#Sam winchester x ofc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

glimmeringwinchester · 6 months ago

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𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester remembers the very first night her father showed his true colors, and she’s confronted with the memories when she and her brothers take on a case in oklahoma

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — implied/referenced child abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, canon-typical violence, dean winchester is an asshole but he does care about his little sister, sam winchester just wants dean to realize he was hurt too, oc au

series: love was the law

Palm Springs, California. 1991.

Rain came down heavy in Palm Springs, cold droplets splashing against asphalt and concrete with a rhythmic pattering that fought to quell festering anxiety. Tiny hands batted at the doors of a sleek black car, pleading to be let inside, to be allowed to escape the frigid rain and late summer mosquitos. Brown hair is drenched, weighed down by the rain shower that started just after sunrise. The wooded area still smells of flesh and gasoline, and salt residue gathers beneath untrimmed fingernails that are jagged and uneven. The smokes cleared, the fires burnt out, but John Winchester remains at the scene of the burning, his jaw set into a tight line as he watches his youngest child – his only daughter – pound against the windows, fear etched across her features as she stands out in the rain. Every couple of seconds she shrieks, slapping at her skin whenever a mosquito lands on her body, and sickeningly the father of three can only laugh as he watches her panic.

“Daddy!” The little girl no older than five years old, though she’ll very proudly tell anybody who asks that she’s almost six, pleads with her father, having not yet learned that begging is futile. She doesn’t know what she did wrong. Maybe he’s angry that she slipped in the mud on the way to burn the bones of a pissed off spirit, maybe he’s finally punishing her for breaking Dean’s fishing pole that hardly ever got used anyways, or maybe he just feels like being mean. He’d felt like being mean a lot lately. She jumps away from the car when a spider crawls near her hand, the tiny insect fighting to find shelter from the storm, but no matter how innocent its presence was in the moment, Grace Winchester was not a fan of anything with more than four legs and two eyes, and she knows for a fact that spiders have eight eyes, they just learned about it in school.

The rain continues to patter against the dense woods, and as the humidity in California increases, it only draws more mosquitos out of hiding. The little girl sobs when she realizes a spider is crawling up her arm, and she flails dramatically to get it off of her. She thinks it's never going to end – the storm; the assault of mosquitos – but then the doors click, and John begrudgingly inclines his head toward the backseat, the only indication that she’s allowed to escape the downpour. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t apologize for locking her out, doesn’t affirm that she’s safe from bugs now, merely huffs through his nose and speeds away, leaving the pile of charred bones behind him.

Present

Grace Winchester lays against the hood of the Impala, her eyes wide and full of wonder as she gazes up at the sky, an endless expanse of stars just out of reach above her head and speckled across the abyss of darkness like splattered paint. The air is twinged with something warm and inviting, Springtime in full swing across the states, though the temperature fluctuations with every border she and her brothers cross over. She doesn’t mind the slight chill and promise of something warmer once the sun rises over the horizon, taking a minute to appreciate how the breeze feels as it brushes against her arms and legs. Unlike her brothers, who never seem to adjust their wardrobe for the seasons, Grace leans into the annual change of climate, and looks forward to the warmer months and the promise of lighter layers and bright colors. She’s a sore thumb standing between Dean and Sam, their dark and broody exteriors softened by the splashes of color and patterns on her clothing, but they’ve long since stopped trying to indoctrinate her into flannels and deep neutrals. Even if Dean’ll never admit to it, he doesn’t mind the cotton shorts and frilly tops that take up space in his trunk. It’s a refreshing sight when everything else in their lives is so heavy and serious.

Sam leans against the hood, his broad frame accentuated by the jacket around his shoulders. He doesn’t know how Grace is unphased in only a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt, subconsciously shivering whenever the breeze rolls past him. Unlike the youngest Winchester, whose only priority is trying to locate the big dipper, he’s nose deep in the local paper, scouring for a case to work while Dean does whatever he intended to do inside of the bar he’d spontaneously pulled up to nearly an hour ago. Grace has a good idea of how their older brother is wasting time inside the dive bar, but she can’t bring herself to care about the nitty gritty details of his scamming as she loses herself to relaxation for the first time in a while.

She turns her head to the side when footsteps draw near, her brothers laugh projected over the lively atmosphere of music and distant chatter. She rolls her eyes at the wad of money Dean holds up with evident pride, entirely missing the fact that in his other hand is a paper cup with a bendy straw that hasn’t yet been mended into an arch. Sam trails his gaze over to Dean seconds later, and his reaction is almost identical.

“You know, we could get day jobs every once in a while.” Sam scoffs, lowering the news paper that he’d been very intently skimming for leads. Grace sits up on the hood, pulling her knees into her chest as she looks at her eldest brother, analyzing the short lived exasperation that crosses his features at Sam’s comment.

“Huntings our day job and the pay is crap.” Dean hands the cup to Grace, saying nothing about what it is, though the youngest Winchester has a pretty good idea and instantly perks up, reaching for the take-away cup that she only just noticed. She hums in satisfaction when creamy vanilla washes against her taste buds, the cup cold between her hands but she hardly bristles at the temperature, more than content to sip away at the milkshake like it's warmer than it really is.

“Yeah, but hustling pool, credit card scams?” Sam drops the paper even more, his shoulder crashing into Grace’s shin as he adjusts his stance, “It’s not the most honest thing in the world, Dean.”

“Well, let’s see, honest, fun and easy.” He holds out his hands, pretending to weigh the options that he’s never even really considered. Grace likes to think that in another life, he would’ve owned his own mechanic company, but Dean has never known freedom nor normalcy enough to even recognize that as something he’d be remotely interested in. “It’s no contest.” She can only scoff at his stupid expression, both of his eyebrows raised as he inclines his head to the side. “Besides, we’re good at it. It’s what we were raised to do.”

Sam’s quick to rebuttal, the moonlight glistening against his eyes. “Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.”

“Yeah, says you.” Dean doesn’t hear what’s actually being said, and his response comes quick and without thought. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma. Not far from here. Gas company employee, Dustin Burwash supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.” Sam slips off the hood with purpose, laying the paper down on the black surface, just barely skimming the words as he tells Dean about the potential case. Grace furrows her eyebrows at the medical term she doesn’t understand, but Dean makes a noise of confusion before she can swallow her mouthful of milkshake to ask herself. “Human mad cow disease.” He clarifies, his eyes flickering to Grace for a second. He can only laugh at the sight of her only half paying attention as she bends the striped straw into a loop.

“Mad cow? Wasn’t that on Oprah?” Dean leans forward, hands bracing on the hood of the car as he inspects the paper for any details Sam left out, his interest peaked far more than Grace’s.

“You watch Oprah?” Grace could only roll her eyes at what Sam chose to focus on, but a smirk of amusement pulled at the corners of her lips as she took another sip of the cold treat between her hands.

As if he’s only just realized that he’s unintentionally outed himself, Dean bristles at the question for a second before he’s moving on, clearly wanting to avoid any further teasing. “So this guy eats a bad burger, why’s it our kind of thing?”

“Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years for the damage to appear but this guy Dustin, sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour, maybe less.” Grace listens closely to what Sam rambles off, but she makes no indication of being interested in any way. Dean however, inclines his head, having to agree that the conditions around Dustin’s death seem strange enough without any further details to support the claim Sam initially presented. “Now it could be a disease or it could be something much nastier.”

It takes no further convincing, and with a curt nod of acceptance, Dean stands, clapping his hands together before he reaches out to pat Grace’s ankle. “Alright, Oklahoma. Man, work, work, work. No time to spend my money.”

Grace rolls her eyes, sliding off of the hood as she follows her brother's movements. She ducks under Sam’s arm when he opens the back passenger door for her before she has the chance, crawling into the backseat with a careful grip on her milkshake. She reaches for a blanket that's thrown onto the floor instinctively, pulling it up around her body as she snuggles into the door as Dean starts the car. It’s not even a full minute later that the Impala is peeling away from the parking lot, heading straight for Oklahoma.

Hours later, the sky is bright with daylight, but the clouds that hang overhead keep the Springtime heat from fully settling over the small town. A sweatshirt is pulled over her body, but the hem of her pink shorts is visible as she climbs out of the car after Dean, eager to stretch her legs after falling asleep in a tight ball in the backseat. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail as they approach a man loading his truck outside of Oklahoma Gas and Power, smiling sadly at the man as Dean swings his keys into his palm, also playing up the act they’ve discussed in detail on the drive over.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam questions as they approach, straightening out his jacket that had gotten bunched up from his position in the car.

“Yeah, that’s right.” The man, Travis, answers, turning to look at the siblings that have the same light eyes in various shades of green.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked, wanting to be sure they were talking to the right person while not-so-subtly dropping their connection to Dustin. It was almost disgusting to consider how good they had become at slipping into lives that weren’t their own, but that ability to disappear into someone else had come from years of practice and failure. Grace can’t remember the first time she’d been told to ‘just go with it’ but she can definitively assume she was more than a little skeptical. Now, she hardly bristles at the prospect of lying through her teeth.

“Dustin never mentioned having nephews or a niece.” Travis frowned, taking in the appearance of the siblings, his eyes raking across Grace’s body as he took in the sight of her dressed so differently from the men on either side of her.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.” Dean kept up the act, his smile entirely fake as he looked down at Travis.

“Oh, he did? Huh.” Grace could’ve cringed at how flattered Travis looked if she wasn’t so focused on getting the information they needed. It was sickening to think that something so small could make someone stricken with grief so happy, and it was even more sickening to think that it was all a lie and most of the people they encountered never even knew. Maybe it gave them peace; Grace hopes that it does, otherwise she’d feel horrible.

“Listen, we wanted to ask you, uh what exactly happened out there?” Grace’s lips trembled, her sad smile sinking into a grimace as she looked to Travis for information, hardly aware of how she played the part of a grieving niece almost too well. Sam had always been amazed at how naturally she could become somebody else, fitting whatever roll they wore like she was a trained expert. That was definitely an area where she far surpassed his level of expertise.

Travis shook his eyes, his eyes twinged with pain that spoke volumes about his awareness of the situation; not that anyone could blame him for not immediately questioning the circumstances of Dustin’s death. The average person didn’t immediately consider that something supernatural had been at hand. “I’m not sure. He fell in the sinkhole. I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh, by the time I got back…”

“What’d you see?” Grace allowed her voice to waver just slightly, desperation bleeding into her tone as she set her eyes on Travis firmly. Dean had to hide his amused smile behind a wrinkled grin of matching desperation, though his tone remained far more even than Grace’s.

“Nothing. Just Dustin.” All of the siblings could tell that was far from the truth, but Travis didn’t seem to question the nature of the injuries he’d seen. They’d probably all been explained away by detectives and medical examiners who were always so desperate to find scientific evidence over logical reasoning.

“Well, he was bleeding from his eyes and his ears and his nose, that’s it.” Travis shrugged, and Grace nodded gratefully, taking in the information and simultaneously trying to piece together what had happened with the information they already knew.

Dean tilted his head to the side, his lips pressed into a thin line as he pressed for more. “So do you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?”

“I don’t know that’s what the doctors are saying.” Travis was hardly phased, having no reason to doubt the medical examination or the facts that the doctors had disclosed to him and the public.

“But if it was, he would have acted strange beforehand like dementia, loss of motor control. You ever notice anything like that?” Sam pressed this time, but his tone was even, unassuming.

Travis shook his head again, “Yeah, but then again, if it wasn’t some disease what the hell was it?”

“That’s a good question.” Dean hummed his agreement.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam questioned, knowing that they’ve gotten everything out of Travis that they possibly could, and they’d need to do more digging elsewhere if they were going to learn anything of use.

Oasis Plains Estates was exactly how Grace had pictured it would be, and as the engine revved, she glanced out of the back window, taking in the sights of large and lavish homes steadily being constructed by teams of men in orange hard hats. These were the kinds of neighborhoods she’d always been fascinated by, but there was something off-putting and eerie about knowing that a man had lost his life here – still, she thinks a neighborhood like this would be better than crappy motel rooms any day.

She’d changed since they peeled away from the construction company’s headquarters, and as she climbed out of the car before Dean had even gotten the gear in park, she adjusted the waistband of her jeans, already annoyed by how thick denim cut into her hip bones.

“Huh. What do you think?” Dean hummed as they crossed the street, approaching caution tape and the sinkhole that Dustin had fallen into. Nothing about the location in particular had her feeling any type of way, and so she only shrugged indifferently in Dean’s direction, brushing hair out of her face when the wind blew just enough to rustle her thin locks.

“I don’t know, but if that guy Travis was right it happened pretty damn fast.” Sam noted, ducking beneath the caution tape with Dean, but he turned to hold it up for Grace, laughing quietly when Dean scoffed in annoyance about not receiving the same treatment.

“So what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Grace grimaced at the visual, batting a hand against Dean’s bicep as she rolled her eyes at his unnecessarily vivid imagery.

Sam wasn’t so phased, shaking his head as he peered into the sinkhole where roots grew and intertwined chaotically. “No, there’d be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.

All three of the siblings squatted down, peering into the hole in the ground with equal disinterest. Sam’s nose wrinkled as he watched Dean shine a light on the sinkhole, and Dean, ever the observant individual, noted that there was only room for one of them down there. “You wanna flip a coin?” He questioned, ducking under the caution tape once again.

“Oh yeah, let’s go down there when we have no idea what the hell happened to begin with.” Grace scoffed, shaking her head as she and Sam exchanged equally bewildered expressions before turning back to their older brother.

“Alright, I’ll go if you’re scared.” Dean grabbed a hose from the ground, his tone laced with jesting arrogance that he knew would get under Sam’s skin. Grace wasn’t so easily roped into his shenanigans, and thus, entirely ignored the antagonizing comment. “You scared?” He only further egged Sam on.

“Flip the damn coin.” Sam caved and Dean chuckled with amusement, reaching into his pocket for a coin upon the rebutted request.

“Alright, call it in the air, chicken.” The coin toss was futile, because the second Dean flipped the nickel, Sam snatched it out of the air, declaring that he was going to be the one to go down. Despite not knowing what awaited him in the sinkhole, Grace wasn’t going to argue, just glad that she wasn’t being sacrificed with the bullshit excuse of ‘you’re smaller’. Dean, however, continued to tease, claiming that he said he would go down as if they all didn’t know he was bluffing just to do the opposite.

Sam tied the hose around his waist, but his hands were quickly batted out of the way by Grace who stepped in to tie the knot the second she realized Sam had no idea what he was doing. She knew the second he bore any weight on the knot he originally created, it would’ve slipped right out and he would’ve fell however many feet it was to the bottom. She really did question if they’d still be alive without her constant supervision.

“Don’t drop me.” Sam huffed, looking more toward Dean than Grace. Dean only rolled his eyes in response, gesturing for Sam to get on with it already, not wanting to draw any suspicion toward them when the up and coming development was crawling with construction workers still on the job.

Sam lowered himself into the sinkhole, and Dean grabbed onto the hose, batting Grace away when she stepped up to help him. She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t object, stepping away from the hole in the ground with the assurance that her brothers had it handled. Sam wasn’t down there for any more than thirty seconds before he was calling for Dean to pull him back up, one of his hands cradling something cautiously while the other clawed at the dirt around him.

When he was on his own two feet again, he wiggled out of the hose, nodding toward the car without any further comment. Grace rolled her eyes, and Dean did the same, but the both of them followed Sam regardless of their attitudes towards his newfound silence. Once they were situated in the Impala, Sam opened his palm, revealing a very dead beetle with the most disgusting antennas at the top of its head. Grace flinched, shrinking into herself as she put as much distance between herself and the bug as she could manage.

“So you found some beetles in a hole in the ground. That’s shocking, Sam.” Dean hummed not even three minutes later, his eyes glancing at the insect that Sam hadn’t stopped messing with before he refocused on the road ahead of him, one hand on the wheel while the other gripped the gear stick.

Sam only shrugged, not giving into the sarcasm this time around, apparently able to pick and choose when he wanted to fall victim to Dean’s antagonizing. “There were no tunnels, no tracks, no evidence of any other kind of creature down there. You know, some beetles do eat meat. Now it’s usually dead meat, but–”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean cut him off, not interested in hearing all of the oddly specific beetle facts that Sam undoubtedly knew off the top of his head. Grace was more than glad about that, though she still shivered in disgust at the fact that her brother was holding onto a dead beetle somewhat protectively, poking and prodding at it like it wasn’t once a live insect that probably carried a few million diseases.

“Ten.” Sam sounded proud of the development, meanwhile Grace scrunched her nose up in disgust, very glad that she hadn’t been the one to stumble upon ten beetles.

“It would take a whole lot more than that to eat some dude’s brain.” Dean shook his head, rightfully skeptical about the premise of only ten beetles eating a man's brain in a matter of minutes.

