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4/6/26 update - I now have a Patreon. I'm just getting it up and running, so there's not much there as I add this little edit. I'm slowly getting my current stories over on there, but I will be adding bonus content that I don't have on here, eventually.
Writing Update: 4/12/26
I hope you guys enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them and rereading them. Most are a work in progress, and I'll post them when I can.
Most of my fics are Dean x Reader/You. Can't help it. I'm a total Dean girl. lol I'm sure I'll expand to Sam x Reader/You, the brothers x Reader/You, Cas x Reader/You, and perhaps even Benny x Reader/You. It'll all depend on the story and how it ends up writing itself. They'll all be labeled.
Whenever I write, I always picture Maria Winter as the character in the story, even if it is Y/N or the reader. She's been with me through many stories that I've written over the past 30 years. I love that I get to share her with all of you.
I'm one who enjoys the reader to be something different than human. Somehow, writing those always brings a lot of unexpected things to the story. I haven't yet written where the reader or OC is human. There's always something hidden below the surface.
I think if I do any AUs, I will try out having the reader be human but with something utterly unique to the AU that's like 1 in a billion.
Many thanks to all my readers. Your comments, reblogs, hearts, and follows are what keep me writing and sharing them here. I love hearing from all of you.
All My Stories In One Place
One Shots Master List
Well, it finally happened. lol
Series Master List
This includes - soulmates, Other OC series, A/B/O, Show rewrites
I included the links here that are on the Series Master List, hoping it would make it easier for everyone to find what they're looking for.
Soulmate Master List
OC Female Master List
A/B/O Master List
Show Rewrite Master List
Touched Master List
OC Female Creature
This includes one-shots and series.
A/N: I have several for here, they just aren't ready to be posted yet.
A/N: Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I haven't even been on this platform a year yet as I set up this particular master list. I love all my readers and the other authors I've found on here. If any of you would like to see what my first Master List was like, here's a link.
My Favorite Stories List
Pond Dive Recap with Me and @spnfanficpond, if you missed it.
Thank you
Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007
âY/N!â Dadâs voice echoed throughout the barn as him and Sam ran to my side, pushing the shifters out of the way, their lifeless bodies rolling onto their backs. I sat up, trying to breathe as deeply as I could, still trying to let the oxygen in through my constricted lungs.
âAre you okay?â Uncle Sam asked, his hands hovering over me, unsure of where to start.
I nodded, unable to look them in the eyes. Instead, I cradled my broken wrist close to my chest and nursed the blossoming swell on the side of my face. Dad reached over, probably to move the hair from my face in order to see it better. Without thinking, I flinched away, the images of him swinging his fist at me still too fresh of a wound. His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion and then to realization. I could tell he was hurt.
Summary: the reader learns some things about her dad and uncle she wishes she didnât know
Disclaimers: cursing, blood, knives, choking, broken bones, kidnapping, fighting, very minor mentions of suicide, ANGST
Word Count: 2,804
A/N: just a reminder- if you want to be tagged in this series or my forever tag list, let me know through my messages or send me an ask, itâs just easier for me to keep track of them all! :)
The unbearable, rough bite of the crisp air in the room, a dirt floor beneath me. My arms were tied behind me on something wooden, splinters snaked their way into my exposed arms but the cold that enveloped me numbed them.
I had to pry my eyelids open even though my whole body screamed at me to just close them again and to slip back into unconsciousnessâ sweet embrace.
Summary: with the metaphorical pregnancy clock winding down, Sam and Dean ask Y/N a question thatâs been on their minds since they found out about the baby.
Disclaimers: mentions of sex, crying, mentions of murder, mentions of double standards for girls because fuck the patriarchy :)
Word Count: 2,363
A/N: I have been so overwhelmed with all of your guysâ love and support with this series and everything else Iâve written- you guys are seriously so amazing!
âWe need to find out, Sammy.â Dean sighed, shutting the book he was reading from. The dim light from the table lamp in between them just barely illuminated each of their faces.
Samâs eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, his finger pausing on the corner of the page of the book in his lap, like it had stopped mid-thought, âfind what out?â
Dean sat forward, his forearms resting heavily on the table, âwho got my daughter pregnant.â
Summary: Three months after telling her dad about the baby, Y/N gets to see her baby for the first time, but she has some doubts about her future.
Disclaimers: FLUFF
Word Count: 1,534
A/N: I really debated whether I should post today, or for the rest of the week in light of the shooting in Parkland, Florida. However, I know that ignoring the situation is just as bad as doing nothing about it. Todayâs chapter is very light-hearted, cause I think we all need that every once in a while.
I decided to use this opportunity to share with my amazing readers how important it is to be doing all we can to help. In a world thatâs so divided today, itâs easy to forget the people our attention should be on the most, including the victims and their families. Hereâs the link to the GoFundMe page so you can donate to help out. And, if you canât right now, thatâs okay, just remember to be kinder than you think you should be to others, you donât know what someone could be going through.
Even if right now may seem dark and hopeless, we will fight until things are changed. Until school shootings are no longer a common way of life, and until our government can finally step up to the plate to make sure something like this never happens again.
Please, if you need someone to talk to about this situation or anything else- my inbox is ALWAYS open.
I sat in the backseat of the Impala, my hands wringing together nervously as anxiety crawled its way up my throat. I had my first ultrasound today- something weâd been putting off for four months, now. Our lives didnât exactly come with vacation days, we had work to do.
However, Sam had been bugging me since Iâd told him about the baby to go see a doctor to make sure everything was in top shape before any of us could fully rest easily. I knew I shouldâve been excited, but something was tugging at my heart that I couldnât exactly put my finger on.Â
Weâd talked about adoption. On multiple occasions, Sam or dad would bring it up, but ultimately in the end, they would say it was my decision. It was obvious what they thought I should do: give the kid up to a family who could raise it to be normal, but what would happen if something came for it? Its parents wouldnât know what to do- I could never forgive myself if something happened.
Sam was torn between talking to his brother and running to comfort his niece, wishing he could split himself in two, even though he was less than enthusiastic about how Dean had handled the situation. But as Y/N ran past him and to her room, Samâs eyes took hold of his brotherâs form in the chair across from him. He was rested against the back of the chair, his fingers balancing on the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to stop it from bleeding. Heâd known this side of Dean all too well, the one that was dangerously close to blowing a gasket if you so much as breathed too loudly. Sam knew that getting his brother to see the bright side of things was going to be hard, especially when even the bright side seemed particularly dim.
Summary: Deanâs daughter struggles with deciding how and when to tell her uncle and father about her pregnancy when the time comes sooner than she hoped it would.
Disclaimers: unplanned pregnancy, teen pregnancy, crying, morning sickness, Dean being a meany poo poo head, angst for days, some Sam fluff
Word Count: 3,782
A/N: I was overwhelmed by how much you guys liked the first chapter, so hereâs the second! I will also be accepting requests for tagging for this series so youâll be notified when I post a new chapter- just send me a message!
The minute Jody opened the door, dad came into the house, smiling from ear to ear at the two of us. âThereâs my kiddo!â
Within three steps he was fully inside the house, enveloping me in a hug, nearly picking me up off of the floor.Â
âDad, it was one night.â I laughed and he only squeezed harder, âhow could you have possibly missed me that much?â
âI just missed ya,â he beamed as he pulled away and clapped me on the shoulder before turning to Jody and uncle Sam who were still by the door. âShe wasnât any trouble was she?â
I half expected Jody to shout the truth from the rooftops- to all hell with secrecy but she just smiled, ânope. We love having her around.â
âGood, maybe you can take her more often then,â uncle Sam joked and I punched him on the arm on the way out.
Jody turned to me, smiling. A hand resting on my upper arm. âsee you around, okay?â
I nodded, knowing Iâd definitely be around more often, especially in the coming months. âsee you soon.â
A/N: So this was a request I got on Wattpad and Iâm rewriting it on here!(you can read the original on my Wattpad if you want). This is the most up-to-date version of the chapter. This will also be a series :)
âI canât do this,â I said, throwing the box onto the kitchen table as if it had burned me. Alex had been able to smuggle it home from the hospital after her shift so Jody wouldnât be suspicious. I chewed on the nail of my pointer finger, a million thoughts running through my head. The feeling of dread tugged at my heart for what it would tell me. Claire and Alex watched me carefully, resting against the backs of the dining room chairs. âwhat if itâs positive?â
âWhatever happens, youâll get through it,â Alex said, running a soothing hand over my arm. âweâll help you- your dad and Sam will help you, Y/N.â
I sighed deeply, thinking about my dad, how disappointed heâd be if it turned up positive. What would I say to him? âhey dad, I had a one-night stand with some guy I barely know and now Iâm knocked up!â Yeah, thatâll go over real well.
đđđđđđđ â grace winchester never had the chance to know her mother, but twenty years later, she finds herself in her childhood home facing something evil that apparently isn't alone
đđđđđđđ(đ) â canon typical violence, panic attacks, injury, brief description of blood, ptsd, anxiety, protective dean and sam, oc au
series: love was the law
Grace Winchester sits across from her brother at a small table beside a large window that overlooks the parking lot. Her laptop is open, pulled up onto a recent newspaper article from somewhere in Texas. She and Dean have been here for almost an hour, scouring every website they could think of to find a case to work, both of them itching to get up and moving again. Theyâve never known how to be still, how to just take life as it comes instead of searching for danger, and they certainly have no interest in learning how to do that now.Â
âAll right. Iâve been cruising some websites. Think I found a candidate for our next gig.â Dean takes a sip of his coffee, already dressed for the day ahead of them, meanwhile Samâs still tucked into one of the beds. Grace cranes her head to see him, smiling softly when she realizes that he mustâve just woken up, a soft flush against his cheeks insinuating that not long ago heâd been practically dead to the world tangled up in thick blankets. Sheâs glad that heâs seemingly able to rest without nightmares of Jessica plaguing his subconscious, but something tells her his sleep wasnât all that terrific even without the visual of his girlfriend's burning body. âA fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali. Its crew vanished.âÂ
âIâve got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.â Grace hummed, looking over at Dean once she knew he didnât have anymore more to add about the potential case in California.Â
âHey!â Dean called out, startling Grace who had looked away for only a second to dive back into the article she had pulled open, searching for the single line in the middle that was what led her to believe it was their kind of case to begin with. Her wide eyes found Deanâs, assuming she was the one he was raising his voice at, but she very quickly realized he was talking to Sam, who sat upright in the bed sketching frantically on a notepad. âAre we boring you with this hunting-evil stuff?âÂ
âNo, Iâm listening. Keep going.â Sam shook his head, glancing away from the notepad for only a second to prove that he was listening to Grace and Dean. The youngest Winchester rolled her eyes, reaching for her mug of hot chocolate that Dean had somehow lifted from the diner. She didnât want to question why heâd chose to bring back two mugs instead of the take-away cups that made their lives easier, but she was more than willing to pretend like she was in some lavish hotel as she held the porcelain mug to her lips and obnoxiously slurped up what remained of her melted whipped cream.
