Prologue: Take A Slice

San Francisco, California ━━━ Early May, 2024

Lizette Reyes was the kind of person who lived life at full throttle, even when her gas tank was running on fumes. As a twenty-three-year-old college student juggling a full course load at the University of California, Berkeley, Lizette was determined to graduate with honors and earn her bachelor's degree in computer science. Her days were a blur of coding assignments and algorithms, hours spent staring at a screen until her eyes were bloodshot red. The challenge of deciphering complex problems and crafting elegant solutions was her passion, but it was also draining. By night, she transformed into a diligent waitress, balancing plates and taking countless orders at a bustling diner in San Francisco. She overexerted herself, going above and beyond for every customer in hopes of earning good tips to help pay for her tuition and make ends meet.

If you asked Lizette how she was holding up, she'd flash a tired but defiant smile and insist she was fine. That was Lizette—always pushing forward, even when the world was kicking her ass. Her friends often joked that she was part machine, fueled by a few hours of sleep, way too much caffeine for one person, and sheer willpower. But underneath the facade of hard work and dedication, she was still human. The young woman could only push herself for so long until she burned out, an occurrence that became more frequent than she liked. Burnouts slowed her momentum, and that wasn't a luxury Lizette could afford.

Lizette's life was a delicate balancing act, and every misstep threatened to send her crashing down. She had learned to live with the constant pressure since she was young, but it was never easy. As soon as she graduated high school, she moved out, desperate for independence and a fresh start.

Her relationship with her parents was strained at best. Her father was a ghost—present in body but absent in every other way, favoring his job and a bottle of beer over his own family. He was the kind of man who was physically there but emotionally distant, always retreating into the background, leaving Lizette to navigate life on her own. Their interactions were few and far between, and when they did occur, they were often superficial and devoid of any real connection. Lizette learned early on that seeking any type of support or relationship from her father was a futile endeavor because at the end of the day, he never really cared.

On the other hand, her mother was a constant source of stress. Narcissistic and emotionally abusive, she often projected her own insecurities and disappointments onto Lizette. Their interactions were frequently filled with harsh words, misunderstandings, and resentment. Every conversation turned into an argument, a painful tug-of-war that left Lizette feeling hollow and desperately alone. Her mother's criticisms were relentless and brutal, always finding fault in everything Lizette did, no matter how hard she tried. This constant barrage of negativity from her mother eroded Lizette's self-esteem and made her question her worth.

Growing up in such an environment was suffocating. As a result, Lizette and her younger siblings scattered, each following their own paths to escape the dysfunction and trauma that plagued their family. They rarely kept in touch, too absorbed in their own survival to reach out to each other. She couldn't remember the last time they had all been together in one place. Even when they all lived under the same roof, they never ate a single meal together in the kitchen.

Birthdays were forgotten, holidays were ignored, and important milestones were never celebrated. The Reyes family existed in a state of constant neglect and disarray. There were no shared moments of joy, no family traditions, and no sense of unity. The house was filled with silence or the occasional sound of a slammed door or a muffled argument. It may have been their house, but it was never a home. It was more like an apartment complex where everyone led separate lives, disconnected from each other—a family full of miserable strangers.

Feeling like the black sheep, the odd one out who never quite fit in, Lizette was determined to break free from the chains of her family's history and carve out a path uniquely hers. The thought of succumbing to a life of regrets and missed opportunities haunted her. She wanted more, craved more, and dreamed of a better life where she actually mattered. She didn't want to be bound by the confines of what her parents had shown her. That wasn't living. That was merely tolerating, surviving, and settling.

Her dreams were big, overwhelmingly so. She wanted to make a difference, to be part of something meaningful. Her passion for technology was driven by a desire to create, innovate, and leave a mark on the world. She dreamed of working on projects that would change lives, perhaps even save them. This burning ambition kept her going, even when her body begged for rest.

Lizette's dedication and drive were admirable, especially by her professors, but they also highlighted her flaws. She was extremely stubborn, often refusing to ask for help even when she was struggling. This refusal wasn't born out of arrogance but a deep-seated belief that she had to handle everything on her own. Growing up too soon and learning to fend for herself from a young age had ingrained this mindset. She learned early on that she could only count on herself, and relying on others often led to disappointment.