“Well, maybe there were more.” Sam rebutted, wrapping his fingers around the beetle as he tried to sway Dean’s opinion. Grace was just glad she couldn’t see the black insect anymore, still beyond disgusted that it was even in the car with her to begin with.

“I don’t know. Sounds like a stretch to me.”

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before.” Sam prattled on, but Dean’s attention was quickly misplaced as he analyzed red balloons on the side of the road, tied to a post just inches away from an open house sign.

“I know a good place to start.” He commented smugly, his eyes scanning the surrounding area until they found yet another sign that advertised a community barbeque in a backyard. “Kind of hungry for a little barbeque. How about you?” Sam rolled his eyes, and Grace did the same, hardly surprised that Dean was interested in free food and conversing with townspeople. “What, we can’t talk to the locals?”

“And the free food’s got nothing to do with it?” Sam teased, his smirk only growing when Grace laughed softly, bating at the back of Dean’s seat.

“Of course not. I’m a professional.”

“Swear to god, Dean. If you puke this time, I’m going to kick you.” Grace threatened as Dean pulled up to a house on the left hand side, her mind flashing back to the last barbeque they’d stumbled into somewhere deep in Ohio. He’d entered a hot dog eating contest like an asshole, and after losing (which he still won’t admit to, claiming the guy who won cheated by not eating the buns) he’d puked inches away from her brand new running shoes that hadn’t even acquired a spec of dirt yet.

Dean only rolled his eyes at her comment, turning the engine off before he climbed out of the car, Sam and Grace following his lead begrudgingly. They glanced at the houses, taking in the large driveways and abstract roofs as they ventured down the sidewalk. “Growing up in a place like this would freak me out.” Dean commented, which had both Grace and Sma frowning in confusion.

“Why?” Grace questioned, looking at the houses that were more or less finished. They weren’t exactly her style, a little too flashy and big for what she figured her taste was, but something about it still felt safe and oddly romanticized. This was the kind of neighborhood that threw block parties in the middle of the street, and where everybody knew everybody even if they secretly hated everything about the town and its community.

“The manicured laws, how-was-your-day-honey? I’d blow my brains out.” Dean scoffed, still heavily critiquing the development.

“I think it’d be nice. You’re just allergic to normal.” Grace commented, Sam nodding his head in agreement as he stepped toward the left, giving her more room to walk between them instead of lingering awkwardly behind their broad frames like she’d found herself doing.

“I’d take our family over normal any day.” Dean scoffed, eyeing a sign in the front yard as they stumbled up the driveway.

“Normal and our family don’t have to be antonyms, you know. We could be normal.” Grace hummed, already getting lost in the hypothetical image of growing up without crappy motel rooms and a dead mom that she can’t even remember. She knows that had they had white-picket fences and parent teacher conferences, they most likely wouldn’t have had the relationship that they do now, but she thinks she’d be okay with stereotypical annoying older brothers that have their own lives outside of her own instead of the trauma and constant fear that’s rooted in the reality they did actually grow up within.

She pushes past Sam to be the one to knock on the door, a cheeky smile on her lips as she turns to tease him. Sam pushes her head away from his, but he laughs quietly beneath his breath regardless of the annoyed display he puts on. There are very few moments where he gets to see his sister for who she actually is, but as he watches her pound her fist against the textured glass, it’s clear as day that beneath the hunter exterior she always puts up, she’s just a twenty-year-old kid that still has so much joy tethered to her spirit. He wishes that she’d drop the act more often, she’d finally stopped putting it on at all in the last few months that they spent together at Stanford, but he knows what happens when she slips up, and he knows that despite their father not being around physically, she’s still terrified of word getting back to him that she was anything less than perfect.

The door swings open seconds later, and Grace’s mask comes right back up. Her contagious excitement that had both Sam and Dean grinning was quickly shoved aside, replaced with a stoic expression that only conveyed what it absolutely needed to. “Welcome.”

“This the barbeque?” Dean questioned, a smirk splaying across his lips as he inhaled the aroma of smoked meat and charcoal.

“Yeah, not the best weather, but…” The man glanced at the sky, the overcast weather not uncommon for early Spring, but definitely a damper on his plans for a sunny-day barbeque. “I’m, uh, Larry Pike, the developer here, and you are?”

“Dean, this is Sam, Grace.” Dean introduced them at the same time that Sam and Grace introduced themselves. Larry could only chuckle softly, his lips curving into a grin as he nodded.

“Sam, Dean, Grace, good to meet you.” Larry exchanged formalities, “So you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded his head, inclining his chin just slightly to the right as he agreed, but Grace could tell he was itching to be let inside and shown to the food. She had to stifle the scoff that threatened to fall off of her lips, the days she’d been spending with her brothers breaking all of the habits she’d spent decades perfectly curating to avoid her fathers rage. It was both liberating and terrifying, because she knew that they would find him eventually, and she’d have to deal with the repercussions of letting herself be comfortable in her own skin for a change.

“Let me just say, we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color or… sexual orientation.” Grace and Sam couldn’t contain their smirks of amusement, meanwhile Dean looked deeply distributed by the insinuation that his connection to either of them was anything more than familial.

“These are my brothers.” Grace smiled politely, fighting back her giggles as Dean tried his best not to start rambling about how Larry's analysis of their relationship was beyond off and disturbing.

“Big brothers.” Dean clarified, and Grace could only roll her eyes, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Our father is getting on in years and we’re just looking for a place for him.” Sam cut in before Dean could derail the conversation anymore than it already had been.

Larry hardly even bristled at the wrong assumption, inclining his head like a stereotypical businessman solely seeking out successes in his career. “Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome to. Come on in.”

The siblings followed Larry through the house, looking around at the furniture choices and style as they were guided out to the backyard where more people gathered. Some had red solo cups in hand, while others simply mingled, lively chatter filling the space easily.

“You said you were the developer?” Dean questioned as Larry stepped outside, a smile on his lips as he proudly showed off his accomplishments.

“A few months ago I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We’re the first family in Oasis Plains.” Larry walked backwards as he explained the last few months of his life and developments, a smile on his lips as he peered over his shoulder, approaching a woman in a baby pink blouse. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there.” Joanie smiled, shaking Dean’s hand before she shook Sam’s. Grace only smiled, Joanie nodding her head fondly at her.

“Sam, Dean and Grace.” Larry introduced them, and Sam was quick to mention that he was Sam, not wanting to be confused for Dean which had Grace shaking her head just slightly as she stepped back to let her brothers guide the conversation. She had no interest in baseless conversations, and so far, there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary that piqued her interest enough to pretend like she wanted to engage in a mindless conversation.

“Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.” Larry faux whispered, and Grace had to fight the eye roll at his obnoxious attitude. She hated men that sought out nothing but personal gain, and while she could respect an honest hustle for business, something about Larry himself just rubbed her the wrong way. First impressions were hardly ever misleading, and so all she put her energy into was appearing polite enough.

Her brothers, however, laughed in polite amusement, Sam’s lips curving into a smile as he nodded along.

“Boys, Grace, if you’ll excuse me.” Larry quickly saw himself out of the conversation, and Joanie was quick to step up, although Grace found her energy far more enticing than this.

“Don’t let his salesman routine scare you.” Joanie brushed Larry off, more for Grace’s benefit than Sam or Dean, but still the men nodded anyway. “This really is a great place to live.”

“Hi, I’m Lynda Bloom, head of sales.” Another woman approached, and Joanie was quick to welcome her into the conversation, jutting a hand out in Lynda’s direction with a sweet smile on her lips as light refracted off of her necklace, something Grace was sure her brothers didn’t notice in the slightest, but she appreciated.

“And Lynda was second to move in. She’s a very noisy neighbor though.” Grace found herself smirking at Joanie’s comment before the woman peeled away, leaving only Lynda to converse with.

“She’s kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners.” The woman stepped the slightest bit closer, and instinctively, Grace stepped back, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sam or Dean, though her brothers were hardly phased and thoroughly amused. They’d grown up with Grace rambling about how girls can read each other easily, and they’d always found it humorous, clearly that hadn’t changed as Dean’s hand jutted out to slap at her side.

“Yeah, yeah, well..” Sam trailed off, but Lynda cut in before he could finish, not that he knew what to say in the slightest.

“Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color or… sexual orientation.” Lynda gave the same rehearsed spiel, and this time neither Sam or Grace found it as funny as they did the first time, both fighting grimaces as they wondered why these people were so intent with analyzing their behavior beneath a romantic lens. In Grace’s opinion, they were basically the poster children for typical American siblings.

“I’m gonna go talk to Larry, alright honey?” Dean played into it, and Grace honestly wasn’t sure whether he was addressing her or Sam, but that question was very quickly answered when he turned on his heels and began walking back toward the house, but not without reaching out to tap Sam’s butt on his way.

Grace had to turn her face away to get her laughter under control, meanwhile Sam snapped his head back to glare at Dean’s retreating frame. It didn’t take any further prompting for Lynda to lead them over toward a tented area, talking their ears off about the customizations and amenities that Oasis Plains had to offer. Grace wanted to beat her head against the wooden fence, and every time she glanced over at Sam, she was certain that he was thinking the same thing, his eyes practically dead as he forced small smiles and head nods every few seconds just to appease Lynda. Grace was doing the same, but her boredom wasn’t so discreet as she drummed her fingers against the table to her right, wondering where the hell Dena had escaped to and inquiring about whether he was undergoing the same torment. She was only half paying attention when Sam stepped around Lynda and braced his hands on her shoulders, softly guiding her away from the table without any further explanation. Grace frowned curiously, but when her eyes followed his sharp motions, her breath caught in her throat as she realized a tarantula was mere centimeters away from where her hands had been. Immediately shivers crawled up her spine and she flinched in disgust, looking antsy as she glanced between Sam and the house.

“I need to go wash my hands.” She announced quietly, making a quick b-line for the house, leaving Sam and the tarantula behind, although she was almost certain that she could feel it crawling up her arms despite not even actually touching her skin. She shivered in disgust at the thought of it brushing against her without her even realizing, suddenly desperate to scrub her hands until they were raw and bleeding.

She stumbled into Dean on her haste to enter the house again, her shoulder bumping into his chest as she brushed through the crowd. She hadn’t even noticed him coming out of the house with Larry, but as she snapped her head to the left, she realized that he’d been one of the people she’d pushed past in an anxious hurry. Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her, a hand holding onto her wrist as he kept her in place. “What’s up?” He inquired, taking note of the unsettled gleam in her soft eyes.

Grace shook her head, practically trembling as her voice came out rushed and whispered, “Fucking tarantula like an inch away from my hand. Oh my god, I think we need to cut my hands off. I can feel it crawling on me.”

Dean rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, completely ignoring her dramatics as he pulled her along with him to Sam. “You’ll be fine.” He coaxed half-heartedly, accepting that her fear of bugs was very real, but not knowing the root, and therefore not recognizing the fact that she was seconds away from a panic attack – the memory of a late night in Palm Springs playing at the forefront of her mind despite all efforts to stay grounded in the present. His eyes fell onto her features when her fingers latched onto the sleeve of his jacket, and finally he took note of how her eyes were glazed over and far from the current moment, and the tough exterior he put on melted away quickly, replaced by soft understanding that he very rarely let show. “Hey, you’re okay, sweetheart. We’ll find Sammy and get out of here, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Grace agreed easily, but her grip on his sleeve didn’t falter, and although Dean was beyond confused, he didn’t push for anymore information, just continued on toward where Sam stood beneath a tent in front of a teenage boy. They got to him just as Larry began dragging the kid away, and Sam’s eyes lingered for a second before he looked to Dean and Grace.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam smirked, his eyes trailing over where Larry was not-so-subtly reprimanding his son beside the back door. Grace shivered, knowing exactly what Sam was referencing, but Dean remained unphased by the taunting, apparently not recognizing the similarities between Larry and John. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that.” Dean frowned, beyond confused.

Sam scoffed, his eyes trailing over Grace who was hardly paying attention to the conversation at all, subconsciously picking at her cuticles with the hand that wasn’t tightly holding onto Dean’s leather sleeve. “Well, dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case.”

John Winchester definitely had favorites, and very rarely (literally never) was Grace above her brothers. But, even though Sam was never thrown to the ground by his own hands, or locked outside of the car in a bug infested wooded area at five-years-old in the pouring rain, he didn’t avoid John’s gruff scrutiny so easily either. “You don’t remember?” Sam scoffed.

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice but sometimes you were out of line.” Dean wouldn't touch any conversation about Grace’s relationship with John with a ten foot pole, but he would touch Sam’s, and the frustration that the middle Winchester felt was only piling up by the day, incapable of comprehending how his brother could openly admit that John was a dick, while also being his biggest supporter. Grace could understand it, but she wasn’t in the mood to unpack the trauma response of surviving at whatever costs necessary.

Sam rolled his eyes, not willing to abandon the topic just yet, despite how desperately Grace wished they’d stop talking about John all together. Her fingers twitched as she held onto Dean’s sleeve, but before he could react, she pulled her hands away entirely, intertwining her fingers in front of her body as she rocked on her feet. “Right. Right, like when I said I’d rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.” Sam rolled his eyes, his gaze trailing over Grace once more, but his sister still didn’t seem to be paying any more attention than she had been before, her eyes glazed over as she glanced back to where Larry and his son had once stood, but now both were gone.

“Bowhuntings an important skill.” Dean rebutted, and if Grace wasn’t so dazed from lingering panic, she would’ve frowned at how normalized all of this was for Dean. She’d gotten the chance to spend almost an entire year out from beneath her fathers thumb, but Dean never had, and when she’d been healing, finding herself and establishing connections in the real world, he’d been subjected to it all alone. Maybe Dean had never been beaten until he passed out, maybe he’d never been taunted with cynical punishments, but he was just as equally manipulated by the mind games that John Winchester thrived on playing with his own children; he just hadn’t realized it yet. Grace could be patient, she could wait for him to realize how much of his life and adolescence had been tarnished by John’s attitude on his own terms. Sam however, didn't seem to be able to extend the same thoughtfulness.

“Whatever.” Sam rolled his eyes, not in the mood to have his feelings belittled and trampled over. “How was your tour?”

“Oh, it was excellent. I’m ready to buy.” Dean quipped, a sarcastic smile on his face before it fell, his tone dropping as he grew serious. “So you might be onto something. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn’t the first strange death around here.” Grace frowned, looking up at Dean at the information, finally coming out of her own head enough to be fully engaged in the conversation at hand.

“What happened?” She questioned, angling her body so that Larry couldn’t watch them talk, not that he’d be able to hear them from across the patio, but she didn’t want to take any chances and raise any more red flags than necessary.

“About a year ago before they broke ground one of Larry’s surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this. Severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

“More bugs.” Sam concluded, and Dean nodded, repeating the realization.

“Fucking great. Yippee.” Grace shivered, her brothers glancing down sympathetically, although amusement shone bright in both of their light eyes. If only they knew why she was so afraid, there wouldn’t be an ounce of amusement glistening through their green stares, but she wasn’t ready to disclose hidden moments of the past just yet, and they weren’t ready to hear it.

Another handful of hours later, all three siblings were once again crammed into the car, although this time Sam was behind the wheel and Dean was nose deep in a book in the passenger seat. Grace was curled up in the backseat, forcing herself to go through a million different breathing exercises as her brothers discussed insects and creepy crawlies at distributing lengths. Her hair was dry, her clothes weren’t damp in the slightest, but she swore she could feel rain pelting her skin and turning her bones to frozen ice as she sat in the backseat, her mind half present and half far away in the first memory of her father being truly cruel and unforgiving. He’d raised his voice at her before that moment. He’d grabbed her wrist too hard, tied her braids too tight, but never had he done something like lock her out of the car in the middle of the woods. She can still remember the way her little heart had lept in her chest with overwhelming fear as spiders crawled over her clothes, and mosquitos leeched onto any part of her body that they could draw blood from. After that hunt, she’d been covered in at least thirty mosquito bites that had bled for weeks before they healed. Dean and Sam never knew how she got them, and John had made sure they never had the chance to ask.

“You know, I’ve heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is it that could make different bugs attack?” Dean questioned, flipping to another page in the book, although Grace is certain that he’s already read the same pages three times over, but she doesn’t comment on it, more than content to let the boys take the lead on this case while she focuses on not succumbing to violent memories at the forefront of her mind.

“Well, haunting sometimes includes bug manifestations.” Sam suggested, but Dean didn’t even let that sit in the air for a second before he was arguing its legitimacy, his eyes scanning the pages between his fingers intently.

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any evidence of ghost activity.” He explained, and with pursed lips Sam agreed, effectively sending them both back to the drawing board. “Maybe they’re being controlled somehow you know, but something or someone.”