Dean rolled his eyes at her, but he couldnât help but shake his head laughing when she pulled the mug away and was left with a mustache of cream on her upper lip. She wiggled her eyebrows at him jestingly before she licked it away, focusing her attention back on the article in front of her.Â
âAnd here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head..three timesâŠâ Dean held up three fingers, waving them around as if hoping to catch Samâs attention, but his efforts were in vain. Their brother was fully engrossed in his own world, flipping through pages of the notepad despite it seeming that he was drawing the same thing over and over again. Grace frowned in contemplation, wondering what had him so tightly wound, but Dean was less concerned for Samâs wellbeing and more aggravated that everything he was saying was going in one ear and out of the other. âAny of these things blowing up your skirt, pal?âÂ
Grace rolled her eyes, and if she hadnât been sitting criss-cross applesauce on the chair, she wouldâve jutted her leg out to kick his shin. She expected Sam to have a sharp response, but he remained silent, proving that he wasnât really listening to them at all. Grace deflated, wondering what was so important that he was entirely neglecting the main focus of their entire lives, but then his eyebrows furrowed, and he grabbed a page of the notebook heâd already flipped away from, bringing it back down into view.Â
âWait, Iâve seen this.â Sam commented, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny as he tried to analyze the sketch heâd drawn still half-asleep. Grace craned her head questioningly, taking another sip of her hot chocolate despite how warm it made her feel. She shrugged her sweatshirt off, being left in only a yellow tank top that brought out the yellow in her green eyes.Â
âSeen what?â Dean questioned, taking the bait that Sam dangled in front of their faces even if that wasnât the intended purpose of his muttering.Â
Sam didnât answer him, nor did he even glance in Deanâs direction. The eldest and youngest Winchester locked eyes, both frowning in concern as they watched Sam stand from the bed and approach their bags on the other side of the room. âWhat are you doing, Sammy?â She questioned softly, closing her laptop to instead focus solely on her brother who was acting more than a little strange.Â
He pulled Johnâs journal out of Deanâs duffle bag without a word, leaving both Dean and Grace in the dark as he flipped through pages until he found an old photograph tucked behind disheveled notes and coordinates. Grace knew the picture well. It was one of the only ones that had been salvaged in the fire â or at least one of the only ones sheâd ever seen â and it was something that felt so foreign to look at knowing what she did now. She was being held up in Johnâs arms, a gummy smile on her lips as she looked straight ahead at the camera. Sam was in Johnâs other arm, and Mary held Dean close to them, all five of them looking like any typical and normal family outside of the house that Grace had never really known as their own. She frowned in confusion, not seeing why that picture was so important to Sam at this moment, but she didnât outright question it, content to let him put pieces on the table at his own pace.Â
âDean, I know where we have to go next.â Sam looked up, his eyes searching Deanâs face with intent. Grace frowned, wondering what had him so rattled that he seemed to be reeling at the connection. She put her hot chocolate down, becoming uneasy as the energy in the room shifted to something heavier than it had been in a while.Â
Dean inclined his head, nodding for Sam to continue. âWhere?â
âBack home. Back to Kansas.â Graceâs frown deepened at that, her eyes flickering to Dean to gauge his individual reaction. She was unsurprised to find that heâd recoiled in the same surprised manor, his eyebrows raised in silent question. Â
âOkay, random. Whereâd that come from?â He threw back at Sam, who seemed to fumble over his thoughts trying to find a way to explain what had led him to this conclusion.Â
Grace watched Sam step closer, his eyes flickering to her for only a second before he turned to address Dean entirely. Grace was no help in the matter, no matter how much easier it was to convince her than it was to convince Dean. âAll right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?Â
âYeah.â Dean grabbed the picture from his outstretched hands, studying it carefully despite having almost every aspect of the print memorized. Grace leaned back in her chair, fingering pulling through her knotted locks that trapped heat at the back of her neck.Â
âAnd it didnât burn down completely. They rebuilt it, right?â Sam asked, voice thick with contemplation that Dean and Grace still didnât know anything about. He was making no sense, but theyâd been abused by weirder conversations.Â
âI guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talking about?â Kansas was always a sensitive topic for Dean, not that he would ever admit that, but his siblings had learned to sparingly bring up Mary and the house heâd spent the first six years of his life within after one to many explosive conversations. They all had a hard time discussing the events that had led up to where they currently found themselves in life, but it was different for Dean because he could remember what it was like to only worry about monsters in a hypothetical sense. He remembers what it was like to come home from school, have an afternoon snack at the table and work on homework. He remembers what life was supposed to be for them and even if he doesnât mind the hunter life, thereâs still a little boy inside of him that yearns for what he hadnât even had a chance to appreciate having at all.Â
âOkay look, this is gonna sound crazy but the people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger.â Sam sank into the chair next to Grace at the table, his eyes flickering to hers as he silently pleaded with her to blindly trust him on this. It never took much for Grace to do that, to put all of her trust into her brothers, but she still found herself frowning in concern as she glanced at Dean.Â
âWhy would you think that?â She asked hesitantly, soft eyes glancing back at her brother when it became evident that Dean wasnât going to be the one to speak up and dig further. His eyes were glued to the picture, like he was trying to memorize every detail of Maryâs face. Graceâs heart thumped in her chest, wishing desperately that she could remember her mother in even the smallest capacity. She couldnât. Sheâd never been able to.Â
âUmâ Just, uhâ Look, justâ you got to trust me on this, okay?â Sam was frantic, scrambling for anything that would turn Dean in his favor, but he didnât say anything else, anything more. He had given them crumbs and expected them to make an entire dessert. Grace could only frown deeper, rubbing at her head as the good mood sheâd woken up in began to ebb away.Â
Sam stood from the table, moving toward the bags they had stacked up on top of a dresser in the far corner. Grace and Dean shared a concerned glance before the latter was rising from his spot at the table, the picture still in his grip as he addressed Sam. âOkay woah, woah, woah. Trust you?âÂ
âYeah.â Sam nodded, breathless. Whatever had led him down this path had clearly shaken him, and he moved with an anxiousness that Grace hadnât seen since heâd packed his bags for Stanford nearly three years ago. Sheâd been only seventeen years old, not quite prepared to lose one of her brothers, and despite how much sheâd grown into herself since then, she feels that same unavoidable unease creeping up her spine as she watches Sam pack.Â
âCome on man, thatâs weak. You got to give me a little bit more than that.â Dean argued, standing between Sam and the door almost instinctively. Heâd let him walk out the first time, there was no way in hell it was happening again when there was even less to go off of now then there was when heâd decided to follow his dream of being a lawyer. At the very least, that was practical. This was just insane.Â
âI canât really explain it is all.â Sam fired back, glancing up from his duffle bag for a second before his gaze snapped back down to what he was doing and he continued shoving clothes and weapons inside.Â
Grace didnât move from the table near the windows, but her soft voice cut through the room sharply. Sheâd never been the type to ask first shoot later, not when it was her brothers calling the shots at least, but something about Samâs sudden interest in Kansas had her uneasy; like there was something far bigger going on just beneath her nose.âSammy, youâve gotta give us at least something to go off of.â
âWell, tough. Iâm not going anywhere until you do.â Dean came back at him, both of them ignoring Grace whoâd been trying to take a more level-headed approach. She rolled her eyes, wondering if theyâd ever be able to settle a disagreement without raising their voices.Â
For once, Sam wasnât quick to jump on Dean, sighing beneath his breath as he strained out his posture and faced the both of them fully. âI have these nightmares.â Fell off of his lips, but there was more still forming on his tongue that Grace expected to be the main reason for his sudden interest in revisiting Lawrence.Â
âIâve noticed.â Dean nodded, though his exasperation was poorly hidden beneath his clipped tone and exaggerated hand movements. Heâd been exceptionally bad at heart-to-heart moments lately, but the rekindling of old wounds had only given him a sharper edge. Grace didnât bristle so easily, keeping ehr gaze unassuming and soft and she nodded for Sam to continue, taking a sip of her hot chocolate despite the fact that it was cooling down to a gross temperatur and she didnât really want any more of it at all. Still she took a sip, feeling like she needed something to be doing with her hands as she waited for Sam to drop whatever bomb heâd been hiding on them.Â
âAnd sometimes they come true.â That was not at all what either Grace or Dean expected to hear, and the book-end Winchesters had near identical reactions as they flinched away from the spoken truth, their dark eyebrows raising in confusion amidst other conflicting emotions that swirled at the forefront of their minds.Â
âCome again?â Dean questioned, hoping that heâd heard Sam wrong, or at the very least had interpreted what heâd said wrong, but deep down he knew that wasnât the case, knew heâd heard Sam correctly.Â
Sam sighed, his eyes locking on Graceâs before he built up the courage to look back at Dean. Somehow, their sister was their safe person, and no matter the conflict, they looked to her for support not having to question if sheâd give it. Grace managed a weak smile, nodding softly for Sam to continue. âLook, I dreamt about Jessicaâs death for days before it happened.â
âSome people have weird dreams, man. Iâm sure itâs just a coincidence.â Dean shook his head, desperately wanting to convince Sam that what he thought to be true was just odd timing. Grace wasnât so sure that he wanted to convince Sam of that for his benefit, or for his own personal sake. Dean had a good grip on his external emotions, but she was sure that this was freaking him out because it was freaking her out; not that it took much to rattle her. Sheâd always been the jumpiest of the three.Â
Sam shook his head, his voice wavering the more he spoke about these nightmares and their direct correlation to events in his life. He looked so far from the strong, confident man that Grace had come to know since running away to Stanford. Theyâd both found themselves there, had created lives that had nothing to do with monsters and hunting, but the more time they spent away from the normalcy of campus life, the more they were losing themselves to the shadows of who theyâd always been before that. She didnât like it, but there was only so much they could do to change the inevitable. âNo. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, and I didnât do anything about it âcause I didnât believe it. Now Iâm dreaming about that tree, our house, and some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, thatâs where it all started. This has to mean something.âÂ
âI donât know.â Dean admitted weakly, sinking into the bed as he looked down at the picture in his hands again, trying hard to wrap his head around what Sam had just laid out in the open. Sure, theyâd been the one to push him to open up, but neither one of them could have anticipated this being what had him so rattled and set on returning back to Kansas.Â
Grace locked eyes with Sam for a second, still sat beside the window despite every nerve in her body telling her to run as far away from all of this as she could. âEven if you have these dreams, Jessicaâs death isnât on you, Sammy. Itâs not your fault.â She offered weakly, and for a minute Samâs eyes flickered with something softer, but then they hardened again and he returned his gaze to Dean.Â
âWhat do you mean you donât know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica.â His voice raised, still trembling, still vulnerable, but there was a weight beneath his words that only drove his desperation further into the thick air of the motel room.Â
Dean grumbled at his younger brother's persistence, standing from where he was perched on the bed to instead pace the carpeted floors. âAll right, slow down, would you?â Dean didnât beg, but he was pretty damn close to sounding like he was as he tried to get his thoughts and the facts in order. They knew monsters existed, theyâd known that for decades. They had friends and connections that were psychics, so what was to say that Sam didnât fall into that same mysterious category. There was little to deny the possibility, but accepting the truth felt heavy, like it would change the basis of everything theyâd ever known and fought for. âI mean, first youâre telling me that youâve got The ShiningâŠand then you tell me that I've got to go back home, especially whenâŠâ Grace looks down at her hands, squeezing her fingers into tight fists when they begin to tremble without her consent. Her chest is tightening, sheâs aware of it, but she needs to keep herself together. Sam looks to be on the verge of tears, and Dean isnât faring much better. She canât be the one to break down, not when they need somebody to be strong, but she canât say that this isnât a lot for her too. Seh remembers the years when all sheâd ever wanted was to know about Mary. Sheâd ask John about her every little detail, even when those questions got her locked in motel closets and kicked out of diners; made to wait on the curb outside until the boys were finished eating. Going to Kansas had been something sheâd wanted desperately at one point in her life, but now sheâs not so sure she can face what shouldâve been her life. Itâs not fair that she has to.Â
âWhen what?â Sam pleads with Dean, his voice soft and breathy. His eyes are wide, desperate and vulnerable as he lays everything he has left within him out on the table for his siblings to scrutinize and unpack at their own will.Â
âWhen I swore to myself that I would never go back there.â Deanâs voice wavers, and Grace can see the tears pooling in his eyes as he turns his back to Sam, facing the windows before his chin sinks to his chest and he draws in a shaky breath.Â
âLook, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.â Sam pleads, his eyes flickering to Grace, but he doesnât need to look at her to know that sheâs with him wherever life leads. Sheâd follow her brothers to the ends of the earth, because they were the only people that had ever been there for her through the thick and thin of life and its hardships.Â
Dean takes a second, but eventually his head nods just slightly, and he peers over his shoulder to find Samâs eyes. His jaw is clenched, his eyebrows are furrowed, but there's determination in his features that both of his siblings can read. âI know we do.â He says, and thatâs all it takes for Grace to stand from the table in the corner of the room, knowing that within the hour theyâd be off and on the road toward a place she hadnât been since she was six months old.Â
-
The car is quiet, filled with adrenaline and grief. Deanâs mood hangs heavy, and Samâs isnât much better. Theyâd said little about where they were headed since bags had been packed and the keys had been pressed into the ignition, but as they pass another sign on the side of the roads where overgrown crops and bushes thrive with the turn of Springtime weather, the atmosphere shifts to something different; something that Grace canât quite interpret. She feels a small smile tug at her lips as she reads the words âWelcome to Lawrenceâ , unable to deny that there's a small part of her that feels healed just being in this town. Her mother had lived here. Mary Winchester had lived within these town lines, and that meant something to the youngest Winchester even if it was just another fact to her older brothers.Â
âThis isnât what I expected.â Grace hums quietly, unable to take the silence any longer. She knows this is hard for both Sam and Dean, itâs hard for her, but thereâs something inside of her that feels like it's been reawakened now that sheâs physically seeing the streets that her mother had walked on a daily basis. Had Mary envisioned walking her down these same streets? Had she thought that at one point, sheâd sign Grace up for dance class at the ballet studio they passed right beside a small pharmacy? There were endless possibilities that would never have answers, but Grace still held onto the hope of inquiring anyways. It was all she had, and so it had to mean something.Â
âWhat did you expect?â Sam asks with a light laugh, craning his head to look into the backseat and see her fully. Her body is pressed up against the driver's side door, her eyes wide and breathtakingly bright as she takes in all of the different houses and shops along the roads. For the first time in hours, his lips curve into a soft smile, and what awaits doesnât feel so heavy anymore.Â
âI donât know⊠cows, maybe? Iâd always thought that there was a farm.â She hummed thoughtfully, only just realizing how stereotypically normal Lawrence, Kansas is. Grace had always thought that there would be something unordinary in the town, something that set it apart from every other midwest suburb. She didnât know why, sheâd never know what, but that assumption had made it easier to swallow the trajectory of her childhood and adolescence when she was able to grab onto it. Now, after figuring out that the only abnormal thing had been them, her family, well, her heart fell further down into her belly, something twisting up within her that she couldnât place, but it didnât fully dim the sparkle that twinkled beneath her green eyes.Â
âSorry to disappoint, Gracie.â Sam laughed, reaching into the backseat to pat her knee affectionately. Even if her eyes were bright with wonder, he could still recognize the traces of pain and grief etched across her expression; he could still see how hard this was for her beneath the mask of enjoyment sheâd crafted near perfectly.Â
As Dean slowed the car until it came to a near complete stop in front of a two-story house that was painted a welcoming shade of baby blue, her eyes narrowed with scrutiny. There was no mistaking it as their own. The tree in the front yard, though it had aged and changed with passing time, remained almost entirely the same as it had appeared in the picture John kept in the first few pages of his journal. The surrounding area had changed since 1985 when the picture had been snapped, but it wasnât hard to establish that this is the place they were meant to be in. She was antsy to step out of the car, to firmly plant her feet on the ground where her mother had walked. Sheâd spent twenty years desperately longing for a maternal figure, and while there wasnât a way to bring Mary back, this was still the closest that Grace had ever gotten to knowing who she had been at all.Â
âYou gonna be alright, man?â Sam braved the question that Grace didnât have the courage to say as Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition, his eyes focused on the house heâd spent the first six years of his life in. This was hard for Grace because sheâd never gotten the chance to actually know this house or her mother, but Dean fell on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She couldnât imagine being him in this moment.Â
A beat of silence elapsed as Dean kept his eyes on the house, a million memories playing in his head, but eventually he trailed his gaze to Sam, a soft, nearly inaudible sound, falling off of his lips. âLet me get back to you on that.â He requested, and both of his younger siblings nodded curtly. They could do that, they could give him the time to figure out how he was feeling before talking about it.Â
Grace waited for Dean to step out of the car first, but when it became obvious that he wasnât going to be the one to make a move, Sam opened his door, nodding for Grace to follow him even if Dean remained in the car. He didnât. The second Grace had her feet on the ground, he was stepping out onto the road, breathing in through his nose before he exhaled through his mouth attempting to sike himself up for whatever faced them.Â
Grace shuffled toward her eldest brother somewhat desperately, wrapping an arm around his waist as she stole an awkward hug. Her soft green eyes flickered up to meet his after a moment of contemplation, and even though his lips were set into a thin expression of neutrality, he didnât pull away from the embrace. Sam was steps ahead of them both, hardly even aware that theyâd stopped at all, but Grace didnât mind the separation between them, desperately needing this quiet minute with Dean to have any chance at finding the strength she needed to get through this, even if it didnât turn out to be their kind of gig. His arm fell around her shoulders, pulling her tighter into his side when he finally pulled himself out of the trance-like state heâd been in before.Â
âYou gonna be okay, sweetheart?â He asked quietly, keeping his hushed voice away from Sam who still hadnât realized he walked alone toward the front door.Â
Grace nodded, her head resting on Deanâs shoulder as she craned her neck to meet his worried eyes. She forced a slight smile, downplaying the torrential downpour of emotions that were muddying her clarity. Regardless, she gave him an answer. âThis is what Iâve always wanted, isnât it?âÂ
Dean sighed when Grace pulled away from his touch before he could tell her that she didnât have to be strong just because sheâd always wanted to come back here. He followed after her silently, joining Sam on the front porch, though he stuck close to Graceâs side, able to see through her near-perfectly curated mask of indifference. He promised himself that for her sake, he could see this case out.Â
The door creaked open seconds later, and all three Winchesters stared at the woman in front of them for a second too long for it to be a normal exchange before Dean was slipping into his chosen role; not that theyâd discussed what alibi theyâd be giving this woman to keep their tracks clean. âSorry to bother you, maâam, but weâre with the Federalââ He began, but was quickly interrupted by Grace, who couldnât lie in the face of honest truth. There was truth here, and fragile honesty, and she didnât want to be some variant of herself that was fake and sleazy. Mary wouldnât want that for her, for any of them, even if sheâd never really known the woman, somehow Grace was sure of that fact.Â
âIâm Grace Winchester, and these are my brothers Sam and Dean. We used to live here. Or, they did. I was a baby. But, I mean, I guess I lived here too. Um,â Grace fumbled over her words nervously, pulling at her knuckles as she tried to keep her eyes from peering behind the woman and inside of the house. Did it look the same? Had they kept the same layout? The same wallpapers and tile? She wouldnât know, but the questions still came to her anyway. âWe were just driving by, and we were wondering if we could see the old place.âÂ
Grace couldnât stand to look at her brothers, so she kept her eyes on the woman in front of her, who smiled fondly at her rambling with a tilted head. This woman was a mother, Grace knew that the second sheâd started rambling and all sheâd received was a fond smile of encouragement. âThat is so funny.â The woman noted, opening the door wider, giving all three of the siblings a deeper glance inside the house. âI think I found some of your things the other night. A stuffed bear and some photos. You said your name was Grace, right?âÂ
âYes maâam.â Grace nodded, her eyes tearful as she tried to keep herself together, but the longer she spent outside of the house that had been the only physical home sheâd ever known, the harder it got to keep her emotions underwraps. Even if this turned out to be one of their gigs, it wasnât just any other hunt. She couldnât lie to herself and say that it was.Â
âCome on in.â The woman smiled after a brief pause, and the invitation was all that Sam needed. He stepped over the threshold without hesitation, but Grace and Dean lingered outside. After nearly twenty years, they were back home, back at the place that had simultaneously started their lives and derailed them.Â
Grace flinched when Dean laid a firm hand between her shoulder blades, but stepped over the threshold with a shaky breath. Dean closed the door behind them, his eyes sweeping across every piece of decor he could find, searching for something that Grace didnât know about. Evidently, he came up empty, because as quickly as hope had filled his eyes, it vanished. They followed the woman into the kitchen where a little boy was kept occupied in a playpen, but he didnât seem all that interested in the toys scattered around his feet, instead, he held onto the wooden bars, bouncing on his toes and demanding juice.