This belief in self-reliance made it difficult for Lizette to trust and lean on anyone. She worked tirelessly, convinced she could handle anything thrown her way, sometimes to the detriment of her own well-being. When things got tough or overwhelming, Lizette tended to isolate herself. In those moments, she'd push herself even further, taking up extra shifts at the diner to distract herself from the thoughts that clouded her mind.

One night, after an especially grueling double shift she had decided to cover for a coworker—on the one day that was supposed to be her day off no less—Lizette stumbled into her tiny apartment. Her muscles ached, her feet were sore, and her mind was numb with fatigue, the kind that settled deep into her bones and made her movements sluggish. She kicked off her beat-up Converse, soaked from the rain, and tossed her messenger bag and umbrella onto the floor. The tiny space was cluttered with stacked textbooks, empty coffee cups, thrifted pieces of furniture, and a pile of laundry that never seemed to shrink. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

Lizette walked over to the living room and collapsed onto her couch, still in her grey zip-up hoodie, damp from the rain, and black slacks. She could feel her name tag still pinned to her tank top, pressing uncomfortably against her chest. The couch, though lumpy and worn, was a welcome relief from the long day she had. The fabric, softened from years of use, enveloped her, and as she sank into its cushions, she let out a tired sigh, closing her eyes for a moment.

As she lay there, trying to muster the energy to get up and change into something more comfortable, her stomach growled loudly—a harsh reminder that she hadn't eaten anything besides drinking six cups of coffee throughout the day. The sound practically echoed in the quiet apartment, pulling her out of her momentary respite. She needed to eat. Lizette wasn't a stranger to falling asleep on an empty stomach, but she knew it wasn't the best idea. Just because she could tolerate the gnawing hunger didn't mean she should.

With a resigned groan, Lizette forced herself to sit up, every muscle in her body protesting the movement. Ignoring the hunger was tempting, but she knew better than to let herself fall into that pattern. She glanced toward the kitchen. Cooking was out of the question; she didn't have the energy or the ingredients for a proper meal. It had been weeks since she last went grocery shopping.

Then she remembered the leftover pizza from the night before. It wasn't a gourmet meal, but it was better than nothing. Grumbling, she pushed herself off the couch and shuffled to the kitchen. She opened the fridge, which was practically empty save for a few condiments and the lone pizza box.

Lizette grabbed the box and headed back to the living room. She set it down on the coffee table and grabbed a slice of cold pepperoni pizza in one hand and the TV remote in the other. As she sat down, she took a bite and turned on the TV, browsing through Netflix aimlessly for a bit but found nothing worth her time.

Frustrated by the lack of appealing options, Lizette decided to revisit an old favorite, her high school obsession: Supernatural. It had been years since she last watched the show, but it still held a special place in her heart. The show had been a source of comfort during the rough patches of her past, offering an escape and distraction. She searched for the show and quickly began the first season.

The screen lit up with the iconic Supernatural logo, and Lizette felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The introduction of the Winchester brothers, Sam and Dean, brought an involuntary smile to her face. Watching it now, years later, felt like reconnecting with old friends she hadn't seen in ages. Their chemistry, the playful banter, and the relentless quest to find their father and hunt the supernatural were all elements that had drawn her to the show in the first place.

Each scene brought back vivid memories of late-night binge-watching sessions during her teenage years. Lizette would stay up late despite knowing she had classes the next morning, the allure of Supernatural too strong to resist. Her parents would scold and yell at her for staying up past midnight, but their anger had become a constant backdrop to her life, a noise she had learned to tune out. No matter what she did, it seemed they were always upset with her. Ignoring their words, she would hide under her blankets, the glow of her laptop screen the only light in the room, and lose herself in the world of the Winchesters.