Sam frowned, looking over at Dean, his eyes flickering to Grace for only a second before he was focusing back on the road, the Impala’s headlights shining bright in the expanse of darkness that surrounded them. “You mean like Willard?”

“Yeah. Bugs instead of rats.” Grace would be more than okay if it were rats that they were questioning right now, even if she desperately despised those creatures too. Nothing was worse than bugs. She’d been scared of them before that night in Palm Springs, but now all they do is stir wild anxiety in her belly. John Winchester hated her weaknesses, but he’d been the one to give her most of them.

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals. Elementals, telepaths.” Sam explained away what he could, ideas bouncing off of Dean who took them in with only mild scrutiny.

“Yeah, the whole Timmy-Lassie thing.” Dean hummed thoughtfully before he found a connection, his right hand jutting outward in a motion of understanding as he craned his head to glance at both Grace and Sam. “Larry’s kid. Got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam questioned, nodding in agreement with Dean as he recalled the events of the barbeque. “He did try to scare Gracie and the realtor with a tarantula.”

“Don’t mention it.” Grace shivered, grabbing at the silver chain around her neck instinctively, clutching the cold pendant between her warm palms, desperately trying to keep herself from overthinking how close the spider had been to her hand. Dean reaches back, patting her knee affectionately though he said nothing to ease her discomfort, not-so-subtly enjoying the way she squirmed in her seat like a terrified child.

“Think he’s our Willard?”

Sam sighed, both hands on the wheel now. “I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I guess.”

Dean inclined his head in contemplation, but quickly pointed out a house on the side of the road, his finger tapping against the window as he directed Sam to slow down. “Oh, hey, pull over here.”

Grace frowned in confusion, and Sam shared the same expression as he pulled into the driveway of the house. “What are we doing here?” He questioned, craning his head to glance out the window as Dean began to peel himself out of the car wordlessly.

Grace crawled into the front seat when Dean reached for the garage door handle, “It’s too late to talk to anybody else.” His only defense as he began to pull the door open, revealing an empty garage.

“We’re gonna squat in an empty house?” Sam called out in disbelief, but it wasn’t the most insane thing they’d done while seeking shelter on an active case, so Grace remained silent, emotionally drained from the long day behind her now.

“I wanna try the steam shower. Come on.” Dean encouraged, but Sam remained unconvinced, simply staring at him through the open window. Grace, however, smiled in amusement, always the one to make the most out of whatever cards they were dealt, and spending a night in a bed of her own – a real bed, on top of everything else – well that didn’t seem so bad at all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her own space to sleep in, certain that if it had happened at all, it had been years ago. “Come on!”

Grace batted her hand against Sam’s bicep, silently encouraging him to pull the car into the garage before anybody still lingering around the development could notice them. Sam rolled his eyes but obliged by the request, smirking in fond amusement when the side mirror crashed into Dean’s hand, their brother wincing in pain before he pulled the garage door down and into place, concealing the Impala for the night.

She climbed out of the car eagerly, brushing strands of hair off of her shoulders before she was heading to the back of the car in search of her own duffle bag. Dean already had the trunk open, her navy blue duffle over his shoulder and his own black bag held up on the other one. Sam rolled his eyes when he realized that Dean had no intention of grabbing his bag, and shoved his older brother out of the way so that he could retrieve it himself.

“Better sleep with one eye open, Gracie. Wouldn’t want any spiders in your bed, would you?” Dean taunted, his smirk electric and jesting, but it fell away quickly when Grace tensed at his side, her eyes widening with fear that was more than just irrational. Her breath caught, her lips beginning to tremble before teeth sank into soft skin, willing them to remain unmoving and neutral, though everything about her expression seeped genuine terror.

Her eyes refused to meet Deans, but weakly she pleaded with him to ease up on the jokes. “Can you not? Please?” She grabbed her duffle off of his shoulder, stalking past both him and Sam before either one of them could say anything to either remedy the situation or make it worse. It wasn’t the first time Dean had threatened her with bugs, he was the stereotypical annoying older brother that exploited any lighthearted weakness his siblings expressed, but all of the times when he’d teased her about spiders in the past had been out of pocket. Now, there were actual bugs that were potentially killing people, and Grace was in no condition to just let the joke roll off of her shoulders like she’d always done before.

Dean frowned in confusion as he watched her walk away and enter the house, Sam standing right beside him wearing the same expression of uncertainty. “She’s being weird, right?”

“She’s scared of bugs, dude. I think she has every right to be a little on edge.” Sam defended, but even he was skeptical.

Dean shook his head, and for a moment, Sam could see the genuine concern in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide at any given moment. “No. The way she held onto my sleeve at the barbeque… she’s not telling us something.”

“Think it has to do with Dad?” Sam questioned as he closed the trunk, not without grabbing a blanket from the back that he knew Grace wouldn’t be able to sleep without. She was always cold at night, and he doubted that the house would have the best heat circulation – or any at all – with only the necessary furniture piled into it.

“When doesn’t it with her?” Dean sighed sadly, nodding toward the door, desperate to leave the day behind and turn in for at least a couple hours of rest. Sam didn’t argue, following after his older brother and stepping past the threshold. For a moment, he wondered what their lives would’ve turned out to be if they’d never left Lawrence, but there was no point dwelling on what would never be known, so as quickly as he considered it, he moved on, just wanting to turn in for the night.

The next morning, Grace was already up and ready for whatever challenges they faced while trying to uncover the mysteries of Oasis Plains. The sun had risen over the development, and with the birds chirping outside, all of the siblings were gathering themselves in preparation, although Dean had skewed priorities.

Grace was sitting in the hallway, her back against the wall, and her knees pulled up to her chin as she waited around for her brothers to get a move on. She was in no rush to get back into bug infested territory, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t going restless. She’d never been good at keeping still, always in search of something to keep her mind alert and her hands busy, but there was absolutely nothing to do in a house that only had the basic necessities. The refrigerator wasn’t even plugged in downstairs, still covered in plastic that protected the stainless steel from scratches.

Sam knocked on the bathroom door minutes later, annoyance set into his jaw as he heard the water still running. “You ever coming out of there?” He asked, only receiving a grumbled ‘What’ in response as Dean stayed beneath the stream of hot water. Grace had already showered, and her hair was still slightly damp as it fell over her left shoulder in a loose braid. “Dean, a police call came in on the scanner. Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

“More bugs?” Grace questioned from the floor, her light eyes revealing vulnerability that she just didn’t have the energy to conceal anymore. She’d hardly gotten even an hour of sleep, unable to move on from the phantom sensation of bugs crawling up her skin enough to actually rest, and that was evident in her dim eyes and timid demeanor.

“Looks like it.” Sam smiled sympathetically, knowing that even if he suggested Grace stay here instead of join them out in the town and upcoming development, she’d never agree to those conditions. He wouldn’t either. Not when the both of them grew up being expected to perform under any conditions and restraints.

The door cracked open, and Dean grinned widely. “This shower is awesome.” He concluded, a towel wrapped around his hair as steam slipped out from the crack in the door. Grace could only scoff her amusement, rolling her eyes at his fascination with simple pleasantries.

“Come on.” Sam rolled his eyes, strutting away from the bathroom door in exasperation. Dean had an amusing way of always getting beneath his skin. He played the same tricks every time, but somehow Sam never learned to just ignore him. If Grace didn’t know any better, she’d suggest that Sam likes being annoyed by Dean. It certainly makes her day interesting.

She stood up from her spot in the hallway, following Sam down the stairs. She’d already explored every inch of the house, but her eyes still scanned the layout as she descended the staircase, making note of all the subtle details and elements that further exonerated the vibe of the house. It wasn’t anything elaborate despite the size and favorable amenities, and she quite liked how nonchalant it felt to walk the halls in a pair of black leggings and a sweatshirt. It felt comfortable, easy. If she had been given the chance, she would’ve loved to grow up in a house like this.

“Gracie?” Sam questioned as the youngest Wincheter came to stand in the kitchen. Grace hummed her attention, soft eyes trailing over Sam as she inspected his body for injuries. “Yesterday–” He began, trailing off as he scratched at his chin, unsure of how to broach the topic without upsetting his sister who notoriously wanted nothing to do with conversations about their fathers behavior. “You’re scared of bugs because of Dad, aren’t you?” He decided that blunt was the best option, but immediately regretted it when Grace reeled back like she’d been physically struck, her eyes widening for only a second before she masked the expression like she’d always had to do whenever John was around.

“You don’t want to go there, Sammy. Just leave it alone.” That was answer enough, and Sam nodded, knowing that he wasn’t going to get anymore information out of Grace without further prying, and that wasn’t something he was interested in or ever wanted to do. Dean was the one who pushed them to open up, who fought to know every secret they kept close to their hearts. Sam and Grace, however, had the mutual understanding that they’d share when they were ready, and it was okay if they never were.

“Right.” He hummed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he accepted the end of the conversion; not that it had even started to begin with. He wasn’t trying to get more information out of her, more than willing to leave it alone, but Grace still softened at the sight of him so caught up in his head, and her shoulders deflated as she leaned against the granite countertop.

“You were seven. I was five. We were in Palm Springs chasing that spirit that killed the two girls. Dad took me out to burn the bones, told you and Dean that we’d be back by sunrise with breakfast from that dumbass diner with the dinosaur in the parking lot. We came back soaked, and Dean was pissed off that Dad let me stand in the rain, because he got in trouble for going out during a storm the week before. Dad just agreed, let him think that I wanted to be out there with him, but he– god, that’s not even close to what happened. I tripped over a branch, fell in the mud. Dad was pissed that the new shirt I’d gotten from Bobby was already ruined. After he made me salt the bones, he told me to stay where I was, to make sure that the bones actually burned. He went back to the car, I thought he was coming back, but then he didn’t. It was the middle of spring, and humid, and it just started pouring out of nowhere. I came back covered in mosquito bites and you were mad that they kept bleeding onto the bed sheets. Dad told you I got bit while we burned the bones, and I mean, yeah I guess I probably did, but he didn’t tell you that he locked me out of the car for two hours as a punishment for ‘fucking things up like always’. At one point, there was a spider on me. I freaked out, I mean, I hated bugs to begin with, but being out in the rain, in the middle of the night, still able to smell the gasoline from the fire– I don’t know. It sounds stupid. Honestly, it is stupid. But that was when he really started to change. When the little comments he made turned into being backhanded, when any minor mistake was suddenly reason enough to hit me until I couldn’t get up without help. There is so much you don’t know, Sammy, and I’m not ready to talk about it. And, as much as you think you’re ready to hear it, you’re not. So yes, I’m scared of bugs because of Dad, but just… drop it, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve always been fine.” Grace wasn’t even aware of the fact that she was rambling, anxiously pulling at her fingers as she disclosed the first night John Winchester had ever shown her his true colors. She’d idolized him at the time; been able to overlook the comments he made and the ways in which he treated her differently than the boys. She’d loved him, even afterwards, but now, now she’s not so sure whether she hates him with a burning passion, or still wants to try and impress him even slightly.

Grace could see the gears turning in Sam’s head. She could see him piecing together snippets of the past that had made no sense at the time, but now had a different meaning. “You let Dean and I torment you with bugs for years…” He trailed off, an unspoken apology in his saddened eyes that Grace only shrugged off, harboring no hard feelings for her brother's actions.

“You didn’t know, and I’m pretty sure most little girls hate bugs, Sammy. You were kids, acting like kids. It’s not your fault I was never allowed to be one too.”

Despite the fear of bugs that came from that night out in Palm Springs, Grace Winchester still adored the rain, and how it gave whatever streets it fell upon a chance to start fresh when the clouds cleared. Droplets of cold rainwater pelted the ground beneath the Impala, the wipers working fast to clear away the drops that pattered against the windshield without a rhythm. She had stolen one of Dean’s sweatshirts for a change, wanting something heavier than her own clothes, and the material threatened to drown her frame as she shoved her hands into the front pocket, pulling at her fingers as she coached herself into bravery, wanting to prove to herself more than anyone else that she was capable of still doing her job even when fear ran down to the very center of her bones.

Lights glimmered in the distance, an ambulance and squad cars pulled up to the house where Lynda Bloome had mysteriously died hours earlier. Sam was behind the wheel once again, Dean in the backseat for a change, not that he’d had any choice in the matter. Sam and Grace had already been in the car when he’d finally come out of the bathroom, and as if he could sense that something of importance had been discussed without him present, he’d slid into the backseat with only a huff of annoyance. Grace had craned her head to grin at him as Sam backed out of the garage, and all Dean had done was roll her eyes and mumble something about how she was a ‘princess’ beneath his breath.

She stepped out of the car in time with Sam, pulling the hood of the sweatshirt over her hair and sticking close to Dean, not wanting to drag yet another umbrella out of the trunk. Dean didn’t mind, holding the pole just slightly at an angle, letting it cover her entirely. Rain pelted his shoulder, but if he cared, he didn’t even grimace as the leather of his jacket became slick with tracks. They walked up to Larry who was on the phone, an umbrella in his hands that was similar to their own. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he noticed them, shoving the phone into his pocket before giving over his attention.

“Hello, you’re, uh, back early.” He commented, clearly frazzled by their unexpected appearance. At the end of the day, it wasn’t the death of Lynda that bothered him, it was the fact that he could lose business over it. Grace had to resist rolling her eyes at his attitude, wondering how somebody could become so detached from reality that they prioritized a sales deal over real relationships. Twenty years working a job like this, and even she still shed tears over the victims they couldn’t save.

“Yeah, we, uh, just drove in. Wanted to take another look at the neighborhood.” Dean explained away their sudden appearance, his eyes scanning over the houses that filled the block.

“What’s going on?” Sam questioned.

Larry sighed, his eyes darting in the direction of the house that Lynda had passed within before they found the siblings again. He looked straight at Sam, hardly even acknowledging Grace. “You guys met, uh, Lynda Bloome at the barbecue?” He questioned, glancing at the body bag that was being placed into the back of an ambulance just a few feet away.

“The realtor.” Sam nodded, establishing that the connection had been made.

“Well, she, uh, passed away last night.” Larry explained, and for the first time, Grace saw a wrinkle of despair in his expression, proving that beneath the businessman persona, Larry did have a heart in some capacity.

“What happened?” She asked softly, eyes saddened and understanding as she fit into her role of concerned young woman well. It wasn’t all a fabrication however, because at the end of the day, that was the true question that remained unanswered across all of their books.

“I’m still trying to find out.” Larry shrugged, his voice wavering as he glanced back at the house for a third time. “Identified the body for the police. Look, I’m– I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time.”

Grace shook her head, waving Larry’s apology off with a soft smile that conveyed her understanding. “It’s okay.” She assured, watching as he nodded before excusing himself, stalking up to the front door where an officer loomed, in the process of roping off the entry points.

“You know what we have to do, right?” Dean questioned, turning to look at Sam.

“Yeah, get in that house.” Sam sighed, already mapping out possible entry points that excluded the front door. Grace’s eyes lingered on the wooden fence, knowing that they’ve scaled more challenging fences in their past, and that it would certainly be easy enough if they could catch a minute without bustling crowds of law enforcement watching.

“See if we got a bug problem.” Dean prattled off, his hand that wasn’t wrapped around the pole of the umbrella jutting out toward the center of Grace’s back. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his fingers crawled up her cotton covered body, her eyes wide and full of fear as she flinched away from the sensation.

“Dean!” She hissed, her heart racing as she shivered involuntarily. She’d only just stopped feeling like there were beetles and spiders all over her body, but now that feeling was back tenfold, and her face flushed with anxiety as she tried to quell the brewing storm of memories as the rain seemed to splash harder against the ground beneath her feet.

Sam shook his head, pulling Grace into his side, his arm slinking around her shoulders protectively as his fingers brushed against her comfortingly. “Not cool man.” He directed the comment at Dean, his jaw set as he watched Grace swim within her own head, her pupils dilated with fear that he now knew wasn’t as baseless and irrational as he’d previously thought. How many times had they triggered her without knowing? How many times had she brushed off and forgiven their jokes when it stirred nothing but panic and fear inside of her? Sam hated to think about what those answers would be if he asked.

“It’s fine, Sammy.” She brushed it off, not wanting to dwell on the situation when Dean had no reason to think that his jokes were beyond insensitive and triggering. Her attempt to derail the conversation was futile though, because he’d already begun to figure that something was going on, and his jaw clenched with annoyance as he glanced between Grace and Sam.

“What’s going on with you two?” He questioned, but Grace only brushed him off.

“Nothing.” She excused. “Once some of these idiots leave, we can definitely scale that fence and go in through the window. Place like this, it’s definitely unlocked.” She explained, nodding toward the corner of the street. Sam agreed, saying nothing further, and for once, Dean let the topic drop without arguing.