âThatâs Richie. Heâs kind of a juice junkie but, hey, at least he wonât get scurvy.â The woman laughed as she unlocked the refrigerator and reached for a sippy cup of what Grace could only assume was apple juice. She smiled fondly as the blonde crossed the floor and held out the cup for her son, ruffling his chestnut brown hair before she turned her attention back on the siblings.Â
A young girl, no older than ten-years-old, sat at the counter filling out a sheet of homework. She wore a collared shirt beneath a sweater, her hair brushed and pulled neatly into a half-up half-down style. Grace wondered if her mother had done that. If sheâd taken the time out of her morning to dress her kids in expensive clothes and style their hair to perfection. John had never done that for her. The earliest memory she has of having her hair brushed was by Deanâs hands, and heâd been less than gentle as he tugged out the knots and kept her still between his knees, stressed beyond belief as she wailed and squirmed away from the pain. Their lives had never been fair, but Grace was beyond glad that at least Sariâs seemed to be. âSari, this is Sam, Dean, and Grace. They used to live here.â Â
âHi, Sari.â Grace greeted the girl softly, her smile warm and inviting like it always was when she didnât have a role to slip into. It was weird, being on a case but having no cover story, though she wouldnât say she minded the freedom to just be herself.Â
âSo, you just moved in?â Dean questioned, his eyes sweeping across the kitchen before they found the woman. Grace wasnât sure if sheâd even told them her name yet, but she couldnât find the strength to ask as emotions piled up in her throat.Â
âUh, yeah, from Wichita.âÂ
âYou got family here?â The question was innocent enough, but the woman still bristled as it fell into the air and smothered her beneath its weight.Â
âNo, I just, uh⊠um, needed a fresh start. Thatâs all.â She explains through thick emotions that she's obviously trying to keep away from her children. When Sari looks up, she forces a smile, breaking off into a different approach to explain how they found themselves in Lawrence. âSo new town, now job â I mean, as soon as I find oneâ new house.âÂ
âSo, how are you liking it so far?â Sam asks quietly when she turns to the sink, and her head snaps back to glance at them as she finds an answer to the question on her tongue.Â
âWell, uh, all due respect to your childhood home â I mean, Iâm sure you have lots of happy memories here â but this place has its issues.â Grace bristles at the mention of happy memories. Sheâs honestly not sure that she has any at all â in this house or anywhere else that sheâs lived â, and the realization that even some of the âbestâ moments of her life were still twinged with worry and pain has her glancing down at her feet, tears pricking her eyes.Â
âWhat do you mean?â Sam questions again, his eyebrows furrowed as he runs through a mental list of any abnormalities he can think of that relate to their unique specialty. Grace doesnât even bother trying to play the role of a hunter in this moment, taking the time to just be a twenty-year-old kid with no real connection to anything real in life outside of her brothers.Â
âWell, itâs just getting old, like, the wiring, you know? Weâve got flickering lights almost hourly.â She can feel Dean stiffen at her side, and instinctively her hand reaches for his. She wants to berate herself for being so quick to an emotional response, but for once she just lets herself be, not having the energy to wage a war against her instincts when her heart is hammering in her chest to the point where sheâs almost certain the insides of her ribs will bare bruises in the aftermath of this encounter.Â
âWell thatâs too bad. What else?â Dean, ever the stoic individual allergic to showing vulnerable emotions in the presence of others, lets her hold onto him, and softly he squeezes her hand between his fingers, reminding her that despite what they face and what stains their pasts, heâs here with her in this current moment.Â
âUm⊠sinkâs backed up. Thereâs rats in the basement.â She prattles on, but when Deanâs lips purse, she looks away bashfully; almost apologetically. âIâm sorry. I donât mean to complain.âÂ
âNo.â Deanâs quick to brush off her apology, smiling brightly despite the pain that clutches his heart in an iron grip and refuses to loosen. âHave you seen the rats or just heard the scratching?âÂ
Thereâs a flicker of contemplation on her face before it clears, and she inclines her head just slightly to the left as she trails her gaze up to meet Deanâs eyes.âJust the scratching, actually.â
Deanâs eyes flicker to the floor in a moment of realization â both that there was something here, and Sam was right to be frantic about the sudden happenings in his subconscious â but before her can question anything further, Sari was craning to face her mother somewhat bashfully. âMom?â Her voice was incredibly thin, and Grace didnât miss the way her shoulders sank beneath the weight of something.
The woman â who Grace has still not retained the name of â approaches her daughter quickly, abandoning the dish rag on the edge of the countertop to address her eldest child. She bends down to meet Sariâs level, and immediately the little girl's voice slips out timidly,âAsk them if it was here when they lived here.âÂ
For a moment, the mother looked panicked, but there was evident concern etched across her brow as she knew immediately what her daughter was so worried about. Before she had the chance to reassure Sari, or at least try to get the Winceshers to silently pick up on the need for reassurance, Sam was inclining his head encouragingly. âWhat thing, Sari?â He coached.
âThe thing in my closet.â Sariâs eyes flicker downward almost immediately, and she doesnât look up until her mother crouches beside her again, shaking her head in unabashed concern; somethin John Winchester had never shown his children. Graceâs heart clenches with longing as she watches the encounter unfold. Even if John hadnât been the way he was when she was growing up, she doesnât think she ever wouldâve had this. Dean and Sam; Grace thinks that they wouldâve, at least in some manly âbro-codeâ way. She doesnât harp on what sheâll never know for long, because Sariâs defiance against the reassurance Sam tried to give was all too familiar. âI wasnât dreaming. It came into my bedroom, and it was on fire.â Sari defends, and the hairs on the back of Graceâs neck rise.Â
With the confirmation that something was definitely happening inside of the house, the Winchesters quickly excused themselves. Grace stepped out of the house ahead of her brothers, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadnât even realized was blooming within her chest until she was no longer surrounded by what mightâve been relics of her past, but also couldâve been new things.Â
âYou hear that? A figure on fire!â Sam exclaims as he stomped down the stairs with passionate intent, his head craned in Deanâs direction as Grace remained steps ahead of them, needing to be in the car and surrounded by comfortable familiarity for at least a handful of minutes.Â
âAnd Jenny was the woman in your dreams?â Dean double-checks, wanting to be sure that this hadnât all been some odd one-off coincidence, not that he could really argue that case anymore, but desperately he tried to find grounds to believe it, not wanting to admit that their lives and their already askew definition of normal was becoming even more abnormal and eerie by the hour.Â
âYeah, and you hear what she was talking about â scratching, flickering light? Both signs of a malevolent spirit.â Sam doubled-down, and Grace could only sigh, continuing to listen to her brothers back and forth without contributing anything herself.Â
âIâm just freaked out your weirdo visions are coming true.â Dean snapped, his jaw set tight as he picked up his pace, rushing toward the Impala with a desperate urge to just get the hell out of dodge and let what was apparently prophesied to happen, happen. He hated that he thought that at all, always the first one to defend the line of work they found themselves tangled into, but even he was beginning to feel indifferent about the case that brought them right back to where the worst night of their lives had occurred.Â
Sam wasnât as rattled as his siblings, and with fiery passion, he scoffed. âForget about that â the thing in the house, do you think itâs the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?âÂ
âI donât know!â Dean raised his voice, clearly frazzled from how many times Maryâs death had been dragged into conversation, but Sam still didnât relent, if anything, his voice got more strained than it had been as he held his hands out at his sides.Â
âI mean, has it come back or has it been there the whole time?â
âOr maybe it's something else entirely Sam. We donât know yet!â Dean argued, for once coming across as the logical one of the two as Sam was fueled by raw emotion and terror, just not the same bone shattering emotion that his siblings felt. He was worried, panicked, sure, but Grace and Dean were terrified, and submerged in grief that had spanned across twenty years.Â
âThose people are in danger Dean, we have to get them out of that house.â Sam threw back at his brother.
âAnd we will.â Dean assured, hoping that would be enough to sway Sam from doing anything irrational before they had all of the facts in line and a game plan, but all it did was spur him on more.
