
"So what do we do?"
"We treat them like weather."
I stood, moving to the large map on the wall. Started marking locations—Winchester sightings from the past six months, probable patrol routes, areas where they'd eliminated supernatural threats.
"Storms you don't fight," I said. "You track them. You predict their movement. You stay out of their path. And when they pass, you assess the damage and rebuild."
"You want to track hunters?"
"I want to survive hunters. These specific hunters." I circled their last known location. "Three hundred miles is comfortable distance right now. But they move. Their patterns suggest they follow supernatural activity. If they hear about unusual monster behavior in Montana..."
"They come here."
"Exactly."
The Winchester monitoring protocols took shape over the next hour.
Vehicle identification: a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, black, Kansas plates. Anyone in the coalition who spotted that car reported immediately and withdrew without engaging.
Known associates: Bobby Singer in South Dakota, various hunter contacts across the midwest. Any approach by their network triggered automatic alert status.
Hunting patterns: they tended to follow news reports of unusual deaths, strange phenomena, unexplained disappearances. The coalition's feeding protocols suddenly seemed even more critical—any slip that attracted media attention could potentially attract Winchester attention.
"This seems extreme," Jenny said. She'd been helping me compile the briefing materials that would go to every coalition member. "I understand they're dangerous, but building an entire warning system around two people..."
"Two people who have killed more monsters than any hunter family in recorded history." I handed her the kill list the System had compiled. "Vampires. Werewolves. Shapeshifters. Demons. Things that shouldn't be killable by humans. They've destroyed them all."
She read the list. Her expression shifted as the scope registered.
"That's not possible."
"It's documented. Each of these creatures was real. Each is now dead. The Winchesters either killed them directly or were instrumental in their destruction."
"Then what are they?"
"Forces of nature." I pulled up old newspaper articles—the kind that only made sense if you knew what to look for. Explosions. Bodies. Destroyed buildings. "They're the hurricane that's been building in the midwest, and eventually that storm is going to sweep through every supernatural community in the country. We need to be prepared."
The coalition-wide briefing happened that evening.
Twenty-two monsters gathered in the main chamber—werewolves, ghouls, Skinwalkers. I'd asked Catherine to attend via one of her thralls, a woman who could relay information back to the nest. The intelligence affected vampires too.
"What I'm about to share stays within the coalition," I began. "This information is dangerous because it concerns hunters who are more dangerous than anything most of you have faced."
I displayed the Winchester files on the wall—photographs, vehicle information, known associates.
"Sam and Dean Winchester. If you see them, you do not engage. You do not approach. You do not attempt to monitor them closely. You report their location and you withdraw. Immediately. No exceptions."
Margaret Renfield raised her hand. "Why these specific hunters? We've faced hunters before."
"Because these hunters have never lost. Not meaningfully. Not permanently." I let that sink in. "Every monster who has underestimated them is dead. Every creature who thought they could handle two humans has been destroyed. They have something protecting them—something that makes direct confrontation a guaranteed loss."
"What kind of protection?" Cole asked.
"The kind we don't fully understand." I couldn't explain angels and destiny and cosmic significance. "The kind that suggests they're part of something bigger. All you need to know is that engaging them is suicide. Survival means avoidance."
The briefing continued for another hour. Questions. Clarifications. The growing realization among coalition members that there existed threats beyond their ability to handle.
By the end, even the most aggressive wolves were subdued. The Winchester dossier had been convincing.
Jenny found me afterward, staring at the map with its new markers.
"You almost sound impressed," she observed.
"I respect anything that survives as long as they have." I traced their probable route with one finger. "They've been doing this since they were children. That's dedication. That's skill. That's something worth understanding even if we can never risk contact."
"Do you think they'll come here?"
"Eventually. They follow supernatural activity, and we're building a concentration of supernatural activity." I turned away from the map. "But by the time they're a direct threat, I intend for the coalition to be strong enough that they'd rather hunt easier targets."
"Is that possible?"
I didn't answer. Because honestly, I didn't know.
The Winchesters had destroyed things that made my coalition look insignificant. Ancient vampires. Powerful demons. Entities that had existed for millennia.
Against that track record, what chance did twenty-two monsters in a Montana mine have?
But the alternative was giving up. And I hadn't survived transmigration, Alpha battles, and vampire politics to give up now.
"Find me everything we have on Djinn activity in Wyoming," I said. "If we can't grow strong enough to face the storm, we at least need to be big enough to weather it."
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