They retreated back toward the car, Grace climbing into the backseat without even acknowledging Dean, who was ready and willing to take that seat for himself again. She only smiled softly when he glanced back at her questioningly, and for a second, his eyes softened and he smiled back. “Figure these idiots’ll be out here for at least another hour. There’s a diner up the road, you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Sam shrugged, leaving the decision up to Grace, who nodded in the affirmative.

An hour later, all three siblings were standing outside of Lynda’s house with full bellies. Grace had ordered a mac n cheese from the kids menu after deciding she wasn’t hungry enough to finish anything bigger, and Dean hadn’t let her hear the end of it since the waiter served her her food on a small plate with a fond smile; equally amused herself. As they stood on the sidewalk, assessing the best plan of action for how they were going to get into the window, he was still snickering quietly to himself, and both Sam and Grace had had enough.

“Shut up!” She groaned, slapping her palm against his head, rolling her eyes when he recoiled in mock offense. “Not everyone lives off of cheeseburgers, asshole. And don’t think I didn’t realize you stole I bite when I went to pee!”

“I had to make sure you weren’t being poisoned!” Dean rebutted, his eyes glimmering with amusement that had Grace breaking into a smile as well, the anxiety that had gripped her in the earlier hours of the morning no longer so heavy and paralyzing. “Alright, Sammy goes in first. You follow, and I’ll be right behind you. Got it?”

Both Sam and Grace nodded, accepting the game plan without complaint. Sam leapt up onto the fence, making it look far easier than it actually was as he shoved his foot into one of the holes and reached for the shutters on the side of the house, holding on with one hand while his other pried open the window. Grace, who’d temporarily been referred to as monkey when she was three and climbed anything in sight, had no trouble following his movements, even daring to laugh as she stumbled through the window and into Sam who steadied her with fond amusement etched across his green stare.

“Remember that time you and Jess scaled the fire escape at that frat house?” Sam laughed, recalling a night that felt like years ago, but was really only a couple of months ago as they waited for Dean to climb up the fence and join them in the bathroom.

“Oh my god, yeah!” Grace laughed softly, shaking her head at the memory she’d more or less buried since leaving Stanford behind, “She kept freaking out about falling. I was sure she was going to pass out.” She continued on, but her smile wilted as she and Sam connected eyes, both suddenly sobered up from their momentary bout of nostalgia as reality came crashing in on them once more. “I miss her too, you know.”

“I know.” Sam sighed, patting Grace’s shoulder before he pulled away from the embrace looking toward the window as Dean stumbled in. Sam was quick to turn around and pull the window closed, all three of them focusing on the crime scene beneath their feet now. The black tape on the floor in the shape of an unconscious body was eerie, but a definite sign that they were in the right place.

“This looks like the right place.” Dean affirmed what they’d already gathered, and began to lead the way into the bathroom, leaning down to pick up a rag that was crumpled on the floor. Grace stepped just over the threshold separating the bedroom and bathroom, moving just slightly to the side so that Sam could see as well, not willing to get any closer than she absolutely had to to what she desperately hoped wasn’t a pile of dead beetles. Her face paled when Dean picked the rag up and dead spiders fell onto the floor, their lifeless bodies shriveled up in odd positions that sent shivers down Grace’s spine. “Spiders. From spider boy?” Dean questioned, turning to look at Sam and Grace, the washcloth still between his grasp.

“Matt.” Sam corrected, adamant that Dean refer to the kid by his name, but his efforts were beginning to prove that they only lead to even more taunting. “Maybe.” He reluctantly agreed, sighing heavily as he stared down at the pile of spiders, desperately wanting to be wrong about even considering Matt’s involvement.

Grace had begun to slowly pull away from where Dean was crouched down on the blood stained tile, hardly noticing that she was stumbling backwards at all until her back hit the wall. Her breath hitched just slightly, eyes trained to the pile of arthropods that she could swear was moving toward her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when something thudded against her shoulder, and she definitely did when she glanced down, finding a spider just slightly caught within wild strands of her braid.

“Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!” Her entire body was frozen in fear, eyes wide and pleading as they flickered between both of her brothers, although she wasn’t really seeing them at all. Her hands flailed frantically at her sides, breath hitching as she became hyper aware of every minor sensation happening against her skin, almost certain that she could feel something crawling up her calf despite her pants being tight around her ankles.

Suddenly something was pressing against either side of her face, gentle but gruff against her skin that felt disgustingly clammy as the circulating air brushed through the room. Her unfocused eyes eventually focused again, becoming less glassy as she recognized Sam’s face in front of hers, blocking her sight from the spiders on the floor. His voice felt like it was years away, but she could make out the rushed words nonetheless.“Hey, hey. You’re good. It’s good. It’s gone. It’s gone.”

Grace shoved him away from her panickedly, batting against his chest with her palm when he hardly even budged, looking down at her with concerned confusion. He eventually got the hint and backed out of her way, just in time for her hands to seek out the ledge of the sink and expel everything she’d managed to eat at lunch. She groaned after a minute, reaching for the faucet with trembling hands, letting the water run until the bowl cleared and she could reach in and cup a handful, bringing it to her mouth quickly. When she spat it out, she didn’t look up right away, keeping her head craned above the sink and her eyes pinched shut, forcing herself to remember that she wasn’t stranded in the woods, nor was John even around to see her break like this at all.

When her chest didn’t feel so tight anymore, she stood up fully, reaching for the faucet and turning it off. She pulled Dean’s sleeve over her hand, wiping at her mouth. “You good?” Her eyes trailed to find Dean, his voice the one that had called out for her attention. His eyes were clouded with mixed emotions, his cluelessness conflicting with his natural response which was amusement. Grace could tell he was getting suspicious, connecting dots that had been in front of his face the entire time, but wasn’t entirely sure how the picture he had all the pieces to was supposed to look.

“I really fucking hate spiders.” She groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, attempting to relieve some of the pressure that was building at the front of her head. “I need to get out of here.” She didn’t wait for her brothers to agree, stepping past Sam and heading for the window without so much as a glance back.

Grace woke up to someone tapping her shoulder with gentle urgency, and instinctively she leaned away from the disruption, her green eyes squinting open as she attempted to avoid the blinding brightness beyond the Impala’s backseat. She groaned quietly in exhaustion, but took in her surroundings just enough to recognize that the car was parked on a busy street corner directly beside a high school, and it was Dean who was standing in front of the car door, attempting to rouse her from sleep.

She shrugged off his hand, straightening her posture as she furrowed her eyebrows. She’d fallen asleep shortly after climbing into the backseat back at Oasis Plains, but more than a few hours had passed since then and the dirt caked beneath Dean’s fingernails insinuated that something had happened whilst she was essentially dead to the world. In any other case, she would’ve been pissed that they didn’t wake her, but she wasn’t too perturbed about missing out on even more conversations about killer insects.

“Hey, switch with me.” Dean inclined his head toward the high school, stepping out of the way so that Grace could climb out of the car. She didn’t question why he wanted to switch, figuring that whatever the reason was, it wasn’t a topic for others to overhear, let alone adolescent children getting out of school.

She slid into the passenger seat, pulling it forward so he wasn’t as crammed, and only then did she notice that Sam was on the other side of the car, putting a box down on the leather seats beside Dean. Curiously, she leaned over to peak inside, immediately regretting that decision when she found a bunch of dirt covered skeletons and worms. She groaned, pulling her head away and instead focusing on the road in front of her, beyond ready to finish this case and get moving onto the next, even if that meant they were just one step closer to locating John.

“Do I even want to know what I missed?” Grace questioned, pulling her legs together as she sat criss-cross applesauce in the passenger seat, something her brothers couldn’t even imagine being able to do. Even with the seat pushed up as far as it could be without Grace practically eating the dashboard, Dean’s knees hit the back of the chair and he shifted slightly in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

“Uh, not really.” Sam grimaced as he closed the drivers side door, starting the engine and peeling away from the curb. “Moral of the story is we think these bones are what’s attracting all the bugs.”

“And the kid? Matt?” Grace turned to look at Sam, having figured that they were at the high school he attended, and they’d most likely talked to him at some point.

“Not connected. Smart, though. Figured out something was going on, just didn’t know what.” Grace hummed as she nodded, accepting that her brothers had a good grip on the case without her help. “You okay now?” Sam asked after a beat of silence, his eyes shining with concern that made Grace’s chest clench. She hates when she’s the reason they’re worried; hates that half of what they worry about isn’t even in her control at all.

She nods her head, but the way she bites at her nails tells both of her brothers that she’s lying. “I mean, this case isn’t all sunshine and rainbows to begin with, Sammy. Given the circumstances, I’m as good as I can be.”

“Yeah, and what are those circumstances?” Dean calls from the backseat, finally having had enough of the apparent secrecy that was happening between his two youngest siblings. Grace sighs softly, soft eyes flickering to Dean in the rearview mirror, but Sam’s jack locks, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing, dude.” He defends, but Grace just shakes her head, knowing that Dean’s not going to relent until they tell him something believable.

“No, it’s not nothing. You two have been weird all day. I mean, really, what’s going on?” There was an edge to Dean’s tone that had Grace inching closer to the passenger door, a thickness in the air between Sam and Dean that she didn’t want to be included in at all. She sighed again, green eyes falling shut as she drew in a deep breath.

“Why can you never drop anything, dude?” Sam continues to try and go at Dean, but Grace puts her hand up, ending their arguing before it could really begin.

“It’s fine, Sammy.” She shrugged off his glance, craning her head to look back at Dean who was sitting in the middle of the leather row, his jaw locked, impatience etched across his features. “You remember the hunt in Palm Springs something like fourteen years ago? The spirit that killed those two girls? Dad took me out to salt the bones for the first time?”

“Yeah, and? What about it?” Dean questioned, evidently still annoyed as he barely even glanced at Grace. She bristled at the clip in his tone, sighing softly as she turned her gaze back to the road. The rain had stopped at some point, but the ground still glistened as the Impala’s headlights reflected off of puddles.

“Why do you even care if you’re just going to be an asshole about it?” She huffed, sinking down into the seat, suddenly not so willing to share moments of her troubled past with him. Dean sighed regretfully, letting his shoulders drop as he glanced at Grace softly, but the damage had already been done. The woman in the front of the car had dealt with irrational anger being directed at her for the entirety of her life, and although she still had trouble asserting her own personal boundaries, she wasn’t about to deal with Dean’s anger when whatever his problem was had to do with Sam and not her. “Just forget it. Where are we going?”

“Somehow, whatever’s happening here is connected to these bones. Figured we should probably find out where they came from.” Sam flicked the left blinker on, turning down a street that evidently led to a college campus if the swarms of young adults with backpacks walking around was any indication.

“Right.” Grace hummed, climbing out of the car when Sam pulled over, pulling the keys out of the ignition without saying anything more. Dean caught her wrist before she could follow Sam, keeping her on the sidewalk as he basically pleaded with her to forgive his earlier attitude. “Not now.” She pulled her arm free from his grasp, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over her hands as she caught up with Sam.

“So a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave, maybe it is a haunting?” Grace questioned as they trekked toward the anthropology department. “I mean, pissed off spirits, not a far fetch to say at least one of them has some unfinished business.”

“Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs?” Sam nodded at the suggestion, fixing his jacket over the box, not wanting to draw attention to the bones he carted around with effortless nonchalance like they were only a collection of old textbooks. “And why now?”

“Uh, that’s two questions.” Dean muttered, something clearly on his mind as he matched Grace and Sam’s pace but contributed nothing to their back and forth. “Hey, so with that kid back there how could you tell him to just ditch his family like that?”

“Just, uh, I know what the kid’s going through.” Sam explained, not seeing where Dean was going with his line of questioning, although Grace figured that they’d already butted heads about the topic while she’d been asleep in the car. Dean’s aggravation made a lot more sense now, but she still didn’t feel like divulging pieces of her past even if his temperament was called for. He’d burned that bridge and she didn’t know when she’d ever be ready to rebuild it.

“How about telling him to respect his old man? How’s that for advice?” Dean kept pushing, kept trying to make his opinion of Sam’s decision known, though it wasn’t like neither he nor Grace ever even had a chance to forget about his feelings toward Stanford when almost every conversation led back to the topic in some capacity. Grace understood both of their perspectives, probably more than either of her brothers realized, but Dean’s unwilting loyalty to John was even too much for her to be okay with. She’d give him her patience, allow him to unmake every memory of childhood at his own pace, but pushing his own experiences onto Sam was far more than she could tolerate. One day, Dean would have to accept and understand that all three of them were treated differently by John, and for that they were each entitled to their own feelings about him.

“Dean, come on. This isn’t about his old man. You think I didn’t respect dad. That’s what this is about.” Sam fought, stopping right in front of the department building, his jaw tight as he glanced down at their older brother.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Just forget it, okay? Sorry I brought it up.”

“I respected him. Even when he beat the shit out of Gracie. Even when he bailed on us for a fight he wasn’t even sure he could win. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.” Grace hates that she respected him too, hates that maybe she still does. He was the first person to show her how cruel the world could be to someone smaller, weaker, kinder, but he’s also the man that raised her. The man that raised her brothers, and despite everything, kept a rough over their heads; even if it was an ever changing one. She hates that after everything, the smallest part of her heart still yearns to win over his pride.

“So what are you saying, that dad was disappointed in you?” Dean asks, stopping a few feet ahead.

“Was?” Sam scoffs, a perturbed smile crossing his lips as he shakes his head. “Is. Always has been.”

“Why would you think that?” He genuinely doesn’t understand where Sam’s coming from, because even if he hates John Winchester for how he treated his only daughter, just like Grace, there are pieces of him that only want to remember the good. And, there was good. Not for Grace, never for her, but for him and Sam, there had been undeniable good mixed into the unavoidable bad.

“Because I didn’t wanna bowhunt or hustle pool because I wanted to go to school and live my life which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.” Sam defended, his palm slapping against his thigh as he tried to keep his frustration at bay, but with each quip from Dean, his reserve was breaking more and more.

“Yeah, you were kind of like that blonde chick in The Munsters.” Dean’s smile only further annoys Sam, and Grace can only roll her eyes at her eldest brother's inability to ever have a serious conversation about Sam’s very real resentment towards John. There was only black and white in Dean’s world, but Sam had long ago discovered that life was more gray than anything else.

“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud.” Sam sighs, his voice softening as he begins to break, not possessing the energy to keep having the same conversation over and over again with little to no understanding from their brother. Grace frowns, knowing how much it had hurt Sam that John couldn’t have cared less about his scholarship. She’d been proud, unbelievably so, but she understands that her pride would never be enough to fill the hole in his heart that John had left empty. “Most dads don’t toss their kids out of the house.”

“I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases coming out of your mouth.” Dean rebutted, and Grace wanted to facepalm at that moment. Dean’s perception of family dynamics was so beyond tainted that even years later, he couldn’t even begin to recognize that it wasn’t Sam’s job to keep the peace between himself and John. She couldn’t blame Dean, he’d never known anything other than this life and surviving by whatever means necessary, but she wouldn’t agree with him either.

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find dad I don’t know if he’s even gonna want to see me.” Sam admits, and Grace has to refrain from drawing in a heavy breath at the mention of reconnecting with John. Ultimately, that was the goal, the reason they were even working this case – or any case – at all, but it was easy to forget about the pending reunion when every lead they followed came back empty. She didn’t know if she’d make it out alive once she was back beneath his thumb, but that wasn’t what she needed to put her energy into right now.

Dean bristles, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Grace, who frowns at his conflicted expression. Where she could see both of her brothers' sides in the argument, neither of them could ever seem to meet eyes on their own opinions; both of them too stubborn and fueled by trauma to recognize that all they’d ever been trying to do was survive by whatever means necessary, with whatever cards they were given. Grace knew that Dean had it harder than Sam, she recognized that, but Sam just couldn’t grasp how much Dean had sacrificed to practically raise them on his own whenever John was working a case. He followed orders because it kept them safe. He defended Dad because he desperately wanted them to feel like their lives weren’t so unorthodox and out of control. He didn’t know how to stop fighting the battle because the battle was all he’d ever known. “Sam, dad was never disappointed in you. Never.” Dean shook his head, and Grace could hear the sincerity in his tone, but Sam couldn’t – he didn’t want to, not yet anyways. That was the problem with them. Everything had to be at their own pace, in their own time. “He was scared,”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head as he cut Dean off, who for once was being painfully genuine and transparent. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s afraid of what could’ve happened to you if he wasn’t around.” Dean filled in the blanks, and Grace’s heart thumped in her chest. “But even when you two weren’t talking he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.”