âNo, I mean now.â The middle Winchester demanded, and had they still been inside the house, Grace knows his voice wouldâve bounced off the walls with how loud it was. She couldnât help but flinch away from the conflict, shrinking into herself as she watched her brothers squabble like children.Â
âAnd how are you gonna do that? You got a story sheâs gonna believe?â Dean threw his hands out in exasperation, his voice rising to match Samâs.Â
âThen what are we supposed to do?â Sam snapped, but there was evident worry shining through that hadnât been so obvious before. He hadnât done everything he couldâve to save Jessica, but now he had a chance to not let this woman die in the same way. Grace could sympathize with the grief and responsibility Sam undeniably felt, but acting rash and being quick to emotion was only going to get them all killed. Sam knew that once, he lived by that motto, but every day that passes in the wake of Jessicaâs murder only drives him farther and farther away from the beaten path theyâve walked for years.Â
âWe wait, Sam! You know this!â Grace snapped, pushing herself off of the car door to stand between her brothers, aware of how her hands tremble and her voice wavers with emotions she has no control over. âGet your head out of your ass and think about those kids â that woman. You want to make up for how you handled Jessica, I get that, Dean gets that, but going in now is a sure fire way to get all of us killed, or worse, outed. So, would you please get in the fucking car already and stop acting like a toddler with no sense of impulse control?â She didnât wait to see his reaction, she didnât need to look at him to know that tears glimmered in his sad light eyes and his mouth hung open in startled shock.Â
She slipped into the backseat without another word, pulling the door closed with unnecessary force. Dean shook his head, but in a moment of vulnerability, he pointed his words at Sam carefully. âI canât have the both of you breaking down on this, man, and I canât â we canât â ask her to pretend like being here isnât killing her. So for the love of god, start thinking about more people than just yourself, would you?âÂ
Sam nodded after a minute, looking past the reflection on the windows to see Grace. She has her nails between her lips, teeth gnawing away at scabbed over skin as she draws in deep breaths that donât look to be having the desired effect as her shoulders remain tense and her back rigid. He hadnât really seen her before, heâd been too far into his own head and worries, but he does now, and his heart hammers with guilt when he realizes that being here is the reason sheâs so on edge. Sheâd wanted this moment for decades; had spent years grilling John about Mary and the first six months of her life only to be met with silence or explosive rage. She was finally here, finally getting to see what shouldâve been her life â their lives â, and it was muddled by the very demon that had taken it all away from her. His heart hurt for Jessica, for himself, but it hurt even more for his little sister that only ever tried to find the good in the shitty cards life dealt her.Â
-
âWe just got to chill out, thatâs all.â Dean said as he leaned against the trunk of the car, both him and Sam waiting by the pump as Grace ran inside to grab a handful of snacks to tide them over until they had a chance to grab a real bite to eat. She hadnât said much since theyâd pulled away from Jennyâs house, but she didnât need to say anything at all for her brothers to know she was drowning. âIf this was any other kind of job, what would we do?âÂ
Sam sighed, dropping his hands to the hood of the car as he looked around, racking his brain for the procedure theyâd perfected and followed over years of trial and error. âWeâd try to figure out what we were dealing with. Weâd dig into the history of the house.âÂ
âExactly, except this time we already know what happened.â Dean nodded, but Sam wasnât too sure that he was right about that.Â
âYeah, but how much do we know? How much do you actually remember?â Sam sat on the trunk of the car, finally out of his head enough to address the bigger questions that he had.Â
Dean sighed, âAbout that night, you mean?â
âYeah.â Samâs encouragement was blunt, but he knew better than to try and press Dean any harder than that.Â
âNot much.â The eldest Winchester admitted after a moment of contemplation, âI remember that you had wet the bed so Mom put you down in Gracieâs room. I remember waking up to Mom screaming. I remember the fire⊠the heat. Then I carried you out the front door.â It wasnât all that Dean remembered, but the more specific visuals didnât need to be spoken. They werenât important, but they flashed before Deanâs eyes anyways as he let himself remember the first night heâd ever tried to block out of his memory.Â
Samâs head inclines to the side, and he turns his gaze to settle on Deanâs. âYou did?âÂ
âYeah, well, you never knew that?â Dean frowned, but continued anyway. Heâd spent decades holding onto these troubled memories, but being back where it had all happened, he just didnât see the point in keeping them so close to his heart anymore. âDad gave you to me. Told me to get outside as quickly as I could. Gracie was in their room⊠I think⊠I think Dad tried to get Mom first, but when he couldnât, he went and got Gracie and met us outside. He got out there just before the explosion.â
âNo.â Sam didnât know what to make of that information. Heâd never thought much about how heâd gotten out of the house, but now that he knew it was Dean, well something changed inside of him that he couldnât quite place.Â
âWell, you know Dadâs story as well as I do â Mom was⊠was on the ceiling, and whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.âÂ
Sam frowned, craning his head to glance at Dean before his eyes wandered to the scenery around them. âAnd he never had a theory about what did it?â
Dean shook his head, turning to sit beside Sam on the trunk.âIf he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times. God knows Gracie asked him enough times.âÂ
Sam didnât want to accept that as the truth, but it was all that they had to go off of, and so he found himself taking the information for what it was worth anyways. âOkay. So, if weâre gonna figure out whatâs going on now, we have to figure out what happened back then, and see if itâs the same thing.âÂ
âYeah,â Dean agreed, his eyes squinted as the sun shone brightly overhead. âTalk to Dadâs friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.âÂ
âDoes this feel like just another job to you?â Sam asked, his voice solemn and quiet as he peered out at the road ahead of him.Â
Dean swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as his adams apple bobbed. He didnât answer the question, couldnât bring himself to, and quickly he excused himself, not wanting to cry in front of Sam, and desperately not wanting Grace to choose this very moment to come back outside. âIâll be right back. I got to go to the bathroom.â He excused, even though he knew Sam could see through the weak excuse.Â
Minutes later, Grace came out of the gas station holding three bags of chips and a milkshake. The straw was pink, and on any other day she wouldâve beamed at the small detail, but her eyes barely held onto their light as she sank into the trunk beside Sam, offering him the bag of doritos sheâd snagged with him in mind. âIâm sorry.â She admitted quietly, glancing up to meet his eyes with nothing but sadness and regret clouding her green gaze. âI know this is a lot for both of you, not just me. I know Iâll never be able to understand how you feel about Jessicaâs death. I just, I couldnât listen to you fighting anymore. Not whenâ not whenââÂ
âHey, hey.â Sam shook his head, cutting Graceâs tearful rambling off by throwing an arm over her shoulder, pulling her warm body into his embrace with gentle protectiveness. âI know, Gracie. Itâs okay.â He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, his eyes fluttering closed as for a minute, he let himself slip away into stillness. âDean and I, weâre gonna canvas the area. Talk to anyone Dad mightâve had a connection to; anyone who might know more about what happened to Mom. If itâs too much, you donât have to come. Believe me, Dean and I understand.âÂ
Grace shook her head, holding tighter to her milkshake that was hardly doing its job of bringing her comfort. âNo. No, I needâ I need to know. I want to know. You and Dean, you had Dad. Maybe he was an asshole, maybe you didnât always see eye to eye, but he was still a guy, and in his own fucked up way he showed you he cared. I remember when heâd come back from a hunt with new hot wheels for you; when he was so fucking proud that Dean caught a bass on that fishing trip we took when he went to visit Bobby that one time. I just, Sammy, I want Mom. Iâve always just wanted a Mom. I want to know everything about her, and if this is all Iâll ever get, I have to be there to hear it myself. I just⊠I h-have to.â Tears fell down her cheeks, hot and salty as they pooled around the straw pinched between her teeth.Â
âOkay.â Sam sighed softly, pressing another kiss into Graceâs head. âOkay. But I mean it, G. If this gets too much, if itâs not what you want to hear, or itâs too hardâ Dadâs not here. You donât have to push yourself to do this with us. Promise me⊠promise me that youâll step away if you canât do it.âÂ
âYou know I canât promise that.â Grace shook her head, not only because this was everything sheâd ever wanted as a little girl desperately craving a maternal figure, but also because John Winchester would have a shit fit if he knew she was slacking; letting her brothers finish a hunt alone. He might not be here to see her fail, but itâs too close to home for anything she does to feel right.Â
âI know.â Sam sighed, but his gaze snaps to Dean when he starts to approach the Impala, his hands in his pockets as he looks his eyes down. âSheâs all ready to go.â Sam was talking about the car, about how the tank was finally filled and they could hit the road, but he was also talking about Grace.Â
Dean looked his sister over, and when he didnât find signs of unruly distress, he nodded, but not before Grace extended her arm and waved around the mint chocolate chip milkshake. âThey had one of those fâreal machines.â She hums quietly, silently offering him a sip. Not because she wants to share, no sheâd always been territorial over her milkshakes and the boys had learned that the hard way over the years, but rather because she figured Dean could use a little pick me up, even if her offer was weak and he didnât like milkshakes nearly as much as she did.Â
The eldest Winchester managed a soft smirk, and he reached out to take the cup. He took a sip that was far too big for Graceâs liking, and the youngest Winchester pouted in disbelief. âHey! Donât drink it all!â She whined, reaching for the cup back before jutting her foot out to assault Deanâs shin. âAsshole.â She grumbled.Â
âGet in the car, princess.â Dean knows how much his sister hates that nickname, and although Grace rolls her eyes in annoyance, she doesnât fight it as aggressively as she would've done any other day. This isnât any other day, and itâs definitely not any other case, and for the first time in a while she really does appreciate her brother's tendencies to annoy the living shit out of her.Â
-
It was the next morning, and the Winchester siblings had an early start to the day despite none of them getting much sleep. Grace stuck close to Dean and Sam as they wandered through a mechanic garage, their eyes taking in every detail with the knowledge that once, John had not only worked here, but owned it. It feels so far-fetched to Grace. She canât imagine a life where her father did anything but torment sorry sons of bitches (i.e., her) and hunt monsters, but apparently heâd had himself a quaint little life before everything got derailed.Â
âSo, you and John Winchester. You used to own this garage together?â Dean questioned, his leather jacket slung around his shoulders despite the comfortable temperature outside. Grace was in a pair of leggings and a Stanford t-shirt, one of many that sheâd stolen from not only Sam, but from Jessica. She knows the one she wears currently is the womans, and it brings her just the slightest ounce of peace as she strives to keep her memory alive.Â
âYeah, we used to. A long time ago. Matter of fact, must be 20 years since John disappeared. If Iâm remembering correct, his littlest one should be about your age.â The man muttered, looking at Grace, who for the time being, was playing the role of cop in training. She tried not to bristle at the mention of herself, but her fingers twitched with emotion that lucky didnât draw eyes. âSo, why are the cops interested all of a sudden?âÂ
âOh, weâre reopening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of them.â Dean nodded, looking to Sam before he trailed his eyes back to his fathers old business partner.Â
âUh-huh. Well, what do you want to know about John?â The mechanic questioned, and Grace was suddenly aware of who truly off her game she was. She knows the man introduced himself, knows that Sam and Dean both had told her who he is and what his connection to their father was, but she cannot find his name in her memory anywhere.Â
âWhatever you remember. Whatever sticks out in your mind.â Dean opened the conversation up to miniscule details and major ones, knowing that theyâd be able to do a lot with any information at all.Â
âWell⊠he was a stubborn bastard. I remember that. And, uh, oh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It was that whole marine thing.â The mechanic had no idea who the three individuals in front of him really were, but somehow it wasnât surprising for Grace to hear from an unbiased opinion that her father was a rough character and a hard man. âBut, uh. Well, he sure loved Mary, and he doted on those kids.â Grace couldnât picture a time where John had felt anything but resentment and hatred for her, but evidently there had been a small window of love because the man had no reason to be lying to them. What had changed? Sure, losing Mary had changed him, but there were still moments in the early years when he didnât treat the boys any differently than he always had. So, it mustâve been her. There must be something so horrible about her that even her father canât stand her simple presence.Â
âBut that was before the fire.â Sam noted, almost certain that he was correct, but needing verbal confirmation to fully run with whatever theories he was trying to wave together.Â
âThatâs right.â The man nodded, his eyes falling to the concrete floors as memories flooded his mind.Â
âHe ever talk about that night?â Sam continued to press, but there was an unmistakable gentleness in his tone as he flickered his eyes to Grace momentarily.Â
âNo, not at first. I think he was in shock.â Grace could picture that being the case. Even when John had formed a thick skin around monsters and the plethora of things that went bump in the night, there had still been cases that rattled him to a short temper and violent anger. Grace had always thought that was one of the most ironic things about the way she was raised. John allowed himself to be rattled and affected by the cases he worked and the monsters he hunted, but the second it was her that couldnât quite carry the load of trauma and terror, she was berated and beaten until she promised to never show weakness again.Â
âRight, but eventually â what did he say about it?âÂ
âOh, he wasnât thinking straight. He said, uhâ he said something caused that fire and killed Mary.â The man nodded as he remembered events that happened almost twenty years ago.Â
âHe ever said what did it?â It was Deanâs turn to press for more, and so Grace shifted her weight, squaring her stance as she raised her chin to look at the man who had known her father before everything went downhill.Â
âNothing did it. It was an accident.â The man bristled, âAn electrical short in the ceiling or walls or something. I begged him to get some help, butâŠâÂ
âBut what?â Grace found herself being the one to ask, her eyes sharp and interested even though all she really wanted to do was shrink into herself and step as far away from this conversation as she could get. She wanted to know about Mary, about her mother, not listen to people try and sympathize with her lifelong abuser.Â
âOh, it just got worse and worse.â The man noted, but when Dean pressed for more, he relented easily. âOh, he started reading these strange old books. He started going to see this palm reader in town.âÂ
Grace perked up at the mention of someone new for them to tail, her eyes narrowing as she inclined her head and looked up at Dean. âPalm reader? Do you have a name, sir?âÂ
âNo.â The man chuckled, shaking his head like not having a name wasnât the end of the world. Maybe it wasnât to him, but Grace felt her shoulders sink in defeat. It wouldnât be impossible to locate which one her father had visited, theyâd found more with less, but still it felt like just another roadblock keeping her from the truth.Â
They didnât stick around for much longer, and when they did finally clamber into the Impala, Sam insisted that they find a phone booth and book to search for more answers about this supposed palm reader. Grace had no objections to her brother's suggestion, nodding her head quietly as she sank into the backseat and pulled her knees to her chest. Once upon a time, Dean had been adamant about a âno shoes on my seatsâ rule, but that had lasted merely a week before he gave up and let Grace do whatever she damn well pleased. Even if the young woman didnât realize it, she always got what she wanted when her brothers were around.Â
Thatâs how they found themselves in a near abandoned parking lot. Sam had his nose in a phone book, and Dean and Grace leaned against the Impala, happy to take a step back for a minute to get their composure in order. âSo, there are a few psychics and palm readers in town. Thereâs uh, thereâs someone named El Divino. Thereâs the mysterious Mr. Fortinsky. Uh, Missouri Moseleyââ Grace stood up straighter at the third name that rolled off of Samâs lips.Â
âWait! Missouri Moseley?â She backtracked, her eyes wide as she stepped forward to read the name over Samâs shoulder.Â
âWhat?â Sam craned his head to look at his little sister, moving the book just slightly so that she could see the entire page, not sure what information she was after or what puzzle she was putting together in her head.Â
âSheâs a psychic.â The young woman breathed out in realization, immediately pulling away from Sam and stalking toward the trunk of the car, leaving her brothers to stand alone in their confusion as she unintentionally kept them in the dark. She pulled the trunk open, her movements frantic as she ripped through their duffles until she found Johnâs journal. âIn Dadâs journal⊠come here, look at this!âÂ
She slammed the trunk closed, flipping open the worn leather cover as her eyes scanned the words scribbled in black ink. âThe first page, the first sentence. Iâve always thought it was weird. Read it.âÂ
She pushed the book into Deanâs hands, and Sam came to stand beside their brother, his eyes scanning the page before he began to read aloud. âI went to MissouriâŠand I learned the truth.âÂ
âI always thought he meant the state.â Dean mumbled beneath his breath, but Grace had never been so blind to the intricate quirks of Johnâs work. The way he wrote state names and people names was different, if only just slightly. The way heâd dotted the âiâ like heâd been trying to signify something without outright saying it had always stumped her. Her fathers handwriting was terrible and messy, but something about Missouri had always seemed so formal and correct to her. She didnât say anything else, just snatched the journal back and crawled into the backseat, silently telling the boys to get a move on before she melted down from anxious anticipation.Â