Now, it was like stepping into a time machine, where the worries of her present life faded into the background, replaced by the thrilling adventures of Sam and Dean. The familiar sights and sounds of the show enveloped her like a comforting blanket. Season one had been so simple in its premise yet rich in storytelling and character development. It was incredible that the showrunners had managed to stretch it into fifteen seasons, each one filled with its own unique blend of horror, humor, and heart, evolving with the characters and their journey.

Lizette vividly remembered watching the episode based on the Bloody Mary for the first time and being so scared she couldn't look in a mirror for days. In her opinion, the earlier seasons were her favorite, with their monster-of-the-week format, strong writing and acting, cool mythology and lore, and overall intriguing tension, suspense, and drama. Each episode felt like a mini horror movie, complete with its own set of rules and myths.

One of Lizette's favorite aspects of season one was that it was all shot on 35mm film. The grainy texture and muted colors gave the show a distinct, almost cinematic quality that added to its spooky atmosphere and American gothic aesthetic that was so visually appealing to her. She wished they had continued with that style throughout the entire series; it was one of the elements that made the show so unique and interesting.

As the seasons progressed, the show's visual style evolved, and so did Lizette's memories of it. Lizette didn't remember much from the later seasons, the details blurring together in her memory. However, she could recall countless lines from the first season, their words etched into her mind from repeated viewings. Lines like Dean's classic "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole" played in her head as if she had just heard them yesterday. She even remembered quoting it to her friends during a road trip, insisting on playing classic rock the entire way. The rest of the series, however, was a bit fuzzy. She remembered some major plotlines and characters here and there—Castiel's introduction, the rise and fall of various villains, the emotional highs and lows—but the finer details escaped her.

Despite the four years since she last watched it, the show felt timeless to Lizette. The Winchester brothers, with their unwavering bond and battle against unimaginable evils, provided a sense of stability and courage. For Lizette, the show was more than just entertainment; it was a source of inspiration and hope, a reminder that no matter how difficult things got, even in the face of darkness, she could always find the strength to carry on. It held a special place in her heart, a cherished part of her past that she had deeply missed. As the episode played on her TV screen, Lizette made a mental note to rewatch the entire series this summer.

She let out a loud yawn as she reached for the throw blanket draped across the back of the couch, wrapping it around herself and snuggled closely against the arm of the couch. The familiar voices of Dean and Sam blended seamlessly with the gentle sounds of rain pattering against her window. The world outside her tiny apartment faded away, and the exhaustion from her long day conspired to pull her into a deep sleep.

Lizette fought to stay awake, determined to continue watching the episode play out, but despite her best efforts, her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. By the time the episode was halfway finished, her eyes finally fluttered shut, and she drifted off to sleep. The adventures of the Winchesters continued on the screen.

As she slept, a sudden clap of thunder reverberated through the apartment, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. Lizette stirred but did not wake, her body shifting slightly under the blanket. Outside, the storm intensified, lightning slashing across the sky and casting brief, stark illuminations into the darkened living room.

Lizette's breathing slowed into a steady rhythm as the TV began to flicker, the scenes of Supernatural twisting and warping, the screen distorting with static. Then, without warning, a golden rift tore open beside the couch. Its light pulsed and glimmered, casting an otherworldly glow that filled the room with an eerie, surreal radiance.

The rift expanded, the edges crackling with energy that hummed through the air. Slowly, it began to engulf the unsuspecting Lizette, who remained oblivious, lost in her dreams. The energy from the rift seemed to lift her gently, as if cradling her in a tender embrace before pulling her into its depths. Her form shimmered briefly in the golden light before vanishing entirely. In an instant, she was gone, leaving the couch empty and the blanket crumpled in her absence. The rift closed just as quickly as it had appeared, sealing shut with a final, silent flash of light.

The TV flickered back to normal, the static clearing to reveal a new episode of Supernatural beginning to play: "Lazarus Rising."

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⛧°. ⋆༺♱ A/N: down the rabbit hole we go! i'm so excited to start this fic omg it's such a fun concept! i hope you guys enjoy it! i still don't have any plans for a love interest for lizette, i kinda just want to write and see what happens? but if you guys have any suggestions, please feel free to let me know! also, what's your favorite season of supernatural?