“What?” Grace froze, eyes wide as she looked at Dean for answers. Nausea pools in her belly, her chest tightening as she realizes that she had never fully been out from beneath her fathers thumb. She’d been with Sam for almost a year. It had taken her months to feel like she could be whoever she wanted without word traveling back to John, but now she was confronted with the fact that he’d always been there, always lurking, watching. Maybe he was there for Sam, maybe he never hid within the shadows to check up on her specifically, but he’d still been there. He’d still been there as she did all of the things he’d always told her she couldn’t do. Would he be pissed off when they found him? Would he punish her tenfold because not only had she left him behind in the middle of the night, but she’d gone and made a mockery of their family name? Her mind flashes to moments when she’d been less than perfect. When Jessica had dared her to do shots at a party, and she’d ended up so drunk that she puked in the bushes on the walk back to the apartment. When Sam had dragged her out to the fountain in the middle of the night, and they’d jumped in still in their clothes, claiming that it was a rite of passage at Stanford. Had he been there in those moments? Had he watched as she shed layers of scar tissue to instead embrace freedom and comfortability? Was she ever going to fully be free of his presence, or was she cursed to always be looking over her shoulder?

“Why didn’t he tell me any of that?” Sam craned his head, eyes flickering to Grace for only a moment before his attention fell back to Dean, needing to know why John had never tried to reach out to him when he was apparently worried enough to drive out to Stanford.

“Well, it’s a two way street dude. You could have picked up the phone.” Dean answered, and Grace wanted to scoff at the excuse, but she was frozen in fear, her mind racing a million miles an hour as she overanalyzed all of the times when she’d felt like somebody was watching her but had chalked it up to (valid) paranoia. They may be adults now, but it was never going to be their job to fix the relationships they had with John. “Come on, we're going to be late to our appointment.” He inclined his head toward the doors, stepping forward to keep moving, but Grace remained frozen, her eyes blurred with tears that stung and threatened to fall as she blinked. “Gracie, come on.”

“Um, I’ll, uh, meet you at the car. I need– I’m gonna go find food.” Grace could barely get the words past her lips, but by the time that she had constructed the sentence, she was turning on her heels, putting distance between herself and her brothers without even waiting to see their responses.

She’d spent eleven months and seven days – yes, she counted every last one – at Stanford with Sam. It had taken her a month to even leave the apartment for the first time after showing up on his doorstep in tears, and three months to stop looking over her shoulder every time she did. She’d put in the effort to reinvent herself however felt authentic and right, and there had been something sacred built on the promise that John Winchester would never know who she had become without his influence and restrictions. She’d never had a lot of things in life, but she’d at least had the chance to live her own way. But, now she was finding out that it wasn’t really her own at all. The nights she’d walked home from the part time job she’d gotten at the diner in town, and she’d clutched her bag tighter out of instinct when it had felt like eyes watched her closely. The days when she’d be out with Jessica, laughing and talking like her spirit had never been weighed down by fear, only to shrink into herself when the memories came back and learned instincts took over. Wherever she went, John Winchester followed her. She’d known that, but Sam had promised she was free of his control. She doubted that, but she’d trusted him anyway. Sam was wrong. She was naive. No matter how far she ran. No matter how hidden she made herself. She would never be unpinned.

Her chest tightened as she glanced around the campus square. Was he here now? Had it become something of a game to him? How were they to know if he lurked in the shadows? Suddenly Grace couldn’t breath, and she stumbled her way to a bench across from the department building. Her body crumbled onto the wooden boards, feeling heavy and tense as her vision blurred. For a moment, the sounds around her faded, but then they all came rushing back seemingly louder than they’d been before. She wheezed, blunt nails digging into the wood beneath her, clawing at any chance of finding solid ground to focus on.

Minutes later, the bench shifted beneath additional weight, and Grace’s gaze snapped to the right. She half expected to see her father glaring back at her, but instead, she met the eyes of a student who was probably her age, if not just a few years older. His face was kind, but tired, and his shoulders slumped to accommodate the heavy weight of his backpack.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya.” He apologized, having clearly noticed the way her grip tightened on the wooden boards beneath her thighs.

“No, you’re okay. Just got lost for a minute there.” She brushed him off weakly, her voice hoarse as a result of the emotions that had accumulated in her chest within such a short span of time.

“What classes are you taking?” The student questioned, expecting Grace’s stress to be related to coursework, which wasn’t the farthest fetched conclusion given they were in the heart of a lively campus.

“Oh, I’m not a student here. I’m not even from Oklahoma.” She laughed softly, the tightness in her chest ebbing away as she focused her energy on the casual conversation at hand, glad to be talking about something mindless and surface level for a change. She was getting really tired of long emotionally demanding conversations.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Where are you from?” Grace hadn’t meant for her earlier remark to come across any kind of way, but she can’t help but smile regardless. Something tells her the boy beside her knows a thing or two about fishing for conversations, and she can’t say she minds using him as a distraction.

“Kansas. But, I’ve lived practically everywhere. New York’s probably my favorite.” She doesn’t remember the last time she’s gotten to talk about something like this; probably months ago when Jessica was still around, but the sentiment remains. There was no need to have these conversations with her brothers, they’d all been there when moments happened, they all knew each other enough to just know these things based on body language, but it was nice to feel like someone was seeing her for a change. It got to be draining when all you ever were to anybody was a brush of wind in the night. Their lives were meaningful, she knew that, but that didn’t mean it was easy never having anyone around that cared about who you were as a person, not just an asset or an ally.

She doesn’t know how much time elapsed on that bench, but she knows that Sam and Dean came back far too quickly for her liking. She stood when Sam came into her line of sight, offering Weston an apologetic smile as she pulled at the hem of her hoodie, preparing to join the boys at the car. Weston, who had turned out to be a third year communications major from a town not even twenty minutes north, waved as she turned to leave, laughing beneath his breath when she stumbled over her untied laces and tried to play the entire thing off with nonchalance.

She gave him one last glance before she dunked into the backseat, sighing softly as she closed the door behind her, not even getting the chance to consider putting her seatbelt on before she sped away.

“Gracie–” Dean started, but she shook her head.

“If it’s about Dad, or a bullshit apology for being an asshole earlier, I really don’t care. What did you find out?” She questioned, not in the mood to have another conversation tethered to their father in some capacity. This case was enough without Dean’s remarks.

“The bones are Native American. There’s a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa that might know more.” He sighed, backing down from what was originally going to be his point of conversation. Grace nodded, saying nothing more as she crossed her legs, looking out the window as the scenery blurred together.

They walked into the diner after asking around, and immediately Dean led the way toward a man at a table, laying out playing cards. “Joe Whitetree?” He asked, receiving the slightest nod of confirmation from the long haired man.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?” Sam tucked his hands into his pockets, keeping his voice even and unarmed as he approached. Grace stood between them, a kind and welcoming expression on her face despite how utterly done with the case she was. She wanted something different, something that was more guns blazing and literature. She hated when all there was to do was flounder around until they found something that stuck. And, she especially hated that everything they stumbled upon related back to their father as if the very premise of the case wasn’t enough for her wounded heart.

“We’re students from the university.” Dean began, but Joe was quick to dismantle that lie. Dean bristled at the confrontation, beginning again with another lie he’d thought up, but Joe didn’t take the bait for even a second.

“You know who starts sentence with truth is? Liars.” Grace couldn’t help but smirk a little at the man’s persistence for the truth, and instinctively she stepped out from behind Dean, facing Joe with a soft smile.

“Mr. Whitetree, have you heard of Oasis Plains?” She asked softly, glancing down at his playing cards for only a second before she was searching his eyes again. “It’s a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

Whitetree’s eyes met hers with fondness, and his lips curved into a jesting smirk as he flicked his gaze to Dean’s. “I like her. She’s not a liar.” Grace only smiled more, a soft laugh falling off of her lips as she glanced at Dean to see him pull a palm down his face, clearly exasperated. “I know the area.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about the history there?” She asked cautiously, preparing for this to be dangerous water with the older man, but he only inclined his head curiously.

“Why do you want to know?” He fired back at her, though there was no defensiveness in his tone, and for that Grace was grateful. She couldn’t handle another hostile man on this case.

“Somethings happening there, and well, I think it might have something to do with some old bones we found down there.” She answered, being honest with the man, but still keeping the full truth closer to their inner circle. “The bones… they’re Native American.”

“I’ll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him. Two hundred years ago a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant. Cavalry, impatient. As my grandfather put it, on a night the moon and the sun shared the sky as equals the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again and the next and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time and by the time the sun rose every man, woman and child still in the village was dead.” Grace didn’t break her stare with Whitetree, but she was highly aware of her brothers connecting eyes behind her, and with their attention diverted, she tried not to draw attention to the way her body tightened at the details of the retelling of events. Enough secrets had slipped into the air already, there were just some that didn’t need to see the light of day along with the others. “They say on the sixth night as the chief of the village lay dying he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley and it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me.” Dean muttered to Sam, before looking back at Whitetree, who had finally allowed his gaze to leave Grace’s. “Six days?” He double checked, earning a nod from Joe.

“And on the night of the sixth day none would survive.” Joe reaffirmed what he’d already mentioned, and the siblings nodded acceptingly.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitetree.” Grace smiled appreciatively before she followed her brothers out of the small diner, their minds reeling as they pieced together the information they’d just learned and what they already knew.

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam questioned as they stepped outside, heading back to the Impala to hopefully finish all of this once and for all.

“Friday.” Grace hummed, not even having to think about it. She was good with dates, she always had been. It was one of the few strengths that John Winchester saw in her.

“March 20th. That’s the Spring Equinox.” Sam pieced together the information that had been staring them in the face since the start. Grace wanted to bash her head into the wall for not considering the connection beforehand.

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals.” Dean hummed, and Sam nodded, confirming that he was correct.

“So every year about this time anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.”

“Uh, the sixth night would be tonight.” Grace piped up, looking at Sam with evident concern in her eyes.

“If we don’t do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?” Sam questioned, standing at the passenger side door of the Impala, not in the mood to be the one to drive. Grace didn’t even try to claim the position, just following him along to the left side of the car, waiting for Dean to unlock the latches so that she could slip into the backseat.

“You don’t break a curse. You get out of its way.” Dean shook his head, unlocking the car and beginning to sink into the driver's seat, but not without voicing the urgency that they all knew they faced. “We gotta get those people out now.”

Hours later, they were still on the way back to Oasis Plains, but Dean wasn’t taking his chances with the family. As headlights reflected off of damp roads, he held his phone up to his ear. “Yes Mr. Pike there’s a gas leak in your neighborhood.” He explained, but without the call being switched to speaker phone, neither Grace nor Sam could hear what Larry was saying on the other end. They simply waited with baited breath to hear Dean’s responses, desperately hoping that Larry didn’t prove hard to convince. “Well, it’s fairly extensive. I don’t wanna alarm you, but, uh, we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so just to be safe.” By the way Dean was answering questions, Grace knew that they weren’t going to stand a chance with convincing Larry to leave Oasis Plains behind. “Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power.” There was a beat of silence before Dean stuttered, pulling the device away from his ear and flipping it closed in frustration.

Grace sank back against the backseat, sighing in exasperation for headstrong men that didn’t know how to help themselves any. She watched as Sam reached for the phone next, hurriedly typing numbers into the keypad. “Matt, it’s Sam. Matt, just listen, you have to get your family out of that house right now, okay?” There was undeniable urgency in Sam’s tone, and Grace could only hope that it didn’t freak the teenager out to a point where he became less than helpful. “Because something’s coming.”

Grace looked out the window, watching the world pass by in the form of blurred together hues and shades. Dean was going as fast as he could, but even that was proving to not be enough as the night dragged on later and later and there was still distance to cover before they got to the Pike’s residence.

“You gotta make him listen, okay?” Sam stressed, but that wasn’t enough for Dean, who reached for the device, pulling it up to his ear as his voice hardened.

“Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth. He’ll just think you’re nuts. Tell him you have a sharp pain in your right side and you gotta go to the hospital, okay?” Dean barked his orders sharply, and for a minute, all Grace saw was John telling her and the boys how to weasel their way into a case as children and young teenagers. Once they’d been embraced into the hunting world, John had no shame in using his children as bait. She couldn’t even recall how many times he’d told her to approach random strangers and get them talking, nor how many times he disregarded her safety to pull information out of a case. She knew Dean had good intentions, knew that this was for Matt’s benefit, but she couldn’t help but think that all of this had started for them as little white lies constructed by their father.

Evidently, Matt agreed because Dean slapped the phone closed for a second time and turned his attention to Sam. “Make him listen? What are you thinking?”

Grace rolled her eyes, not bothering to tune into their bickering. She’d had enough of the squabbling for a day, and so instead of paying attention to the way Sam clapped back defensively, she pressed her head against the window, watching the trees blur together as they passed.

When they eventually pulled up to Oasis Plains, making a sharp left before they approached the Pike household, all three of them sighed at the front lights turned on and cars still in the driveway. “Damn it, they’re still here. Come on.” They got out of the car with efficiency, and for the first time ever, Grace desperately wished that this was one of those hunts that could be handled with a gun. She was a near perfect shot, but that wouldn’t do her any good against what they were facing, and she felt entirely too vulnerable going in with only her senses.

As they approached the front door, Larry came storming out, his finger jutted out in their direction threateningly. “Get off my property before I call the cops!” He demanded.

“Mr. Pike, listen.”

“Dad, they’re just trying to help.” Matt interjected from the front porch, but Larry swung to address him quickly, his tone still raised and sharp as he turned his wagging finger to his song.

“Get in the house!” He demanded, and Grace couldn’t help but bristle at the sharpness of his order, her chin dropping to her chest as she recalled the many times John had yelled that same command at her before she’d been met with a world of pain from his bare hands.

“S-Sorry. I told him the truth.” The kid said apologetically, and suddenly Larry’s anger made a lot more sense. Grace sighed, but she couldn’t blame him either. Dean had been asking a lot of him and hadn’t even considered how Matt would feel about lying to the person that only ever saw his worst assets.

“We had a plan, Matt. What happened to the plan?” Dean snapped, his frustration bubbling over and being directed at the first person it could be. Unfortunately, that was Matt. Grace smiled softly at the boy, hoping that she could ease the guilt pooling in his stomach even slightly with the simple expression.

“Look, it’s twelve am. They are coming any minute now. You need to get your family and go before it’s too late.” Sam continued to try and plead, but Larry wanted to hear none of it. Grace hated that she couldn’t blame him for being defensive and critical, but it was in moments like this where she wished people had more blind faith in others.

“Oh, yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm.” The man rolled his eyes, and Dean had finally had enough.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don’t think something weird's going on around here?” He laid out the facts as blandly as he could, not having the time to stand there and hold Larry’s hand as he fought to prove the legitimacy of their claims.

“Look, I don’t know who you are but you’re crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, we’re gonna have a problem.” The man threatened, but it wasn’t anything that the siblings hadn’t heard a few hundred times already when they were working cases that involved real people and families.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we got a problem right now.” Dean fought back, his tone level as he tried to break through the man's strong reserve.

“Dad, they’re right. We’re in danger.” Matt tried again, persistent in his efforts to sway Larry’s decision to remain in Oasis Plains. Grace could only appreciate his courage, especially when Larry turned to yell at him again, and he didn’t even bristle in the face of confrontation. She knows that she would’ve backed down and scampered away the second John so much as turned his head to look at her. She could face monsters and things that went bump in the night, but put her in a room with her father and she was nothing more than a terrified little girl just wanting to avoid any additional pain and torment. “Why won’t you listen to me?” His voice raised, trembling as he finally broke, not able to act like Larry’s constant shoving aside and berating didn’t bother him.

“Because this is crazy! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here! Now are you gonna really take that risk with your family?” Sam raised his voice, but Grace wasn’t focused on the fight at hand, rather the distinct buzzing that was happening on all sides of her. Her chest tightened as she realized they were too late; that the insects were already here.

“Wait!” She called out, voice trembling despite every nerve in her body screaming to keep it together. “Do you hear it?”

Larry snapped his head toward the bug catcher on the porch, his eyes squinting as he took in the sound of audible buzzing, noticing that the electric trap zapped more frequently than it had been all night. “What the hell.” He commented, reality finally beginning to sink in as he snapped his gaze back to the siblings.

“Alright, it’s time to go. Larry, get your wife. Sam.” Dean turned to address his siblings, but he was cut off by Matt calling for their attention, his head craned toward the sky as they watched a swarm of insects rise over the treetops and make their way toward the house.

Grace felt her chest tightened even more, her hands beginning to shake at her sides as she realized that she was out in the open, vulnerable to whatever assault would come. For a moment she was frozen, her gaze turned toward the sky as her breathing became uneven and labored, but then something was grabbing her hand, and before she could really recognize what was happening, she was being dragged up the porch steps and into the house.