-
The Winchester siblings sat in the foyer of Missorui Mosleyâs home and practice, waiting for their turn with the psychic as they individually went over what they knew about the case. It wasnât even a full five minutes later when they heard a womanâs voice draw near, and seconds later a black woman who Grace assumed to be the woman they were seeking a conversation with led a middle-aged man out toward the door. âAll right, then. Donât you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.â She smiles encouragingly, showing the client out, but the second she closes the door behind him her expression drops into one of pity, âWhew! Poor bastard â his woman is cold-banginâ the gardener.âÂ
Graceâs lips quirk upward in tired amusement, her eyes trailing after Missouri as she steps back toward where sheâd come from. âWhy didnât you tell him?â Dean questioned, a smirk splaying across his lips although Grace thinks that has more to do with the mental image rather than the actual deception at hand.Â
âPeople don't come here for the truth. They come for good news.â The woman corrects Deanâs expectations for her service, and when it becomes clear that Grace is waiting for her brothers to make a move and neither of the Winchester men are eager to comply with the time crunch theyâve been presented with, Missouri looks back over her shoulder in exasperation. âWell? Sam and Dean, come on already. I ainât got all day. Your sisters waiting for you.âÂ
Despite the emotional exhaustion that weighed Grace down, she couldnât help but find herself smiling as she stood from the cushioned bench and followed after Missouri, looking back at her brothers with amusement as they begrudgingly followed after her, evidently not so pleased with the favoritism their sister was already being shown by the psychic.Â
âWell, let me look at you.â Missouri demanded once all three Winchesters had ducked beneath her doorframe decorated in beads. Graceâs cheeks flushed bashfully as she felt the woman's eyes rake over her frame, subconsciously rubbing at the spot on her bicep where a bruise always lingered whenever John was around to drag her around like a puppet. If Missouri noticed the movement, which Grace knew that she did, she didnât comment on it. âOh, you boys grew up handsome. And you were one goofy looking kid, too.â She pointed to Dean specifically, and Samâs lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced at their older brother. âAnd you, Miss Grace, you look just like your mother. If I didnât know any better Iâd say I was looking at her carbon copy.âÂ
Graceâs heart thumped heavily in her chest at the complement, her cheeks flushing pink as she glanced down at her shoes bashfully. In all of her life, she doesnât think anyones ever compared her to Mary; not John, not her brothers. She knows Missouriâs being more kind than she is truthful â Mary had blonde hair, Grace has brown. Mary had thinner lips, Grace hates how full hers are â but it still warmed her heart and hurt her feelings nonetheless. Would Mary be proud that they looked alike? Would she float around in all of her social circles beaming about how her baby girl has the same high cheekbones and kind eyes as her? Desperately Grace hopes that wouldâve been her reality. She knows that had she looked more like John, he wouldâve drawn no attention to it.Â
Missouri grabs onto Samâs head, and her gaze saddens as she looks at him carefully. âSam. Oh, honey. Iâm sorry about your girlfriend, and your fatherâŠheâs missing?â All three siblings inclined their heads at the women's knowledge of their situation. Grace hadnât doubted her abilities for a second, not when she knew John Winchester only sought out the best of the best, but it was still eerie for a supposed stranger to simply know and be aware of their hardships.Â
âHowâd you know all that?â Apparently Sam couldnât blindly trust as easily as Grace, because even with the premonitions and nightmares that plagued his subconscious, he still found himself questioning Missouriâs abilities.Â
âWell, you were just thinking it, just now.â Missouri fired back at him.Â
Dean bristled at the mention of their father, and his eyes betrayed his composure as they bled worry and concern. âWell, where is he? Is he okay?âÂ
âI donât know.â Grace knew that Dean wasnât going to take that answer well, but before she could speak and control the nature of the conversation, Dean was narrowing his eyes, disbelief clouding his gaze.Â
âDonât know?â He questioned, shaking his head as he glanced at Sam and Grace. âYouâre supposed to be a psychic, right?â
Missouri recoiled at his tone, her eyebrows furrowing. âBoy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think Iâm a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I canât just pull facts out of thin air. Sit. Please!â She demanded, her gaze snapping to Sam who was smirking in amusement as Dean got â rightfully â torn into.Â
Grace didnât have to be told twice, shuffling forward until she could wedge her body into the corner of the couch closest to the windows. Sam fell into the cushions beside her, his thigh brushing against hers as he adjusted his position to rest his elbows on his knees. Grace rolled her eyes, batting him away from her until a sliver of space separated their skin. Sheâd never understand her brother's inability to sit considerably. She was always benign squished onto someone or something.Â
âBoy, you put your foot on my coffee table, Iâm gonna whack you with a spoon.â Missouri interjected before Dean could even get comfortable on the couch, his weight still sinking into the well-loved cushions as her warning fell into the air.Â
âI didnât do anything.â Dean defended, his head inclined to the side as he glanced at the psychic with wide eyes and a slack jaw.Â
âWell, you were thinking about it.â She clapped back at him, and once again Sam found himself laughing in amusement. Grace wasnât so easily distracted from the case at hand, growing antsy to find any kind of answer for what they were dealing with or what Mary had been subjected to.Â
Sam shifted on the couch when a beat of silence elapsed, leaning forward just slightly to address Missouri. âOkay, so. Our dad. When did you first meet him?âÂ
âHe came for a reading a few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him.â Missouri explained, and conflicting emotions bombarded Graceâs heart as she looked across at the woman. She had better things to put her energy into, but still she couldnât help but linger on the newfound knowledge that in part, this was the woman she had to blame for her life becoming what it was. It wasnât Missouriâs fault, she couldnât have predicted what John would do with that information once he had it, but without her helping hand, there might have been a chance at normalcy for the youngest Winchester.Â
âWhat about the fire?â Dean questioned, evidently not phased by the deeper connections that his sister was making, but then again, he didnât have any hard feelings about the life they lived. Heâd never known anything else, and at this point, he didnât see any way out, so there wasnât much for him to harp on or shed tears over. âDo you know about what killed our mom?âÂ
âA little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.â Missouri explained, but she trailed off, evidently emotional as her voice softened and ehr tone wavered just slightly.Â
Sam leaned closer, eager to know what else the woman knew about Mary and that fateful night. âI donâtâŠâ She faltered, shaking her head.Â
âWhat was it?â Sam pressed for more, able to see that there was something Missouri was holding back from them.Â
âI donât know.â She exhaled sharply, her head shaking as she recalled the things sheâd sensed all those years ago. âBut it was evil.â She rose from the couch, moving her body to keep the memory from consuming her entirely. Grace knew that coping strategy well, but it wasnât doing her a lot of good now that theyâd been spending so much time trapped within the Impala.Â
Eventually, Missouri collected herself, turning back to the Winchesters with concern in his dark eyes. âSo, you think somethings back in that house?âÂ
âDefinitely.â Sam nodded, speaking for both of his siblings who were more than content to let him take the lead on this.Â
âI donât understand.â Missouri mumbled, sinking back into the chair sheâd been sitting at before, her eyes trailing across all three siblings.Â
âWhat?â Sam asked, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion.Â
âI havenât been back inside, but Iâve been keeping an eye on the place, and itâs been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?â She asked the same question that Grace had.Â
âI donât know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house â all happening at once â it just feels like something's starting.â Sam explained thoughtfully. Grace felt goosebumps rise on her arms as she considered that very real possibility. She was raised to face danger in the face, but she wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever supernatural storm was undoubtedly coming their way.Â
âThatâs a comforting thought.â Dean hummed humorlessly.Â
-
After telling Missouri more about what they thought was happening in Jennyâs home, the psychic insisted on sniffing out the supposed energy herself, which is how all three Winchesters ended up back at their old house standing on the porch with her at their side. Grace stood slightly behind her brothers, her eyes taking in every minor detail of the front door as they waited for Jenny to greet them. Missouri glances at her, but Grace pretends not to notice, keeping her eyes on the house.Â
Eventually, the door is pulled open and Jenny comes into view with Richie on her hip, looking slightly panicked if her grip on the toddler's overalls was any indication. âSam, Dean, Grace, what are you doing here?â Her eyes trail across every Winchester on her doorstep curiously, although they linger on Grace for a second longer than theyâd lingered on her brothers.Â
âHey, Jenny.â Sam greets hesitantly, his eyes on Richie before they shift toward the woman just slightly behind him. âUm, this is our friend Missouri.â
âIf itâs not too much trouble we were hoping to show her the house, for old times sake.â Dean cut in, pulling out one of his signature charming smiles as he looked at the single mother in front of him.Â
âNo, you know, this isnât a good time. Iâm kind of busy.â Jennyâs eyes flicker nervously, and instinctively she steps back into the house, preparing to leave the Winchesters out on the doorstep. Grace doesnât miss the uncertainty thatâs laced within the womanâs eyes, or the way that she holds onto Richie just a little bit tighter as she steps back.Â
Dean evidently doesnât pick up on the same telling traits as Grace, because he takes a step forward, his tone becoming harsh and intent. âListen, Jenny, itâs important â ow!â He whines, holding the back of his head as he turns his gaze to Missouri, wondering why sheâd just slapped the back of his head with no warning.Â
âGive the poor girl a break. Canât you see sheâs upset?â Missouri scoffed, looking at Dean with furrowed eyebrows and a judgemental frown. âForgive this boy. He means well. Heâs just not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out.âÂ
âAbout what?â Jenny frowned, but turned her body toward Missouri, giving the woman her full attention.Â
âAbout this house.âÂ
Jenny frowned, but there was something beneath her eyes that told Grace she already knew where this conversation was heading. âWhat are you talking about?â She asked regardless, not ready to admit that all of the strange feelings sheâd been having were related to the house itself.Â
âI think you know what Iâm talking about. You think thereâs something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?â Missouri approached the conversation softly, but there's a firmness in her tone that has Jenny staring back at her in concern. Clearly Missouri had hit the nail on the head, but without knowing who the woman was or what she was capable of doing, it only further unsettled the mother of two.Â
âWho are you?â Jenny questioned, emotion laced into her tone as her eyes flickered to Grace.Â
The youngest Winchester stepped around her brothers to stand beside Missouri when it became evident that Jenny wanted to hear the words come from her. She doesnât know why the woman likes her so much, but from the very first time theyâd met Jenny hadnât looked at her the same way sheâd looked at the boys. âWeâre people who can help you; help your kids. We can stop this thing, but I need you to trust me for that to happen. You donât have to trust my brothers, or Missouri, but I need you to at least trust me. Can you do that?â
Jenny sighed, and for a moment Grace thought that she was going to turn around and close the door in her face, but then she inclined her head toward the entryway and stepped out of the way, nodding softly in acceptance of Graceâs terms and conditions. The youngest Winchester smiled gracefully, but that quirk in her lips slipped away as she stepped into the house, her eyes immediately wandering to the stairs. Her nursery was up there. The room that Mary had spent time decorating and perfecting for her was just right up those steps, and maybe it wasn't exactly the same anymore, but the young woman still itched to see it.Â
âWeâll need to take a look upstairs. If thatâs okay with you, Jenny.â Missouri explained softly, and Graceâs heart skipped a beat when she realized that whether she could handle seeing her old bedroom or not, thatâs where they were going. She didnât realize she was holding her breath until they made it up the stairs and Missouri pushed the door open until all four of them could slip inside.Â
âIf thereâs a dark energy here, this room should be the center of it.â Missouri commented, her eyes taking in the soft pink walls and white trimming.Â
âWhy?â Sam questioned, but Grace knew that heâd already figured out why this particular room was so important to Missouri. His eyes held crystal tears, but he refused to let them fall as he glanced around at everything he couldnât remember. It was the room of a child undoubtedly, but he still couldnât draw on the memories of it being a babyâs room, much less his sisters.Â
âThis used to be Graceâs nursery. This is where it all happened.â Missouri explained regardless of what the Winchesters already knew.Â
âIt looks the same.â Dean breathed beneath his breath, and Graceâs gaze snapped to him immediately. Her breath hitched, and immediately she drew her eyes to every miniscule detail. It was obvious that the room had been renovated, but she couldnât help but think some of the paint was its original craftsmanship. A spot on the wall near the window was streaky, and very obviously not the work of a professional. Did Mary paint the room by herself? Had Dean and Sam helped her do it? The help of a toddler would explain why the coat was uneven, and it warmed her heart to think about a little five-year-old Dean helping paint what would be her room.Â
She mustâve gotten lost in her head, because when she finally tuned into the conversations happening around her, Missouri had her full attention on Dean as she asked him about what item he held in his palm. âThat an EMF?âÂ
âYeah.â Dean nodded without even looking up at the woman, and Missouri scoffed, shaking her head. âAmateur.â She commented.Â
The EMF detector buzzed to life, the lights flashing red, but Missouri wasnât convinced that what she found was what the Winchesterâs thought they were dealing with, her attention turning to the three siblings who stood in a nonuniform cluster. âI donât know if you kids should be disappointed or relieved, but this ainât the thing that took your mom.â
Graceâs gaze snapped to the woman, and Samâs eyes grew wider. âAre you sure?â He questioned, not sure whether he was relieved to not be facing that demon head on, or disappointed that he was still far from getting justice for Jessica and Mary. âHow do you know?â
âIt isnât the same energy I felt the last time I was here. Itâs something different.â The woman noted, walking to another corner of the room, her gaze set firmly on the closet.Â
âWhat is it?â Dean questioned, confusion etched across his features.Â
âNot itâŠthem. Thereâs more than one spirit in this place.â For a moment, Graceâs heart fluttered in her chest. Was it Mary? After all of these years, was she in the same space that her mother took up? No, Mary wouldnât become a vengeful spirit. She didnât know much about the woman, but what she did know was that her mother was kind, and sweet, and gentle. She wouldn't terrorize a little girl and go after a family that was so similar to her own. âTheyâre here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds, and sometimes wounds get infected.âÂ
âI donât understand.â Sam shook his head, but Grace couldnât even find the words to voice her confusion, or any words at all for that matter. Her eyes were still trailing across every inch of the room, mesmerised by its simple beauty and wondering what it mustâve looked like when it was filled with toys and clothes and a crib. When she was little, sheâd always told John that she wished motel rooms came in different colors. Heâd always scoffed and called her an idiot, but that had never deterred her from wanting a pink room to spend just one night in. Sheâd had a pink room. This was her pink room. Somewhere inside of her a piece of that broken little girl healed just slightly.Â
âThis place is a magnet for paranormal energy. Itâs attracted a poltergeist â a nasty one â and it wonât rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.â Missouri explained, shaking her head as she reaped more of the spirits' intentions off of the walls.Â
âYou said there was more than one spirit.â Sam brought her attention back to that simple point, and Missouri nodded with assurance that sheâd gotten that right.Â
âThere is.â She walked back toward the closet, âI just canât quite make out the second one.âÂ
âD-Do you think itâs our Mom? Sariâ Sari said she saw a woman burning in her closet. Is there a chanceâ could it be her?â Grace hated how she stumbled over her words, hated that she even voiced that question to begin with, but it was falling off of her lips before she could really think about what she was saying.Â
Her heart broke when Missouri shook her head, her eyes soft and caring, but even that couldnât soften the blow of losing hope yet another time. âI donât think so. This energy⊠itâs different. I canât quite put my finger on it.âÂ
âWell, one thingâs for damn sure â nobodyâs dying in this house ever again. So, whatever is here, how do we stop it?â Dean stepped toward Missouri, standing in front of Grace who looked like sheâd just been crushed from the very core of her soul. Her green eyes glittered with tears, her lips quivered with emotions she couldnât suppress, and no matter how many times she tried to draw in a deep breath, her shoulders shook with sobs she was desperately trying to swallow.Â
âIâll be back.â The young woman whispered to nobody in particular, stepping out of the room before either of her brothers could decide to follow her out to the car. She needed a minute. She couldnât be the strong, unafraid hunter her father expected her to be right now. She doesnât think sheâs been that girl since before she left in the middle of the night to join Sam at Stanford when she was nineteen.
The second she was out of the house, everything that sheâd been trying to keep underwraps came tumbling out of her. She stumbled to the Impala, a hand over her mouth to catch the sobs that fell off of her tongue and drew attention to her presence in the quaint little town. Her chest ached, her throat burned, and when she finally reached the Impala, she threw a weak punch at the trunk, but that didnât quell the agonizing pain anymore than sobbing like a child did. Her mind flashed white for a second, consumed by not only the stinging pain in her knuckles, but the emotional anguish that tore her up from the very core of her body. She had a million questions: How was this happening again? Why was this happening again? Was this something bigger than what she could see?, but there werenât any answers for her to find, not right now at least. The simple truth was that sometimes, shit happens, but that felt weak and like only half of the truth as she reminded herself of all the terrible things that had accumulated over the course of her life. Why could she never catch a break? Anytime she tried to distance herself from the life her father had built without even consulting his children, something dragged her right back into the chaos of it all. Anytime she tried to accept the life of a hunter as her own, something terrible came for them; whether that be a tough case or her fathers very own fists. Nothing she did was right. She has no sense of herself. She thought she did for a while, thought sheâd finally figured out what her life could be like if she just had the chance to work for it, but even the simple dream of normalcy felt like it didnât fit her anymore.Â
The woman, who was really only a twenty-year-old kid whoâd never even really had a chance at life, finally manages to collect herself, and with trembling hands she brushes the tears from her cheeks and squares her shoulders. She might not be ready to face the music and go back into the house where her mother was murdered in her bedroom, but she doesnât have a choice. Sheâs never had a choice. She doesnât let the reality of her life keep her paralyzed in pain, if thereâs one consistent thing about Grace Winchester, itâs that she doesnât back down from a fight, and especially not one that her brothers are intertwined with.Â
Sheâs about to walk inside, face her fears, when her brothers come out with Missouri on their heels. Jenny stands in the doorway, and when her eyes meet Graceâs, she smiles a soft smile that can only be described as something entirely maternal. It nearly chokes Grace up again, but she manages to keep her composure as she smiles back, hiding her fist behind her back as sheâs acutely aware of the blood running down her fingers and dripping onto the concrete beneath her feet.Â
âWhere are we going now?â She asks when the boys are within earshot, and she tries to ignore how Deanâs eyes soften as they memorize the pain etched across her face. Her eyes are swollen and rimmed red, and she knows her cheeks are flush with emotion that she canât even find a name for. Sheâs sad, scared, filled with grief, but thereâs something else that plagues her too. Maybe itâs exhaustion, or maybe itâs something different; something that sheâd never been able to understand when her father expressed it, but recognizes in herself now. Sheâs pissed. Pissed that yet another spirit is disrupting whatâs left of their childhood home. Pissed that no matter how far they run, something always pulls them right back to the start of it all. Pissed that her mothers final resting place canât even see peace. Whatever the feeling is, it fuels her rage, and sheâs learned that rage can be a powerful and helpful tool in cases like this.Â
âBack to Missouriâs.â Sam tells her softly, gently pulling her hand out from behind her back. He frowns when he notices split knuckles and sticky blood caked between her fingers. Grace is a lot of things, but sheâs not violent or quick to anger. He canât even begin to know how sheâs feeling, but he guesses it's overwhelming enough to come away with split knuckles.
âDid you punch my car?â Dean questions, concern laced within his green eyes. Grace doesnât know if itâs concern for her, or concern for Baby, but it's not hard to assume that heâs more worried about the state of his precious car than her nondominant hand.Â
âSheâs fine.â The youngest Winchester huffs, looking back at the Impala where the only indication that sheâd even touched it at all is the smear of blood along the silver trim that dries down to something copper toned the longer itâs exposed to the fresh Spring air. âAnd it wasnât even a punch. Dad would make me do it again just so that I did it right.âÂ
Dean shakes his head sadly, evidently not so concerned about the car in this moment. Grace averts her attention at the realization that it's her heâs concerned for, and she looks down at her shoes as she begins to feel like a child that everyone needs to keep an eye on. âIâm fine, Dean.âÂ
âYeah, I know.â The eldest Winchester doesnât believe her in the slightest, but she learned that response from him, so he doesnât fight it. Instead, he just grabs her wrist, leading her over to the trunk where he has a first aid kit buried beneath their duffle bags.Â
Sam leads Missouri back to her own car, evidently talking about what the next step should be. Grace thinks he just wants to give her another minute to collect herself without an audience, and she canât say that sheâs not thankful for his thoughtfulness as she flinches away from Deanâs soft touches to her wounded skin. âIt's really the same?â She asks softly, looking up at him with so much untouched innocence in her eyes that his own heart stutters in his chest.Â
âYeah, Gracie.â He sighs, taking an antiseptic wipe and bringing it over her knuckles, trying not to react to the way she takes in a sharp breath of air when the sting registers in her head. He wipes the blood from her fingers before he tosses the wipe into the trunk to be dealt with at a later date, reaching for bandages that he knows sheâll rip off in only a matter of hours, but still puts the effort into finding regardless. âDad wanted to hire painters, but Mom wanted to do it herself. When he was at work one day, she took Sammy and I out to the store to get the paint. She had it all figured out; she always did. I remember⊠I remember painting with her when Sam was taking a nap. You wouldâve loved her, Gracie. She was⊠you are⊠God, youâre just like her. From what I remember anyways. She never backed down from a fight, never let anything stop her. She and Dad would go at it, and then sheâd just start laughing because she couldnât take him seriously when his face got all red. She wasâ she was the only person that could make him laugh in the middle of a fight. But, um, yeah, the paint is the same.âÂ
âI always wanted a pink room. When I was little, when we first started going to different motels, and Dad started working longer cases. I always told him that I wanted to stay in a pink room, and he always got so pissed off and told me to shut up and be grateful I got to sleep anywhere at all.â She hums, and Dean remembers that vividly. Heâd always laughed and ruffled her hair, always tried his best to distract her from the fact that none of the walls were ever pink. He doesnât say anything though, he doesnât know what to say. Nothing will make those memories go away, and nothing will give her what she never had. Grace doesnât bristle at his chosen silence, instead, she lets it fall over her until something else crosses her mind. âDean?â She hums as she looks down at the bandages heâs wrapping around her knuckles.Â
âYeah, Gracie?â He sighs his attentiveness, letting his eyes flicker to hers for only a moment before heâs looking back down at her hand, pinching her fingertips and ensuring that nothing is broken or sprained.Â
âDo you think I look like her? Missouri said I do butâŠâ She trails off, biting at her lip as she waits for her older brother to find the right words to answer her question.Â
âWhen you were little, you looked just like her.â He said eventually, and Graceâs heart dropped at the implication that she didnât look like Mary anymore. That life had aged her beyond the point of recognizable similarities. âYou have her smile, her laugh. Thatâs how I can tell when you're bullshitting me. You donât laugh like her when youâre just putting on this act that everythingâs fine.âÂ
âOh.â Grace mumbles, tears pricking her eyes as she glances down at her feet. âI wish I got to know her.â
âMe too, Gracie. Me too.â Dean sighs, pulling her into his chest for a second. He kisses the top of her head before he pulls away and closes the trunk. âGet in the car. We have work to do.âÂ
-
Grace and Dean are at the dining room table at Missouriâs. Sam is leaning against a chair, not much help to them, but neither sibling calls him out for simply wandering around aimlessly. Dean doesnât have the energy to fight, and Grace is just thankful that she has something to keep herself busy with.Â
âSo, what is all this stuff anyway?â Dean questioned as he filled another black cloth. Grace had already filled seven, steps ahead of her older brother who had never been good at following directions. The first three he made werenât right in the slightest, and Missouri hadnât been afraid to make him start over while mentioning that Grace was better at this than he was. It wasnât often the youngest Winchester was singled out for something positive, and so sheâd found herself grinning bashfully before sticking her tongue out at Dean.Â
âAngelica root, van van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends.â Missouri highlighted, nodding toward the individual bowls of herbs on the table before she diverted her attention again.Â
âWhat are we supposed to do with it?â Dean bumped Graceâs arms, nodding toward one of the farthest bowls. She honestly couldnât decipher what was what, but that didnât really matter when it was all going in anyways. She moved it between them, reaching for another pinch of it and spreading it inside of her unwound black cloth.Â
âWeâre gonna put them inside the walls in the North, South, East, West corners on each floor of the house.â Missouri explained as she grabbed a seat at the table on the opposite side from where the Winchesters sat.Â
âPunching holes in the drywall â Jennyâs gonna love that.â The sarcasm dripped from Deanâs lips like honey, and Grace rolled her eyes at his takeaway. Sheâd get over a few holes in the wall if it meant she and her children got to keep their lives.Â
âSheâll live.â Missouri pursed her lips, looking directly at Dean who very quickly diverted his attention to the task at hand.Â
âAnd this will destroy the spirits?â Sam questioned, still leaning his weight against the back of the chair, offering his siblings no help. Grace huffed at the bandages around her hand, the bulky padding was making it hard for her to tie off the bags, and so she began to pull it off without much care for how easily wounds could become infected. Both of her brothers rolled their eyes as she peeled the bandages away and discarded them on the table in a heap, but neither commented, knowing they wouldâve done the same thing a hell of a lot sooner.Â
âIt should.â Missouri nods. Grace is about to tie off her eight bundle when Dean taps her bicep, sprinkling a pinch of something into the palm of her hand. He raises his own fingers to his lips, tasting whatever herb heâd dipped his fingers into, and immediately pulls away when he realizes that it tastes horrible. Grace can only roll her eyes at his idiocy, dusting her hand off on her pants as she goes back to the task at hand. âIt should purify the house completely. Weâll each take a floor, but we work fast. Once the spirits realize what weâre up to, things are gonna get bad.âÂ
âWere they ever good?â Grace chuckles dryly, shaking her head as she ties off her final bundle. She huffs when she realizes that Dean still has two left, and heâs not moving any faster despite the finish line being in sight. She nudges his arm out of the way, pulling both black rags closer to her body, and by the time she finishes them, heâs only just finished the one heâd already been working on.Â
-
Nighttime falls over Lawrence like a thick blanket, and Grace has taken it upon herself to see Jenny and her kids out of the house for a couple of hours while they do what they need. The single mother of two still only had blind faith in her, and thatâs not something the youngest Winchester takes lightly as she softly caresses Richieâs back. She has one hand in Sariâs, guiding her down the steps, but Richie seemed insistent that she paid him the same amount of attention too.Â
âCareful.â She warns the little girl who holds onto her tightly, her tone soft and incredibly maternal as she ensures that the little girl doesnât slip beneath the cover of darkness that blurs the stairs together.Â
âYouâve asked me to trust you, and I do, butâ Iâm not sure Iâm comfortable leaving all of you alone in the house.â Jenny stumbles over her words, stopping to stand at the bottom of the stairs as Grace fixes the jacket around Sariâs shoulders. She zips it up, hoping that the thin layer is enough to keep the little girl warm.Â
âJenny,â Grace puts a comforting hand on the top of Sariâs head, wanting to keep the little girl calm though she undoubtedly has picked up on the tension that strains her mothers shoulders and had filled her house when theyâd first arrived minutes ago. âI lost my mother to something evil in this house, and it still haunts me to this day. Let me make sure that your kids donât lose you too, okay? This is my job. Itâs the only thing Iâm good at. Take the kids to see a movie or something, and itâll all be over by the time you get back. Okay? Can you do that for me?âÂ
Jenny stalls for a minute, but eventually she nods, shifting Richieâs diaper bag higher on her shoulder as it begins to slip off. âOkay.â She relents.Â
Grace gives Sariâs head once last caress, and she brushes her fingers against Richieâs cheek before she nods, turning to walk up the stairs and back into the house once sheâs certain that the family of three had gotten into their car okay.Â
She sighs softly, desperately hoping that she can keep her word on this. She walks into the kitchen where Dean is already searching for a weak spot in the drywall. She doesnât linger, knowing that time is running out and if she waits any longer, her job is going to get a whole lot harder. She knows where she has to go, and thereâs something bittersweet about the fact that sheâs the one that'll be putting the bundles into the walls of her childhood bedroom. She might not have been able to help when bad things were happening the first time around, but thereâs something liberating in the knowledge that sheâll be able to end it all now.Â