“No, no, no.” She mumbled on a loop, her hands tangling into her hair as she pulled at the roots, pacing back and forth as commotion ensued around her. She didn’t pay it any attention, she couldn’t, not with the way her mind was going blank and all she could think of was that night in Palm Springs when everything had changed. She wished she could go back to then, to hours before she’d ever gotten in the car with her father and headed off toward the woods. Things hadn’t been good, but they hadn’t been terrible either. That day in 1991 was the last time that Grace Winchester had ever really been a kid, and she could feel herself slipping into the vulnerable defenselessness that she felt then as she forced herself to remember that there was nothing they could do about the fate they’d found themselves tangled into. All that there was to do was wait and hope for the best, but the best had never found her easily or at all.

“Gracie, hey! Hey, come on! Now’s not the time, okay, sweetheart? I need you with me right now. I need you here.” Dean held her face in his hands tenderly, but unrelentingly. He pulled her hands away from her hair, his eyes filled with determined urgency that only just barely managed to sober her up from her state of panic. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she nodded, breathless as she raced alongside him to where Larry and Joanie kept their spare towels and linens.

She grabbed a towel from his hands with numb fingers, forcing it beneath the gap in the front door as efficiently as she could with the trembling in her knuckles that just wouldn't stop. Her body was moving, but there weren’t any thoughts in her head besides survival. She knew that the Pikes were yelling, that frantic conversations were being had, but it was all static noise in her head as she tried to keep her breathing even and her senses as alert as they could be. She didn’t even register the fact that Sam had come downstairs or that Dean had grabbed a can of bug spray from the kitchen until there was an incessant rattling coming from the fireplace and in seconds a swarm of bees rushed in. Every breathing exercise that she’d even known failed her in that moment, and the composure she’d managed to grab onto left within seconds. She whimpered pathetically, stuttering over soft cries as she panicked, right back in those California woods.

“Come on, Gracie! Come on!” Sam grabbed her hand, dragging her up the stairs with efficiency. She could follow him, that was what she could do, but her feet thudded on the steps as she climbed them and her chest only tightened as she tried to draw in even a single breath.

Somehow she made it up into the attic, and the second Sam’s hand left hers, she was falling to the floor with a thud, scooting back until her back hit a wall. She curled up into herself, her head between her knees as she rocked back and forth, muttering desperate pleas and frantic apologies beneath her breath that were drowned out by the frantic yelling of the Pikes. Somewhere between the first swarm of termites chewing through the wood and the second, she’d passed out, slumping against the boards of the house in a useless pile on the floor. In a single moment of distraction, Sam shrugged his jacket off, throwing it over her exposed face before he went back to trying to find a solution with Dean. Every instinct in his body told him to go over and check on her, rouse her back to consciousness, but that wouldn’t do any good if they were dead by morning anyways. Instead, all he could do was hope that the insects had a harder time getting to exposed inches of her vulnerable body.

It was minutes later when she roused, and the swarm of termites was still attempting to cleanse the land of their presence. She glanced to her left, scrambling into the corner of the attic where her brothers were crouched desperately. She threw herself at whoever was closest, letting out heartbreaking and raspy sobs as she dug her face into their neck, the hood of the hood pulled over her face just enough to keep the bugs from bouncing off of her skin, but she could still feel the thud of their dense bodies hit the fabric on her body. And then, it stopped. She didn’t move, didn’t loosen her hold, but eventually it became clear that the swarm had left, and her chin was guided upward by gruff hands that she knew to be Deans.

“You’re okay, Gracie. It’s okay.” Dean coaxed softly, holding the back of her head as he analyzed her face for any bites or injuries. He frowned softly when he noticed three red blotches on her cheek and another on her forehead, but considering the circumstances, she’d come out relatively unscathed. “It’s over. It's done.”

The very next morning, when the Impala pulled up to the Pike residence, there was a moving truck parked at the curb and Larry was standing beside the bed, packing up the little belongings that they’d moved into the house. She climbed out of the car with her brothers, walking up to where he stood in casual attire as opposed to the suits she’d typically seen him wearing during the daytime.

“What? No goodbye?” Dean called out sarcastically, catching Larry’s attention.

“Good timing. Another hour and we’d have been gone.” Larry hummed, reaching out to shake Dean’s hand in silent thanks.

“For good?” Sam questioned, shaking Larry’s hand next. Grace could only offer a small smile, still reeling from the events from the early morning hours. Her chest still ached, her breathing was still wheezy, and every time she closed her eyes she constructed a scene of Palm Springs that looked eerily similar to the night's endeavors.

“Yeah. The, uh, developments been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I’m gonna make damn sure no one lives here again.” Larry explained, and the Winchesters nodded understandingly.

“You don’t seem too upset about it.” Sam noted.

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…somehow…I really don’t care.” Larry’s gaze flickered to Matt, and Grace couldn’t help the weak smile that pulled at the corners of her lips as she watched him finally recognize what was most important in life.

She laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, nodding toward the car. “I’m gonna go wait in the car.” She explained, her voice hoarse and quiet, hardly louder than a whisper and she honestly couldn’t say if it was a result of her sobbing, or a learned instinct after years of forcing herself to be invisible. Either way, she tried not to think too much about the weakness she was showing in front of Larry and her brothers. “Don’t take too long. Please.”

Dean nodded, patting her back as she passed him. Whatever happens next, all he hopes is that Grace could finally catch a break.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x ofc #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x ofc #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x sister!reader #supernatural x ofc #john winchester

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glimmeringwinchester · 5 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 – grace winchester has spent her life searching for approval from her father. when she and her brothers find themselves up against a nest of vampires, she realizes its okay to let bridges stay burned.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) – canon typical violence, ptsd, mention of anxiety, implied panic attacks/anxiety disorder, mentions of childhood abuse, additional violence, protective dean and sam, gracie finally stands up for herself, dean is serious when he says john will never hurt his sister again, fluff/comfort f you squint and really take it in, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester hasn’t been the same since finding her father, or, her father finding her. Even with him gone again, she flinches at every loud noise, recoils into herself at any innocent touch, and has somehow gotten quieter than she already was. She sits beside her brother at a small table, scrounging for another case to work and monster to kill. Sunlight falls into the diner from every angle, and it catches in her tousled hair somewhat angelically. She’s not paying attention to anything around her, entirely absorbed in the newspaper clippings she has between her fingers.

“All right, dude, not a decent lead in all of Nebraska.” Dean’s voice is gruff and gravely, but it hardly breaks through the focus Grace has found. “What do you got?”

“Well, I've been scanning Wyoming, Colorado, cd. Dakota. Here – A woman in Iowa fell ten thousand feet from an airplane and survived.” Sam read off of his laptop, though even he didn’t sound too enthusiastic about that lead but it's all that he’s been able to come up with since opening his web browser.

Dean shakes his head, hands clasped together as he abandons his paper for a while. “Sounds more like ‘that’s incredible!’ than the twilight zone.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighs, and his fingers move against the keypad, evidently beginning a search for something else; something real. Grace stays locked into her newspaper, green eyes scanning the pages intently.

“Hey, you know, we could just keep heading East – New York, Upstate. Could stop by and see Sarah again. Huh? She’s a cool chick, man. Smokin’.” Dean taunted, his smile broad and jesting. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?”

Sam laughed, scratching at his head as he kept his eyes down and on the new webpage he’d pulled up. “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe someday. But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do, Dean, and you know that.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean sighed acceptingly, turning his head to Grace who hadn’t shared any potential leads, but looked too interested in the paper to have not found something. “What’d you get, Gracie?”

Both brothers sigh when they realize she’s not even listening to them, and tenderly Sam reaches out to put a hand on the newspaper. His heart breaks when Grace flinches, eyes wide and alert as she looks between Sam and Dean before eventually shrinking into herself and setting the paper down entirely. “Yeah?” She asks softly, not even slightly aware of why they want her attention.

“Find anything? Sam and I got squat.” Dean asks again, only this time his tone is softer. He hates that for nineteen years, this was the only version of his sister that he’d ever known. He didn’t think she was capable of being any other way, but then she’d come back from Stanford and she’d been situationally bubbly and sharp witted. He hadn’t had the chance to realize that John drained the life from her when they were kids, but he knows now, and he hates that he can’t have everything. He can have John, but then he loses Grace. He can have Grace, but then he’s out of the only parent they have left. What Dean Winchester hates the most, is that he’d trade his father for his sister any day.

“Oh, um, yeah. Daniel Elkins of Manning, Colorado was found mauled in his home. I know the name, I just can’t figure out from where, but it looks like the cops don’t know what to think. At first they thought it was some kind of bear attack, but now they found signs of a robbery.” Grace explains what she’d found, her voice as quiet as a whisper but she hasn’t been much louder since they’d connected with John.

Dean rummages through his bag to find John’s journal, the name apparently sounding familiar to him too. Grace watches him intently, not because she’s interested, but because she’s been on edge for days now. “Here. Check it out.” Dean hands the journal to Grace once he’s found something relevant, and the youngest Winchester takes it into her hands with narrowed eyes.

“It has to be the same Elkins.” Grace mumbles after a beat, looking up at Dean who nods agreeingly.

“How can you be so sure?” Sam questions, pulling the journal into his own hands and out of his sisters. He misses the way that Grace’s eyes flicker downward with uncertainty, but Dean doesn’t, and he sighs internally. Grace hadn’t questioned her capabilities as a hunter when it had been just them out on their own. The eldest Winchester hates that someone he still needs can ruin everything good in his life just by being around.

“It’s a Colorado area code.” She explains hesitantly, and Sam’s eyes soften when he realizes that she’d interpreted his genuine confusion as critical doubt. This had been the version of his sister that had shown up on his doorstep over a year ago. This was the version of his sister that he’d left behind without looking back. He doesn’t know how he left her so easily back then; not when he can finally see just how broken down she’d been. He misses the way she rolls her eyes whenever he questions her, and how she used to contribute to their conversations. He’d spent nineteen years not knowing that his baby sister could be somebody entirely different, but now that he knows that, now that he’s seen that version of her and had gotten to love her, he doesn’t want this. He hates this.

“Alright. Manning, Colorado. Let's go.” Dean threw a crumpled up napkin on the table, beginning to pack away all of the books he’d pulled out from his bag. Sam doesn’t hesitate to follow his action, closing his laptop and reaching for the leather crossbody he refused to wear correctly. Grace grabs the paper she’d been reading, folding it in half before she stood up, waiting by the corner of the table for Sam before she turned to follow Dean.

He held the door open for Grace, and the youngest Winchester whispered a soft ‘thank you’ as she passed. Dean shook his head, making eye contact with Sam before they followed their sister to the Impala. Daylight was precious and quickly fleeting, so after bags had been thrown into the trunk, all three siblings piled into the car and headed straight toward Colorado.

By the time they reached Manning, darkness had fallen over the town. Grace Winchester fought off a yawn as she crawled out of the backseat of the Impala, evidently not having won any measure of rest despite her prolonged silence that left the backseat quiet and still. She stumbled into Sam unintentionally, and her entire body seized with fear instinctively. Her firm-chested brother stepped away from her sadly, wondering what it was going to take to pull her out of her shell again. He hadn’t been much help the first time around. He knew too much, felt too much about her to ever think of intentionally provoking her. Jessica had been the one to breach her bubble of solitude. She’d been the one to drag Grace to parties and study groups. She’d been the one to spend hours in Grace’s room in silence, but eventually that silence became lively conversations that kept Sam awake when he was trying to get rest in before an exam. He might’ve had a little sister for the last twenty years of his life, but he doesn’t know the first thing about girls in general.

“Gracie.” Dean calls for her quietly as he stands in front of the open trunk. He’s scrounging for weapons, but he has a flashlight already extended toward her. Grace takes it quickly, testing the battery before she nods and steps away, putting unnecessary distance between them.

Dean throws one at Sam, not as cautious about his brother's reaction as he was about his sisters. If it was two weeks earlier, he would’ve thrown one at Grace without warning her, but it’s not two weeks ago, and his sister isn’t the same as she was then. It’s a realization that keeps hitting the Winchesters like a heavy punch, and each time it crosses their mind is as devastating as the first.

They creep through the blanket of darkness with precision that only comes with practice. Grace is sandwiched between her brothers, the shift in attitude not enough to derail their routine. She stops behind Dean when they approach the front door of Elkin’s house. Insects chirp from all around her and her skin crawls, but at the very least she takes their presence as a sign of good things. At least it's not eerily quiet. They cross over the threshold with careful footsteps, shining their lights against surfaces in the distance. There isn’t much on show in Elkin’s property, but Grace supposes that fits the script of any hunter that she’s known. They all have a lot of things, but most of those things aren’t sentimental or personal. For a moment, Grace considers what her own home would look like if she ever found a way to have that small privilege. She thinks, at the very least, she’d display all of the childhood pictures they have.

They creep further into the house until they find what was once Elkin’s study. Grace grimaces at the evident signs of a struggle, the sight unsettling given Daniel Elkin’s capabilities and knowledge. Something had happened here, that much was obvious.

“Looks like the maid didn’t come today.” Dean commented sarcastically, sweeping his flashlight against the desk to his left.

Sam peels away from his siblings to kneel by the door, his fingers trailing over whatever was thrown across the floor in a thin layer. Grace trailed farther away, shining her flashlight against the walls in the farthest corner. She craned her head when Sam called out, his voice even but laced with curiosity. “Hey, there’s salt over here, right inside the door.”

“You mean protection-against-demon salt or ‘oops, I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean didn’t even bother to glance back, too busy rifling through papers that Elkins had scattered around the place.

“It’s clearly a ring.” Sam mused, brushing off his fingertips before he stood up, shining his light in Dean’s direction. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?”

“Definitely.” Dean hummed with unmistakable certainty. His younger siblings frowned at his tone of voice and crept closer until they could look over his shoulder at the papers he was flipping to. They weren’t just random papers like Grace had assumed they were, but rather a spiral ring journal that held a striking resemblance to something they all knew.

“That looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s.” Sam noted, his flashlight shining against the paper, bringing the black ink to light that was otherwise near perfectly concealed by the darkness of midnight.

“Except this dates back to the ‘60s.” Dean informed his younger siblings of what he’d read on a page toward the front of the journal. There wasn’t time to waste. Whatever attacked Elkins could very well still be in the general area, and with that in mind, Dean grabbed the journal before he backed away from the study, crossing over the salt-lined threshold to find another area of the house.

All of the other rooms held the same level of physical distress, which had the baby hairs at the nape of Grace’s neck standing up straight. Furniture was broken, glass was shattered, salt was scattered – it wasn’t a good sight, and all three of the Winchesters knew that.

“Whatever attacked him, looks like there was more than one.” Dean muttered beneath his breath, creeping toward one of the far corners in the room while Sam and Grace crept toward another. “Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too.”

“Yeah.” Sam agreed, sounding breathless as he swept his gaze across all of the destruction that had occurred. Grace could remember what their motel room looked like at times when John got too involved in a case, and she couldn’t help but wonder if some of this had been a result of that same all-in dedication. It wasn’t the farthest fetched theory in the world, but it didn’t take away from the obvious struggle, so she kept it to herself. There was no point in sharing if what she had to say didn’t add any value to the case, John had taught her that when she was seven.

Grace was rummaging through a pile of papers that looked like they could be leads for a case when Sam piped up a few feet behind her, his attention aimed on Dean. “Got something?” He inquired hopefully, and Grace’s head snapped to her brother immediately, her full attention on whatever it was that Dean was looking at.

“I don’t know. Some scratches on the floor.” Dean mumbled, his fingers ghosting over the scratches that from where Grace was standing, looked to be surrounded by pools of blood.

“Death throes maybe?” She questioned lightly, and Sam nodded in agreement, looking back at Dean who was already considering the possibility.

“Maybe.” He agreed, but there was something beneath his eyes that had Grace looking in a different direction. She made a soft sound of understanding when Dean reached for a blank paper on the desk, grabbing a pencil and lowering it to the floorboard. She hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. Maybe she was getting dull, losing that only thing that made her valuable. “Or maybe a message.” Dean’s eyes widened as he pulled the paper away from the floor, the sliver of light that brightened the room falling against it at just the right angle. He held it out to Grace, “Look familiar?”

The young woman reached for it curiously, familiarity crossing her features within the first handful of seconds. “Three letters, sex digits – the location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail dorp.” She breathed the realization, her eyes wide as she trailed her gaze to the door.