She climbs the stairs two at a time, looking into the master bedroom where Sam is supposed to be depositing one of the bundles. He looks over his shoulder when the hardwood creaks beneath her weight, and he nods encouragingly before his eyes go back to the wall. Grace takes a deep breath, continuing down the hallway until she reaches the bedroom that was once a nursery. She lingers in the doorway for a minute before sheâs pushing through the fear that grips her and walking into the closet. She shoves one of Sariâs rainbow dresses out of the way and gets to work at finding a weak spot in the drywall. For a minute, everything is fine, but then a hammer is hurtling her way and the only indication of its presence is the sound of the air around her whipping around. She turns just in time for the back of the hammer to break through the skin of her shoulder, penetrating her deep and painfully. She bellows out a loud cry of pain, sinking to the floor as she doesnât know whether to rip the tool out of her shoulder or desperately cradle the area around it. For a minute, she remembers that sheâs wearing Jessicaâs shirt, and the pain only amplifies when she realizes that it's ruined; blood soaked and torn beneath her hands. The only things that gets her moving again is the stubbornness to not let it be in vein, and with all the effort that she can muster up, she breaks through the drywall and shoves the bag in just as the closet doors slam shut and something slides across the floor.Â
Panic grips at the young woman instantly. Memories of crappy motel room closets flash before her eyes. She hates this. Hates confined spaces. Hates being trapped. She pounds at the doors with little energy, suddenly aware of all the blood sheâs losing as it drips down her chest and to her belly, leaving a crimson trail on the front of the shirt as if the circular ring around her shoulder isnât enough. Her head feels heavy as she panics, her breathing coming out short and labored as she cries out weakly. âLet me out! Please! Please let me out!â She cries, but it's futile, because if these spirits have gotten to her, theyâve definitely gotten to Missouri and her brothers. She canât breathe, her throat feels like it's closing in and every minuscule twitch of her muscles has her shoulder aching in brutal protest.Â
Itâs been years since sheâs seen the inside of a closet like this, years since sheâs been close enough to John Winchester to even be tormented with the thought of being locked away, but no matter how much sheâs healed since the last time she found herself thrown into a motel closet and locked in there for hours, it all comes rushing back to her now that sheâs faced with the same fate once again.Â
Grace sinks to the floor, curling herself up as much as she could manage with the literal hammer sticking out from her shoulder. She knows that you never pull something like this out, especially not by yourself, but sheâs panicking as she puts her head on her knees and tries to ignore the agonizing ache and inability to breathe. She doesnât know when she started sobbing, but sheâs acutely aware of how her shoulders tremble and it only further aggravates the open wound on her body. She doesnât hear the footsteps getting closer, or even notice the closet doors opening until Sam and Dean are both kneeling in front of her, concern filling their eyes as they take in the sight of her sobbing into her knees and rocking back and forth. Her knuckles are white from how tightly sheâs holding into the fabric of her pants. When Deanâs hands frame both sides of her cheeks, guiding her face up to meet their soft and concerned eyes, she flinches back, and only then does Sam notice the hammer lodged deep within his baby sister's shoulder.Â
âFuck, Gracie.â He cusses lowly, scrambling closer to assess the physical damage while Dean tries to coax her through the emotional. Heâs cradling her to his chest, reminding her to breathe with him, desperately trying to bring her back down to reality as she claws at her throat and weeps. âHey, I need to get it out, okay? Itâs gonna hurt like a bitch, but youâre gonna be fine. I need you to answer me, Gracie. Youâve lost a lot of blood, I need to hear your voice.â If it was any other circumstance, he wouldnât have been so persistent to gain her attention, but he needs to make sure that sheâs okay enough for him to do this. He reaches for one of the shirts hanging in Sariâs closet while he watches her, ripping it in half like itâs the easiest thing in the world, preparing to use it as a tourniquet of sorts until they can get her back to the motel to patch her up for real.Â
âGracie girl, I need to hear you.â Dean mumbles softly, his fingers tapping at the side of her face when her eyes flutter closed. âCome on, sweetheart. Tell Sammy youâre okay.âÂ
âG-Get it out.â Grace pleads with as much strength as she can muster, finally feeling like she can breathe again as the panic attack slips away into something of the past. âPlease Sammy, it hurts.âÂ
âOkay, okay. Iâm gonna count to three, okay? And youâre gonna squeeze Deanâs hand as hard as you want.â Sam grips the hammer tightly, nodding at Dean that heâs ready whenever he is. He doesn'tâ consult Grace, it doesnât matter whether sheâs ready or not, because he knows it's going to hurt like a bitch with or without the mental preparation. âOne,â He doesnât even get to two before heâs ripping the hammer out of her shoulder and tying the tourniquet around her. The young woman bellows in pain, her head thrown back on Deanâs shoulder while she squeezes his hand tightly. âI need you to move your arm. We need to make sure it didnât tear a muscle.â He coaches roughly, knowing that if he was any softer with Grace she wouldn't actually register what he was saying.Â
Grace does as asked, wincing and whimpering through the entire ordeal, but eventually Samâs content, and tells her she can put her arm down. She slumps against Deanâs chest, sobbing into him as she grips at his flannel tightly. Neither of her brothers have to ask to know that sheâs not crying because of the pain, but because sheâd been trapped in a closet with no escape, and this time she hadnât even done something to deserve the punishment; not that any of the times John threw her in the closet was deserved, but point still stands that this was the last thing sheâd expected to be subjected to today.Â
âWhereâs Missouri?â Grace asked eventually, pulling herself away from Dean when she felt capable to move on and forward. She wiped at her cheeks with the hand that wasnât connected to an injured shoulder, clearing away the tears that had fallen.Â
âDownstairs.â Dean informs, clambering to his feet when he realizes that Grace wasnât willing to take another minute to collect herself. He offers her his hand and pulls her up to her feet when she grabs it. She rolls out her shoulder, groaning in pain, but she doesnât let it slow her down. Believe it or not, she thinks sheâs finished a hunt with worse injuries not inflicted upon her by monsters and spirits.Â
Grace grimaces when she sees the state of the kitchen, knowing there was no way that Jenny wouldnât notice the damage to her kitchen table. The walls were one thing, but adding damage elsewhere was breaching unforgiving territory. She stalks over to one of the kitchen chairs, taking a seat as she feels woozy for a second. It hadnât occurred to her how much blood sheâd lost until she glanced down and found a trail of blood leading down to her fingers and even more staining the front of the shirt. Again she feels herself getting worked up, running the tip of her finger along the stark white lettering that still says Stanford, though now the letters are noticeably discolored.Â
âThis was Jessicaâs shirt.â She frowns more to herself than anyone else but Sam hears her as he approaches with a glass of apple juice, and sadly his lips quiver into a comforting smile. âThanks.â She mutters tiredly, reaching out for the juice that she knows will replenish her blood. Learning that little hack had saved them from too many trips to the emergency room, but it wasnât an immediate cure, and so even after sheâd chugged the contents and shoved the glass into Samâs waiting hands, she still found it hard to keep her head up and her vision clear.Â
âAre you sure this is over?â Sam questions after heâd placed the glass in the sink, coming back toward Grace with a bottle of water that heâd already cracked open. She sips it slowly, savoring the cold feeling washing across her tongue and throat.Â
Missouri nodded, âIâm sure.âÂ
âIt better be over.â Grace slurs from the kitchen chair, her head lulling to the side as her eyes become heavy. She fights to keep herself awake, taking another sip of the water and setting her eyes firmly on Sam.Â
âWhy? Why do you ask?â Missouri turned to face Sam, concern flooding her features.Â
âNo, never mind.â Sam sighs, shaking his head. âItâs nothing, I guess.âÂ
Missouri didnât have a chance to press Sam any further because the lights in the hallway were flickering to life the second heâd finished speaking, and soon Jennyâs voice trailed in from the front door. âHello? We're home.â She announced, coming into the kitchen with Sariâs hand holding hers and Richie on her hip. Grace grimaced as she looked around, taking in the absolute destruction sight that had been made out of her kitchen. âWhatâ What happened?â
âHi. Sorry, um, weâll pay for all of this.â Sam insisted out of instinct, despite the fact that they did not possess the funds to pay for everything they had damaged or entirely ruined. Their credit cards may be endless with the scams that John and Dean run, but their limits were well⊠limited.Â
âDonât you worry. Deanâs gonna clean up this mess.â Missouri better amended the situation, and if Grace werenât so lightheaded she wouldâve laughed about how for once in his life he wasnât being shown favoritism. âWell, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop. And donât cuss at me.âÂ
Dean did as asked â or demanded â and cleaned up the kitchen to the best of his abilities while Sam made sure Grace didnât pass out. By the time Dean was helping Missouri hobble down the stairs, she felt better if only the slightest amount, but she knew that a long night of sleep would be the best remedy she could find. She was looking forward to passing out in the backseat of the Impala, already longing to feel the chilled leather beneath her skin.Â
She said goodbye to Missouri quickly, rushing toward the Impala once there was nothing else in her way. Grace Winchester was asleep before her brothers even got in the car.Â
-
âDean!â Grace woke up with a jolt, groaning in pain when the tension of her muscles aggravated the wound on her arm that had yet to be correctly patched up. She looked around frantically before she realized that her brothers were clambering out of the car and rushing toward the house. She didnât think twice about following after them, sheer adrenaline fueling her body as she somehow managed to catch up with them just as Sam passed through the threshold of the house.Â
âIâll get Sari! You get Richie!â Sam yelled over the thumping of his heart, looking back at Grace who only nodded at the order. Her own heart was racing, but she pushed through the pain, taking the steps three at a time as she raced toward the little boys room.Â
She found the toddler standing up in his crib, sobbing with his arms reaching out in her direction, evidently reaching for his mother if his babbled cries of âMamaâ were any indication of who he wanted most. Graceâs heart sank in her chest, but she pushed through the feeling, reaching out to pick the little boy up and cradle him close to her chest.Â
âShh, youâre okay, sweet boy. Everythingâs okay. Nobodyâs gonna hurt a hair on your little head, I promise.â She soothed the toddler to the best of her abilities, nearly crashing into Sam as he came flying out of Sariâs room. The little girl was in no better shape than her brother, but before Grace could call for her, try to be a person of clarity in the chaos, something was wrapping around her waist. âSam! Richie! Get Richie!â She screamed as she was pulled backward, her arms letting go of the toddler with blind hope that her brother could move quick enough to catch him before he fell completely.Â
Her head mustâve hit the wall as she was dragged backwards, because the next thing she knew was that she was pinned against the cupboards in the kitchen by an invisible force and Sam was right beside her in the same predicament. Before she could do anything, she was flung against the opposite wall, her body crashing to the ground before that same force lifted her up again and flung her over to where Sam was pinned.Â
âGracie! Sam!â She can hear Dean yelling, but at this point, she has no idea where the sound is coming from. Her head is throbbing, her shoulder is killing her, and every other inch of her body aches from being slammed against walls and the floor.Â
She whimpers in pain when a figure walks into the room, and just like Sari had mentioned on their first day in town, it was on fire. Her eyes widened, Missouriâs doubts about her mothers spirit being in the house coming back to her. âGracie! Sam!â Deanâs voice is getting closer, and then heâs right in front of her and Sam with his shotgun raised. Graceâs eyes widen in panic, but no words come as she stares ahead at the figure sheâs entirely certain is Mary Winchester.Â
âNo, donât! Donât!â Sam, however, is able to find his voice, and he calls out to Dean frantically.Â
âWhy?!â Their older brother calls, evidently not connecting the pieces that Grace and Sam can see plain as day. A tear falls down Graceâs face as she squints her eyes, trying to see through the constantly burning flames.Â
âBecause I know who it is. I can see her now.â The flames around the figure burn brightly until they donât burn at all, and perfectly clear can all three siblings see the spirit clearly.Â
âM-Mommy?â Grace cries softly, and Deanâs hand quivers as he slowly lowers the gun, staring straight at the woman heâd made peace with never being able to see again in this lifetime.Â
âMom.â Itâs not a question. He knows that this is Mary, and his heart stutters in his chest as she walks toward him with a soft smile.Â
âDean.â She hums simply, taking in all of his features. She doesnât linger long, she doesnât have the time to linger at all, but she canât pass up the fleeting seconds she has to truly take in the sight of her children. âGracie, my girl. My sweet sweet girl. Oh, my baby.â She reaches out, like she wants to caress Graceâs face and feel her skin one last time, but she pulls away before she makes contact, looking to Sam whose lips quiver as he memorizes Mary. âSam.â She hums, âIâm sorry.âÂ
âF-For what?â Sam stutters, and Graceâs eyes plead with Mary to stay with them, come back to them, but the woman avoids her gaze and instead of answering, turns on her heels and walks toward the center of the room.Â
âYou, get out of my house. And let go of my kids.â Grace shakes her head, knowing where this is headed, but her protests are futile. Mary is engulfed by a bright flame again, but this time, the flames evaporate into the ceiling.
âMom! Mommy!â She cries out, fighting against the invisible restraints until she falls to the floor, the force of the spirit no longer around to keep her pinned to the cabinet. She clambers to her feet, rushing to Dean. She digs her face into his chest, sobbing without constraint for the umpteenth time since driving over Kansas state lines. His hand comes to hold the back of her head while the other holds the center of her back. Her fingers curl into his jacket, holding tightly to it as she weeps. After twenty years, she can finally say she met her mother. But, she can also say she watched her mother die after sheâd already been gone. Somehow, Grace thinks this hurts worse than not remembering Mary at all.Â
âNow it's over.â
-
The very next morning, the Winchesters are getting ready to head out. Dean and Grace stand on the front lawn of their childhood home, finally getting a hold of those items Jenny mentioned finding when theyâd first introduced themselves. Dean holds onto a stack of pictures that none of them had ever seen, but Grace holds onto a small teddy bear. Her name is embroidered on the bottom of the right foot in the sweetest pink thread, and her heart stutters as she realizes that Mary had been the one to personalize this bear for her. She hasnât taken her eyes off of it since Jenny had come out of the house holding him by his belly, and she doesnât think itâll ever leave her possession. The only other thing she had from those first six months of her life was the blanket sheâd been wrapped up in when John carried her out of the house. Twenty years later, it still lives in her duffle bag, though it has acquired a couple of blood stains and rips since its prime.Â
âThanks for these.â Dean looks up at Jenny once heâd gone through all of the pictures, his smile and tone sincere as he curls his fingers around the stack possessively.Â
âDonât thank me. Theyâre yours.â Jenny shakes her head, smiling fondly back at Dean and Grace. âThank you.â
âI told you I wasnât going to let anymore kids lose their mom in that house. I meant it.â Grace forced a smile, still not feeling entirely herself or even close to functioning, but that had never stopped her from completing a hunt before. She had to see this through, and the finish line was finally in sight.Â
âTake care of yourselves.â Jenny patted Dean on the shoulder, giving Grace one last maternal smile before she was walking back toward the house where Sari and Richie were inside eating breakfast at the table â that still sported holes from various utensils being plunged into it.Â
Grace held onto the handle of the Impala as she watched Sam get closer, having said his final goodbyes to Missouri. She doesnât want to talk about everything that happened, and neither do the boys. She doesnât know if sheâll ever be ready to talk about what happened here.Â
âDonât you kids be strangers!â Missouri calls from the front yard, and Graceâs lips wrinkle into a weak smile.Â
âWe wonât.â Dean assures before theyâre slipping into the Impala. She has a tight grip on her teddy bear, holding it close to her chest as she slumps against the side of the car, her eyes closing out of instinct. Itâs not five minutes later that sheâs sound asleep, hoping to god the next hunt doesnât tear her apart completely.
thinking about dean winchester with an awkward, "weird" partner. maybe u grew up with him, saw him a lot at bobby's scrapyard. you'd always drag him out to the thin skirts of trees at the edge of the property to look for deer bones to clean, fallen feathers to collect. he teases you, thinks it's a little weird at first, but u handle everything with so much care, he admires it and finds himself wanting to spend more of his time with u!
so u guide him deeper into the forest, balancing on fallen logs and taking him by the hand to explore a small creek nestled below the overbrush, your place, that he feels all too grateful to be allowed to see with you. u talk about the fox that comes around sometimes, the deer and the crows that bring you rusty trinkets.
he'll sit beside the ferns, gazing up at you as you twirl around the evergreens and hum to yourself. he listens as u ramble, green eyes so soft and glittery and completely entranced with you, your gentle nature and carefree attitude, the dreamy cadence of your voice. you teach him patience and love, real love.
you also teach him to make flower crowns out of daisies and wildflowers, one day he lets you place one over his spiked hair and promises to keep it on until he goes to sleep that night.
"won't take it off until i go to bed, pretty. how's that sound?"
he lets you introduce him to spiders and shiny beetles, quiet as you talk about them and their behaviors. listening so intently and nodding along, genuinely interested. he also finds you so so beautiful when you're focused and in the zone, being all smart with him!
he starts giving you things that he finds in funky shops. old, worn frames of dragonfly wings and pretty tapestries that remind him of you. you mention how you need a new stand to display leaves and the wilting flowers that you press, so he builds you something small with bobby's metal scraps and blushes tons when you smack a kiss to his cheek as thanks.
he's just sooooso very much in love and caring and he thinks you're the coolest ever in the world!!! and if anyone ever makes fun of u or mumbles something under their breath, he's sticking up for you!!!
Little things. Curfews. Staying behind during hunts. Chores.
Dean had a sharp voice when he was tired. Sam had a guilt complex he didn't know how to express.
But thisâthis was different.
This was bad.
Because Sachi almost got killed.
It was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn.
Sam was dealing with the bones. Dean was supposed to keep lookout.
Sachi was told to stay in the car. She didn't.
She thought she saw a second grave marker. She thought she could help.
She thought if she showed them she wasnât a burden, theyâd stop treating her like she was one.
But she was wrong.
And the spirit knocked her into a gravestone, hard enough to crack her ribs.
---
Dean didnât even speak at first.
He drove back to the motel with both hands clenched on the wheel and his jaw locked so tight she thought he might grind his teeth to dust. Sam kept looking at her like she was a kicked puppy.
The car was too quiet.
And Sachi felt like she was going to explode.
By the time they got into the room, her chest felt like it was burning.
Dean finally snapped.
âWhat the hell were you thinking?â
Sachiâs breath caught. âI was justâtrying to helpââ
âHelp?â Dean barked, spinning around. âYou were told to stay in the damn car, baby. You couldâve died.â
Her stomach twisted at the nickname. Usually, it made her feel safe. Tonight, it made her feel like a child again. Useless. Fragile.
âI wasnât trying toââ
âYou think this is a game?â he yelled, gesturing wildly. âYou think if you throw yourself in the middle of danger, weâll finally give you a gold star? Is that it?!â
âI wanted to help! I wanted you to stop looking at me like Iâm dead weight!â
Sam stepped between them. âOkay, letâs just breatheââ
âI trusted you!â Dean shouted.
And something inside her snapped.
âWELL, YOUâRE NOT DAD!â
The silence after was deafening.
Dean flinched. Sam closed his eyes like the words physically hit him.
Sachi froze, every breath suddenly caught in her throat.
She hadnât meant it.
She hadnât even thought it.
But it was out there now, hanging in the air like poison.
Dean stepped back like she slapped him.
âYou think I donât know that?â he said, voice low now. âYou think I want to be? You think I asked for any of this?â
Sachiâs eyes burned. Her lip trembled. âI didnât meanââ
Dean shook his head. âNo. You did. You meant it.â
Sam was trying to defuse the whole thing, murmuring things like itâs okay, itâs just heat of the moment, but neither of them were listening.
âIâm not Dad,â Dean repeated, softer now. âYouâre right. Iâm not.â
He didnât yell again.
He just grabbed his jacket, and walked out.
---
The silence afterward was worse.
Sam helped her sit on the bed, started icing her ribs again, but she didnât look at him.
She just kept whispering, âI didnât mean it. I didnât mean it. I didnât mean it.â
âI know, baby,â Sam said gently, brushing her hair back. âHe does too.â
But she didnât believe it.
Not when Dean didnât come back that night.
---
It was morning when she found him.
He was outside the motel, sitting on the curb with a beer in his hand and dark circles under his eyes.
She hovered in the doorway, unsure if she was allowed.
He looked up. Saw her.
And nodded once.
She sat next to him. Close enough to touch, but didnât.
Not yet.
âIâm sorry,â she whispered.
Dean didnât say anything.
âI didnât mean it.â
Still nothing.
âI donât want you to be him,â she continued, eyes burning. âI just want you to want me.â
Deanâs breath hitched.
And thatâs what did it.
Not the apology.
Not the quiet.
But that sentence.
He turned to her slowly.
âI do want you,â he said. âGod, baby, you have no idea how much.â
She blinked fast, trying not to cry.
âIâm not good at this,â Dean admitted, voice cracking. âI didnât ask to be your dad. But I swear to God, youâre my baby, and Iâd die before I let anything happen to you. Thatâs why I was so mad. Not because you messed up. Because I almost lost you.â
Sachi sniffled. âYouâre not Dad.â
âI know.â
âYouâre better.â
Dean choked on a laugh, and then pulled her close.
He tucked her into his side, pressing a kiss into her temple.
âYou scare the crap outta me,â he muttered.
She smiled, small and broken. âSorry.â
âDonât be,â he whispered. âJust⊠stay. Stay with us. Weâll figure it out.â
âI want you to be my Dean,â she mumbled into his chest.
He blinked. âWhat?â
âNot Dad. Not guardian. Just⊠Dean. The one who calls me baby and tucks me in and makes me pancakes like theyâre currency.â
He huffed. âThey are currency.â
And she laughed â for real.
Dean smiled softly, resting his chin on her head.
âYouâre mine,â he said.
âI know.â
---
Back inside, Sam greeted them both with warm eyes and two mugs of hot cocoa.
Sachi sat between them on the bed, ribs bandaged and heart a little heavier, but not broken.
John Winchesterâs gruff voice crackled through the speaker, distorted and abrupt.
âBoys. If you're hearing this, it means I'm gone. Thereâs⊠thereâs something I didnât tell you.â
Dean scoffed, slumped in a booth at a rundown diner. âShocker.â
Sam said nothing, his arms crossed.
âHer nameâs Sachi. Sheâs your sister.â
Dean blinked. âThe hell?â
âHer mom was a mistake. Iâhell, I didnât even know Sachi existed until a year ago. Sheâs four now. Her momâs in jail. No one else to take her. Sheâs your responsibility now. Bobby knows where she is.â
Silence.
âI know this is a lot. But sheâs blood.â
The message clicked off.
Dean just stared at the phone.
Sam ran a hand down his face. âYouâve got to be kidding me.â
They didnât talk about it on the drive to Bobbyâs.
Didnât need to.
Anger simmered just beneath the surface. Not at Sachi. Not yet. But at John. Always John.
They found her sitting on Bobbyâs front porch, knees hugged to her chest, backpack beside her. A flannel that didnât fit her clung to her small frame. She looked up as they approachedâquiet, wide-eyed, unmoving.
Dean froze.
She was so small.
So scared.
So not something they were ready for.
âYou Sachi?â Dean asked roughly.
She nodded once.
âIâm Dean. This is Sam. Weâre your⊠brothers, I guess.â
Another nod. She clutched her backpack tighter.
Bobby appeared at the door. âShe donât say much. Think itâs a trauma thing. Her mom wasââ He stopped himself. âSheâs safe now. But she ainât gonna be easy.â
Dean forced a tight smile. âWinchester kids never are.â
---
The bunker was never meant for a kid.
She barely spoke on the drive there. Dean tried once or twiceââYou hungry?â âYou warm enough?ââbut she never answered. Sam didnât try at all.
She walked behind them through the halls, like a shadow. Never ahead. Never beside.
Her room was made from an old storage area. Dean cleared it out while Sam grabbed an old mattress. She stood in the doorway the entire time, backpack still slung over her shoulder, like she expected to be kicked out any minute.
âYou can sit down, yâknow,â Dean muttered.
She sat. Back straight. Silent.
---
The resentment was quiet at first.
It was in the way Dean sighed every time he had to cook extra food.
It was in the way Sam flinched when she sat too close on the couch.
They didnât mean to make it obvious. But they did.
âAnother thing Dad dumped on us,â Dean muttered one night, scrubbing a bloodstained shirt in the sink.
âShe doesnât even talk,â Sam whispered. âItâs like babysitting a ghost.â
They didnât know she was listening from the hallway, curled up small beside the wall.
She buried her face in her knees and whispered, âIâm sorry.â
To no one.
To everyone.
---
The first time she flinched, it hit Sam like a brick.
Heâd reached across the table to grab the salt and she jolted like he was going to hit her.
He paused. Looked at her. Really looked.
She had a faint scar under her chin. A jagged one on her wrist. Always wore long sleeves.
âWhat happened to your arm?â he asked before he could stop himself.
She pulled her sleeve down farther.
âOkay,â he said quickly. âNever mind.â
She didnât eat much that night.
Dean rolled his eyes. âIf sheâs gonna live here, sheâs gotta stop acting like weâre monsters.â
Sachi heard that too.
She cried herself to sleep.
---
A week passed.
Then two.
She tried, in her own way.
She left Sam a page of translated Enochian symbols. He never said thank you.
She folded Deanâs laundry wrong onceâhe just stared at the wrinkled pile and did it again himself.
They werenât cruel. But they werenât kind either.
She loved them anyway.
She whispered goodnight to their closed doors.
She drew little doodles of them in her notebookâstick-figure versions of Sam with books and Dean with pie.
They never saw them.
---
Then came the hunt.
The vamps werenât supposed to be there. Not that many. Not that fast.
They told Sachi to stay in the car.
She did. Until she heard Sam screaming over the comms.
She ran in without thinking.
And Dean watched, horrified, as the tiny kid threw herself in front of Sam without hesitation.
---
Blood. Screaming. A knife in her stomach.
âSACHI!â Dean roared, dropping to his knees.
Sam tore through the nest like a man possessed. Dean carried her out, arms slick with her blood, her small body barely breathing.
âHold on, baby, hold on,â Dean kept whispering. âWe got you. We got you.â
---
In the hospital, the guilt hit like a tidal wave.
They watched her sleep under pale blue sheets, wrapped in bandages, breathing shallowly.
âShe saved me,â Sam whispered.
âShe shouldnât have had to,â Dean choked out.
Samâs hands curled into fists. âWe treated her like she was nothing.â
Dean ran a hand through his hair. âShe still ran in.â
âFor us.â
They sat in silence.
Then Dean stood, walked to her bedside, and gently brushed her hair back.
âIâm so sorry, baby,â he whispered. âI didnât see you. I see you now.â
She stirred. Just a little.
Sam leaned forward. âWeâre your brothers, Sachi. Real ones. And we love you. Weâre gonna get this right.â
The Germans really cooked making "Hobbyless behaviour" an insult. It is both devastating, applicable to a wide range of people and behaviours, and doesn't resort to swearing.
Man ranting on the internet about the Superbowl halftime show or complaining that something is "woke"? Hobbyless Behaviour. Girls mocking another girl for not looking right? Hobbyless Behaviour. Mindless vandalism? Hobbyless Behaviour.
It is more powerful than "get a life" or the English "You're Sad" because it gets to the central point of the matter, and that is wonderful. Danke, Deutsch.