“That’s just the way Dad does it.” Dean didn’t think before he said it, but it’s as if he can see every wall his sister has let slip come right back up into place. He sighs with conflict that can’t be resolved right now, dusting off his hands as he makes his way back toward the Impala. Grace followed quickly, her footsteps falling into step with Dean’s unintentionally. Sam’s lips curved slightly at the sight. Their lives had been anything but traditional, but in his sister there was still an innocent little girl. For years she had followed Dean around everywhere, emulating his attitude, mimicking his movements. Their lives might’ve changed, but somewhere within them all were the kids they’d once been.

Grace stayed in the car when the boys ran in to retrieve whatever had been stashed at the post office box. She hadn't wanted to travel too far from the car in paranoid fear that they’d been tailed to the location, and neither Dean or Sam had been willing to fight her on the subject. It wasn’t really a three person job anyways, but as they rushed back to the Impala with a semi-crumpled envelope in hand, Dean couldn’t help but feel like something was missing; someone. He hopes whatever rut Grace had fallen into would end with time and patience, because he doesn’t know how to lead a hunt when she isn’t behind him keeping him in line. There might’ve been hunts when she was away at Stanford, but even back then he’d missed her.

The door slammed as the eldest Winchester fell into the driver's seat of the car. Sam was hardly any different, and Grace swore her bones rattled at the force of metal meeting metal ahead of her. “J.W. – You think? John Winchester?”

“I don’t know. Should we open it?” Dean questioned, his voice gravely with concern, but their attention was short lived as knocking on the window shattered their found sanctuary in the leather detailed car. Grace flinched into the farthest door, her eyes wide as they looked up to meet the reflection of her father. She’d known that they weren’t alone, but her heart still hammers in fear as she sweeps her gaze over the man she’s least expected to show up midway through a hunt. “Dad?” Dean called out, breathing heavily as he pulled away from the window just enough to see out of it clearly.

John didn’t say anything, instead, he peeled open the back door and slid in right beside Grace on the leather seat. The youngest Winchester tried to remain unbothered, forcing her shoulders to drop and her hands to remain uncurled, but there was no way for her to completely rewire the instinctive reaction that happened whenever her father was close enough to touch.

“Dad, what are you doing here? Are you all right?” Sam craned his neck to look back at John, but his green eyes found his sister instinctively. Grace was settled as close to the passenger side door as she could get without looking like she was trying to escape her fathers reach, and her shaking hands lay upright on her thighs like she’d been taught all of those years ago. He can still remember the first time John had backhanded her because she’d clenched her fingers into fists when he’d been ragging on her ‘disobedience’ and his heart lurched at the violent memory of blood dripping from her cheek after John’s ring had sliced her skin. He’d do anything to switch places with her, get her out of armshot from John, but he can’t. Instead, he can only hope that their fathers not here to antagonize her further.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” John nodded, keeping his eyes on Sam, not allowing himself to even glance at Grace. The youngest Winchester doesn’t know what to make of the situation, but she knows that it's too early to rest entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d flipped at the drop of a hat with no warning. “Look, I read the news about Daniel. I got here as fast as I could. I saw you two up at his place.”

Dean’s eyes trail to Grace, her insistence that she stay at the car while they went inside making more sense now than it did only moments ago. For once, she’d had a right to be on edge, and he hates that he hadn’t trusted her instincts more, but it was hard to know when her anxiety was trustworthy. She’d spent the better portion of the last week away from John looking over her shoulder without reason. “Why didn’t you come in, Dad?” Sam frowns, pulling Dean’s attention back to the conversation at hand.

“You know why.” John huffed, his voice even and without any care for the wellbeing of his children. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed… by anyone… or anything. Nice job of covering your tracks, by the way.” Grace could scoff at the excuse. They would’ve been safer had he been in there with them, even if she wants nothing to do with him, he was the one that taught them that there was safety in numbers, and yet he’s always the first to be missing from a fight.

“Ah, that was Gracie.” Dean shook his head, knowing he’d caught John in a trap. He wouldn’t take back what he’d said, no he was far too interested in keeping his pride intact to backtrack on his words so obviously, but the sour grimace that crossed his expression said everything that he wouldn’t. Had he known that Grace was the one to cover their tracks initially, he never would’ve praised her efforts, but he’d already done it, and for once Grace Winchester was getting validation for her efforts, even if it was muddled by the disgusted expression that fell upon their fathers browline.

Unconsciously Grace pulled at the seam line in her black leggings, her bottom lip caught between her teeth tightly as she tried not to focus on how her father was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. “Knock it off, girl.” John snapped when he became aware of the anxious movements his daughter was making to his left. The young woman, who still hadn’t even celebrated her twenty-first birthday and was really only a kid pretending to understand an adult world, stiffened at the reprimand, stilling her fingers on her thighs and straightening out her posture.

“Wait, so you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam frowned, and all three siblings bristled at the realization that they would never be enough for their father on their own. Something else always came before them, whether it was a hunt, or apparently a fallen friend. It shouldn’t sting anymore, they should be used to it, but Grace’s eyes still flickered to her lap in a moment of weakness.

“Yeah.” John sighed, but there was no ounce of apology in his whispered words. “He was – he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting.”

Grace frowned at that, knowing that most everyone John crossed paths with was brought up in some capacity. Whatever John learned, they learned to, and Daniel Elkins was not someone that Grace remembered from passing conversation. “You didn’t tell us about him.” Not everything had gone back to the way that it had been, because if it did, Grace never would’ve opened her mouth at all, let alone to question John’s relationship with another hunter.

“I don’t gotta tell you shit, girl.” John’s eyes were ablaze with anger as he snapped his gaze toward his youngest child, and Grace didn’t hesitate to push herself closer to the door, her eyes wide as she stared back at her father whose short temper hadn’t gotten any better since she’d left home. “You better watch who you're talking back to. You got that?” He seethed, leaning closer until his breath fanned across her face and she was effectively pinned between the car door and his body. She wouldn’t be able to bail before his hands caught the fabric of her shirt, but her hand reached for the handle regardless.

She nodded frantically, her breath hitching when his hand shot out to grab the fabric of her top. He pulled her closer, close enough to tell that he’d definitely had a drink sometime recently if the stench of beer on his breath was any indication of his alcoholic habits. “I said. You got that?”

“Yes sir.” She forced the words off of her lips, hating how they felt like a mouthful of dry sand, but evidently that was enough to break through some of the anger that clouded his eyes with something dark and unwelcoming. He didn’t release the tight grip he had on her shirt however, and nervously Grace glanced down at the crumbled fabric that was one sharp tug away from tearing.

“Dad, hey–” Dean called for John’s attention, and suddenly that anger melted away into something else, his gaze softening once it fell upon his boys. He shoved Grace away from him with more strength than what was necessary, and the young woman's head thumped against the window from the unexpected force of her fathers hand shoving her backward. She winced, but pursed her lips together to stop the audible pain from passing into the air and giving him another reason to put his hands on her. She was getting restless, anxious, her eyes were darting between all three men in the car, and whether she noticed or not, tears blurred in her waterline as her breathing hitched to something familiar and worrisome. “What happened with Elkins? Why did you never mention him?”

“We had a– we had kind of a falling out. I hadn’t seen him in years.” John’s voice softens, his eyes only on Dean as he speaks. Grace hates that even after years, he can’t even look at her without inflicting harm and pain. She doesn’t know what happened between them, can remember sparing moments when he hadn’t been horrible, but that was as far gone as Mary Winchester. It was like one day, he’d suddenly realized he hated her and had never tried to reframe his way of thinking. Even if she hated him, wanted nothing to do with him, it hurt to know that the only parent she has left doesn’t love her the way he was supposed to. “I should look at that.” He nods toward the envelope in Dean’s hand, and the eldest child doesn’t hesitate to hand it back to him.

John peeled the envelope open carefully, unfolding the paper with a level of cation that he’d never applied to his own flesh and blood. With his gruff hands occupied, Grace raised her own to the collar of her shift, rubbing against the wrinkled fabric and where the neckline of her shirt had rubbed against sensitive skin harshly. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have fabric burns on her body, but as she presses her fingers over the reddened and irritated skin, every memory comes rushing back to her at once. “‘If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.’ That son of a bitch.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrow, and Sam leans closer to the backseat, curiosity evident in his own green eyes. “What is it?” He questioned carefully. John had never treated him the way he’d been quick to treat Grace, but he’d taken his anger toward them out on her, and so the middle Winchester acted with caution.

“He had it the whole time.” John shook his head, but that didn’t give any of his children anymore insight.

“Dad, what?” Sam asked again, and Grace was already sick of them having to ask the same questions multiple times just to get some semblance of a straight answer from him. She doesn’t know why he still treats them like they’re not good enough to be involved in the hunts that he’s chasing, but with every passing second it gets on her nerves more and more. He was the one that dragged them into this life unapologetically. He was the one that had sent them coordinates and essentially led them on a wild goose chase, and yet he’s the one that keeps that an arms length away whenever they're together.

“When you searched the place, did you see a gun–”

Grace’s posture straightens even more, and despite everything she’s come to learn about avoiding John’s anger, she finds herself speaking up, filling in the blanks of his sentence the same way she’d fill in Dean’s. “An antique colt revolver?”

John’s gaze snapped to her, his hard eyes filled with anger and violent passion, but he didn’t comment immediately. Instead, he inclined his head, demanding more than what she’d already given; giving her permission to say more. “The gun wasn’t there, but the case was.”

“For the love of god, girl!” He bellowed in frustration, and within seconds his hand was jutting out to make contact with her face. Grace squeaked when the stinging pain registered in her mind, her fathers handprint warm and throbbing against her cheek, but she didn’t recoil into herself like she wanted to. That would only fuel his anger more, and it seemed like in the years since she’d run away, he’d lost any kind of handle on it at all.

“Dad, what the hell!” Sam yelled, his eyes looking straight at Grace who only shrugged off his concern. Dean’s nostrils flared with anger, his jaw locked with a protectiveness Grace remembers being more controlled, but he didn’t comment, didn't want to test the theory that John would still punish her further if they intervened in any way. They weren’t children anymore, him especially, but somehow he thinks John will always treat them like they are.

“They have it.” John didn’t even bristle beneath the heated glares his sons were throwing at him, and realizing that harboring any ill feelings wasn’t going to get them anywhere tonight, Dean drew in a deep breath, trying to push the protective anger out from his rough exterior.

“You mean whatever killed Elkins?” He asked calmly, but his eyes stayed on Grace, not unaware of how she was falling into a panic attack the longer John sat beside her. Her eyes that had once been so clear and green were glazed over with a dark fear that sent a chill down his spine. He still needed his father, still needed advice and direction, but he’d spend the rest of his life lingering in feelings of uncertainty if it meant keeping her safe and unharmed.

“We got to pick up their trail.” John’s eyes flashed with urgency, and before any of the siblings could unpack the use of ‘we’ in his sentence, he was climbing out of the backseat and into the cold Colorado air. The youngest Winchester let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t even realized was collecting in her chest, deflating into the passenger side door as she finally brought her hand up to hold where her father had struck her. The skin throbbed and burned beneath her touch, and without even seeing the damage that had been done, she knew her eye would bruise from how his fingers brushed right beneath her waterline. Her lip quivers in an automatic response, but she refuses to cry in front of him – refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d just broken yet another piece of her slowly dying heart.

“Wait.” Sam called through the open window, both him and Dean leaning toward it. “You want us to come with you?”

“If Elkins is telling the truth, we’ve got to find this gun.” John sighed, leaning into the window so that he could see both of his sons; the only two people he even cared about just slightly. Grace was just another box to check, or at least, that’s how she felt a majority of the time as she sat in her brother's shadows. It was hardly fair. John expected perfection from her, and yet he never gave her an ounce of what he did her brothers. The odds were always stacked against her, but somehow she’d survived this long. That had to count for something.

“The gun? Why?” Sam continued to press for information, for a reason to put his life on this line for just another weapon, but John refused to give into the valid questioning.

“Because it’s important, that’s why.” John argued, but for once, Sam wasn’t backing down to his bullshit excuses. If Grace wasn’t terrified of being dragged out of the car and beaten into a bloody pulp on the gravel road, maybe she would’ve said something too, but the sting against her cheek kept her firmly where she already was.

“Dad, we don’t even know what these things are yet.” Sam tried to make their hesitancy known, but John was never the kind of man to take excuses of any kind. He’d give them just enough information to assure they weren’t going in completely blind, but nothing entirely helpful. Grace thought it must be some kind of sick game to him. There was no other explanation for his secrecy.

“They were what Danny Elkins killed best… vampires.” All three siblings visibly recoiled at their fathers words, a combination of shock and fear filling their eyes as they craned their heads to look at their father.

Dean’s eyes widened considerably, his gaze set on John firmly. “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing.”

“You never even mentioned them, Dad.”

“I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out.” John hangs his head for a second, accepting his son's disbelief and concern. Grace doesn’t even want to consider what John’s reaction would’ve been if she’d been the one to question him on this. “I was wrong.”

Grace sighed quietly to herself as she sank deeper into the backseat of the Impala, itching to grab the blanket that was crumpled into a ball on the floor, but fighting against it. Instead, she listened to John prattle on about everything that he knew about vampires, her brothers giving him the same attention. “Most vampire lore is crap. A cross won’t repel them. Sunlight won’t kill them and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust – that part’s true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won’t know it’s a vampire until it’s too late.”

He didn’t say anything else other than that he’d tail them to the motel they’d scouted out a few miles West. The thought of him spending the night with them in a cramped motel room made her skin crawl, but there was no getting out of this. This is what Dean pulled them away from Stanford to do – find John – but Grace hadn’t realized just how much she’d begin to sacrifice just to see through these endless hunts. When he was far enough away to no longer hear the way that rocks and leaves crunched beneath his boots, Dean rolled the window up, starting the car with evident irritation in his posture.

He didn’t pull away from the post office immediately, instead he turned toward the backseat, ushering Grace to come into view where the lights shone brightly over the center console. “Come here, Gracie. Let me see you.”

“I’m fine, D.” The youngest of the trio whispered, tears still prickling her eyes as she cradled her cheek protectively. She sounded small, scared, and Dean hated that this was his fault. He dragged her back into this, he brought her into the search for John. Even if he hadn’t been the one to strike her, it felt like he did as he sat with the guilt of being the reason she’s here at all.

“Gracie, let me see.” He insisted, reaching out for her. He hates that she flinches, hates that her eyes that aren’t so soft anymore pinch together in fear of another strike, but eventually she caves, leaning closer until her face is illuminated by the glow of the lights inside of the car. “He got you good, huh?” His thumb strokes across the visible mark of where his fathers palm had clapped against her soft skin, and Grace sucks in a breath between clenched teeth at the sting that comes forward with the continuous prodding and poking.

“When doesn’t he.” Grace hummed humorlessly, and both of her brothers seem to deflate at the reminder that she’s used to this. They know that she is, know that she can handle constant pain and soreness, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow when they’re essentially helpless in the situation. “I’m fine, Dean. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

Dean, for once in his life, doesn’t see John as being his entire world, and softly he tries to make that known to both of his siblings, but more so Grace who seems to only be holding on by a thread. “I can tell him to get lost–”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Grace huffs, pulling away from his touch to slouch against the backseat. Dean wants to say that she’s handling this well, that she’s coming back out of her shell now that John’s no longer in sight, but he knows that it's only the adrenaline of having to be on her a-game that’s fueling this conversation right now. He knows that the second they pull away from this gravel road, she’ll become nothing more than a shadow of herself as she tries to keep everything that wants to come falling out inside. “Just… don’t try to get between us if something happens, okay? It’s not worth it.”

“I sat there and did nothing for nineteen years–”

“Yeah, because the one time you did say something, he held a machete to my throat and said he’d kill me!” Grace snapped, tears falling down her face as she finally broke. “This is not about you, Dean! This isn’t about either of you! It’s about me! About how he hates me so much that he’d rather threaten to kill me than apologize for hitting me so hard he fractured my ribs! You wanted him back, well guess what, here he is. Now can we please stop acting like this isn’t normal. Like you didn’t know this is exactly what would happen when you showed up at Stanford asking for help finding him!”

“Gracie, I didn’t–”

“Yes, you did. Don’t even try to say you didn’t think this would happen again. It’s fine, Dean. Can you just drive, please? Before he comes out here again.” Grace melted into the leather seats beneath her weight, her arms crossed over her chest as she let her tears fall silently, not possessing the energy it would take to shut out her overwhelming emotions entirely. Sam sank into the passenger seat with a sigh, his eyes trailing to Dean who held the wheel tightly, tears glimmering in his own green eyes. Truth is, he did know this would happen, at least some buried part of him did. He’d been hopeful that things wouldn’t end up like this though; been hopeful that for once he could just have his family together without violence. He was stupid to think that grudges and anger would be so easily overcome, and he hates that he pulled Grace away from something good just for her to end up where she’d started.

The engine revs as he pulls away from the post office, tension thick in the car as neither of the siblings say anything else, nobody knowing what to say.

Despite the motel that they’d rented a room at, Grace hadn’t gotten so much as a wink of sleep in the hours that had elapsed from night to early morning. She couldn’t rest knowing that her father sat only a few inches away from the end of the bed that she shared with Sam, and she knows that he knows that despite doing her best to act like she wasn’t wide awake with her eyes closed. She shifts slightly beneath the heavy blankets, curling her hands into fists beneath the pillow as she hears the faint static of the police scanner hum to life and him grab his jacket that had been thrown against the chair he pulled away from the table. She barely keeps her body from flinching when his hand bats at her ankle that's beneath the covers, apparently mistaking her body for Sam’s as he calls for her brothers to get up.

“Sam, Dean, let’s go.” He demands, but all her brothers do is groan in response as they try to cling onto sleep. Grace doesn’t have the same privilege, and quickly she slips out of bed, putting her sock-covered feet into the tennis shoes she’s had for nearly two years. Her heart hammers in her chest when she remembers how Jessica had skipped an entire day of classes near finals just to drag her to the mall and take advantage of all the year-end sales that were going on. It had been so long ago now that the laces that were once a shade of pink, were now muddied and twinged brown. Grace would do anything to go back to a time when she could tell that they were pink. “Picked up a police call.”

“What happened?” Sam questioned, his voice filled with exhaustion as he peered up at John. Instinctively his hand reached out to feel Grace beside her, and when he came up with only warm sheets, he sat up fully, searching for her until he found her beside the nightstand separating the two beds, reaching for one of Dean’s jackets that she’d stolen weeks ago.

“A couple called 911. They found a body in the street. Cops got there. Everyone was missing. It’s the vampires.” John explained gruffly, his gaze trailing to Grace when her realized that she was the only one ready to go. His posture stiffened, his eyes hardened and every last piece of Grace’s heart nearly broke as she watched him throw daggers at her. She would never be able to please him, but a small part of her still tries to show up her brothers hoping for scraps of his validation.

“How do you know?” Sam questioned, finally throwing his feet over the side of the bed, meanwhile Dean still hadn’t moved an inch, his sleep-filled eyes riddled with conflicting emotions.

“Just follow me, okay?” John huffed, already heading towards the door. Dean groaned, swinging his legs off of the bed and standing up finally. Grace didn’t avoid his quick glance intentionally, but it still cuts Dean as he sighs to himself.

“Vampires.” He tries to downplay his obvious hurt, chuckling beneath his breath as he stuffed his bag full without any rhyme or reason. “It’s funnier every time I hear it.”

Grace and Sam rolled their eyes, both throwing their duffles over their shoulder and heading toward the door. Grace’s cheek wasn’t as inflamed as it had been the night prior, but beneath her eyes was a purplish bruise that ached deep in her bones. Sam grimaced as the light caught on the undertone of yellow in the wounded flesh, and comfortingly he slung as arm over her shoulder once they passed through the threshold of the motel room.

“Get any sleep last night?” He asked her softly, aiming his words for her alone to hear and take in.

Grace sighed, shrugging his arm off of her and stepping the slightest inch ahead of him, creating distance that only isolated her breaking heart further. Regardless, she looked over her shoulder, a smirk of indifference resting against her bitten lips. “Nope.” She threw her ponytail over her shoulder as she continued toward Baby, not willing to let her father read any kind of emotion in her appearance.

Sam sighed, craning his head to look at Dean when he finally emerged from the hotel room. “She’s gonna be fine, right?” It felt like a cheap question, one that undermined the severity of Grace’s experience with John, but Sam was desperate to hold out hope for his little sister bouncing back the second they could cut ties with John… if they ever cut ties with John.

“This time Sammy… I don’t know.” Dean admitted with a reluctant sigh, hanging his head as he stepped forward, leaving Sam to follow after both of his siblings who were beginning to lose themselves into the roles that John Winchester had demanded they play over a decade ago. The soldier and the shadow. Sam knew exactly where he fit into that, and nausea pooled in his stomach at the thought of ever falling into the mold that John Winchester had crafted for him.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him.” Sam rolled his eyes as he leaned his weight against the Impala, watching their father stalk back across the dirt road after what looked like a hostile chat with the town's local officers. Grace wasn’t all that bothered by essentially being benched from the game, but she stood at full attention beside the hood regardless of her personal feelings. It didn’t matter what she wanted, only that she was perfect and quiet.

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting.” Dean rolled his eyes in the same exasperation that Sam felt, turning his back to the crime scene as he addressed his little brother and willed his gaze not to trail to Grace who still hadn’t uttered as much as a word to him; not that she’d even said more than five words since climbing into the backseat of the Impala.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, both hands stuffed into his pockets as he looked at Dean. “What’s starting?”

Grace rolled her eyes with a silent huff of annoyance, knowing exactly what Dean was referencing even if Sam was otherwise clueless. Neither sibling had time to fill their brother in though, stiffening their shoulders as John approached with his hands shoved into his pockets despite how he’d always reprimanded Grace when she was trying to seek warmth in the biting cold. She can still remember how he’d sliced at the seams of her coat pockets with an army knife when she was eight, rambling on about how he’d cut her hands off if she was just going to waste their usefulness to him. He’d shoved a shotgun at her seconds later, and she could grimace at the memory of being forced to shoot her first spirit with frozen and trembling fingers.

“What do you got?” Dean questioned, stepping just slightly in front of Grace when he turned back around to face John. It wouldn’t do much if he tried to step toward her, but it was something at the very least.

“It was them all right. It looks like they’re heading west. We have to double back to get around that detour.” John didn’t beat around the bush, but like always, didn’t give his children anything of value to hold onto and make their own conclusions about. Grace dug her toe into the dirt, not taking her eyes off of John as she listened to more of his bullshit with an expression of neutrality.

Sam frowned, tilting his head to the side as he tried to unmake John’s reserve. “How can you be so sure?” He pushed, not willing to back down on getting the specifics. Grace was glad at least one of them had the gall to question him, because it certainly wasn’t going to be her, but she couldn’t help but think this was only making the situation worse for them as his questions started to chip away at John’s willingness to be civil.

“Sam–” Dean sighed, trying to stop a fight from brewing so soon, but before he could try and disarm his younger brother’s irritation, Sam was raising his voice to be heard over the interruption. It seemed that both of their brothers didn’t know how to act around their father, but she didn’t either, so the insult that was forming at the tip of her tongue stayed unmoving and half-formed and she kept herself a silent observer to the chaos. “I just want to know we’re going in the right direction.” He clapped back at Dean and not so subtly made a dig at John, something that definitely would’ve gotten Grace into hot water with their old man. She’s surprised he hasn’t called her out for something already, but she doesn’t think he’s stupid enough to get on her case with the police just a few feet away. For now, she’s safe.

John, surprisingly, didn’t bristle beneath Sam’s weak interrogation, but a quirk in the corners of his lips told Grace all that she needed to know. He thought this was funny; though dragging them around in the dark was some kind of power move. Over a year later and he really hadn’t changed all that much, if he did at all. “We are.” He assured in an unreasonably condescending tone, and thankfully, Sam wasn’t quick to take the bait of his reassurances. Grace couldn’t stand the slowly rising tempers, or more specifically feared the consequences of rising tempers, but a small part of her was glad that somebody was finally trying to stand their ground to John Winchester.

“How do you know?” Sam fired back, his eyes hard and slitted into thin lines that didn’t hold as much malice as he thought they did.

“I found this.” John sighed, pulling his hands out of his pockets to hand Dean what looked to be a fang. Even though she still stood behind Dean, the glimmery of something white caught in the corner of her eye, and she knew enough about the case to make an educated assumption of what had her father so certain of where their next destination should be.

“It’s a vampire fang.” Dean frowned, looking down at the tooth that was pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“No fangs – teeth. The second set descends when they attack.” Grace took the words in carefully, slightly disturbed by the mental image of an entire set of teeth emerging from what was once a human's gums that second they attacked their chosen victim. She’d been in this life a long time, had grown a thick stomach to a lot of things, but that mental image was beyond what she could stomach so early in the day. “Any more questions?” He directed his gaze to Sam, who looked to the ground in defeated annoyance but didn’t say anything else, letting his silence speak for itself.

“Let’s get out of here. We’re losing daylight.” John took control like he always did, and Grace was the first to follow that order. She shuffled to the car door quickly, placing her hand on the silver handle as John walked back toward his truck. “And, Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it.”

Grace couldn’t help but roll her eyes, wondering where her father got the nerve to think so highly of himself and so horribly of them. She didn’t say anything in Dean’s defence, but when John had his back to them, still stalking toward his truck without even inquiring to gauge Dean’s reaction to his criticism, she looked toward her eldest brother with a grimace of sympathetic understanding, silently clearing the air that had grown tense and cold between them. Dean hadn’t done a lot of things right leading up to this moment, but at the end of the day he was still beneath their fathers thumb just like she was.

Sam, however, smirked in amusement, not quite realizing the true sentiment of John’s words and what they were armed with. He never had understood how the petty digs cut the deepest for his overlooked siblings, but Grace was simply glad that he’d never learned to question his worth based on materialistic accomplishments. She’d deal with his crooked smirk if it meant sparing him the pain of coming to terms with how you're not good enough for the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally without something to show for it.

John pulled out around them, his engine revving as he pulled off onto the road. Sam was on his tail within seconds, one hand resting on the wheel as the other fell beside him. This wasn’t like old times, that much rang true, but Grace couldn’t decide if it was any better than their childhood had been when they weren’t even talking to each other like they used to. She wanted to talk to them, wanted to just be with them, but the paralyzing fear of it somehow getting back to John kept her silent and anxious in the backseat – the perfect little shadow.

The car was silent for a while before Dean piped up from the passenger seat. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten. Smaller packs are sent out to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest, where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.”

“That’s probably what Dad’s thinking.” Sam hummed critically. “Of course, it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks.”

“So it is starting.” Dean craned his head to look at Sam, his eyebrows raised in recognition.

“What?” Sam looked back at him, his jaw clenched as he flickered his gaze between the road and Dean’s exasperated expression.

“Sam, we’ve been looking for Dad all year. Now we’re not with him for more than a couple of hours and there’s static already.” Dean didn’t comment on the silence falling off of their sister, but nobody was going to breach that conversation when this was how it had always been. Sam considers himself lucky to have gotten to know who Grace is without John’s influence in any capacity.

“No.” Sam denied, “Look, I’m happy he’s okay, all right, and I’m happy that we’re all working together.” He admits, his words hanging heavily in the air before Dean ruins the stretched thin silence with a petulant mumble of ‘good’ beneath his breath. Grace shifts uncomfortably in the backseat, knowing that Sam’s words are only true to an extent, but she’s still unable to shake the uncomfortable weight of knowing that her brothers are enjoying this time spent with John in any capacity no matter how small. She hates that she can’t enjoy it too, hates that she’s so filled with fear she never fully leaves fight-or-flight mode. She’d love to sit here and say that in moments where things are good, or at least tolerable, she’s happy to be a family again, but that’s not the truth for her, and it never has been. She’d be perfectly fine never seeing John Winchester again and the weight of that breaks her heart for the little girl inside of her that worshiped the ground he walked. “It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children. He barks orders at us, Dean. He expects us to follow him without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.”

“He does what he does for a reason.” Dean defends their father like he always does because at the end of the day, it’s the only way he knows how to keep them all safe. Grace’s heart hurts for herself, but it hurts for her older brother who has always had to carry the responsibility of making sure they all come out the other side alive and relatively unscathed. She knows how much he’s sacrificed for them, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to inflict the most unimaginable pain on him when he gets into the mode of ‘Daddy’s Soldier’. Two things can be true at once, Grace knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“What reason?” Sam scoffs.

“Our job! There’s no time to argue. There’s no margin for error, alright? It’s just the way the old man runs things.” Dean’s correct to an extent, but so is Sam, and Grace can see both sides of the battlefield as she lingers on the sidelines. She hates these fights, hates when neither of her brothers' sides are the right one to pick. Dean’s an extremist, but Sam’s too eager to find defiance. John Winchester is a horrible person, but at the end of the day he taught them everything they know, and he does know a thing or two that they haven’t ever needed to consider.

“Yeah, well, maybe that worked when we were kids, but not anymore, alright?” Sam shook his head, his voice softening as he kept his gaze bouncing between Dean and the road ahead of them. “Not after everything we’ve been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you’re cool with just falling into line and letting him run the whole show?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He admits, and even if Grace knew that he’d say that, it still hurts her to think that he considers her being slapped for something out of her control as ‘what it takes’ to complete a hunt.

There hadn’t been much discussed between the siblings in the hours that had elapsed since the sun was positioned in the sky to when it had fallen beneath the trees to touch down on another piece of land somewhere far and hopefully less haunted by evil. But the silence that was becoming normal was abruptly dismantled by Dean’s phone ringing in his jacket pocket. Grace didn’t have to crane her neck to look at the caller ID to know that it was John, and with evident disinterest she sank further down in the backseat, listening to Dean’s end of the conversation.

It was short, but her head perked up as he nodded in the passenger seat. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, flipping it closed before he turned his head to Sam. “Pull off the next exit.”

“Why?” Sam questioned, and this time Grace couldn’t help but sigh out loud as she let her head hit the window.

“Cause Dad thinks we got the vampires trail.” Dean filled in the blanks, but there wasn’t really much information in the explanation. Grace understood the frustration Sam felt, but she was getting real tired of his sour attitude toward them both.

“How?” There was a venom in Sam’s tone that Grace didn’t think Dean was blind to, but rather didn’t feel the need to play into anymore.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Dean shrugged, and Sam’s jaws locked as he revved the engine, speeding around the truck and jerking the wheel until both cars were stopped in the dead center of the road. Grace sighed, sinking further down into the seat as Sam charged out of the car seething with frustration that he couldn’t suffer through anymore. “Oh, crap. Here we go.”

The car jerked with the force of her brothers slamming the door seconds after one another, and despite every instinct telling her to stay in the car, to let them hash this out on their own, she couldn’t just leave them to face their father without her, so she stepped out of the car seconds later, ensuring that distance was kept between her and John.

“What the hell was that?!” John came storming out of the truck, his nostrils flared and chin raised as he stomped his way toward Sam who didn’t back down at the show of confidence.

“We need to talk.” The middle-child seethed, his chin raised all the same as Johns.

“About what?” John spit, his eyes filled with a fire that was usually directed toward Grace. The youngest Winchester took a step back instinctively, stumbling into the Impala with a near soundless thud. Dean reached out tentatively, pulling her closer by her elbow if only to offer the smallest semblance of comfort. It didn’t do much to settle Grace’s nerves, but she appreciated the sentiment of it regardless.

“About everything.” Sam’s voice was filled with fury, and Grace can’t think of a time when she’d heard him so beyond mad. She’s always hated conflict, but there’s something about seeing her calm, always level-headed brother so worked up that has her reeling for something to ground herself to. “Where are we going, Dad? What’s the big deal about this gun?”

“Sammy come on, we can Q&A after we kill all the vampires.” Dean stepped forward, his breath fanning across the air as it dawned on Grace how truly cold it was. The mountains didn’t care about seasons, and the near frozen temperatures only showed that fact.

“Your brother’s right. We don’t have time for this.”

“Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous to be together. Now, out of the blue, you need our help. Now obviously something big’s going down, and we want to know what!” Sam was seething with anger, his jaw clenched and every muscle in his body rigid as he refused to back down. Grace shifted on her feet, inching closer to the chaos despite every instinct in her body telling her to stay away and keep distance between herself and her fathers fists.

“Get back in the car.” John demanded, nodding toward the Impala.

“No.”

“I said get back in the damn car.” John stepped closer to Sam. Maybe it was seeing her brother in the position that she’d always been in, or maybe it was just finally her breaking point. Whatever the reason, Grace found herself pushing past Dean, pulling at Sam’s arm until she could position herself between her father and her brother.

“He said no.” She growled, adrenaline rushing through her body as her fingertips buzzed with a sudden energy she hadn’t possessed before, or ever. “You cannot keep doing this! You cannot keep treating us like children and expecting us to act like soldiers! We’re not soldiers, Dad! We’re grown adults! Adults that are only here to help you! So why don’t you get your head out of your ass for one fucking minute to tell us what the hell is going on?!” Grace flinched when John’s hand came hurtling toward her already bruised face, but in a moment of confidence, or maybe stupidity, she caught his wrist between her ice cold finger tips, her hard eyes narrowed into thin daggers that looked a lot like his. “I am not a child that you can manipulate and abuse. Not anymore.”

Grace doesn’t know when his wrist slipped from between her fingers, but she recognizes the sting of pain before she even realizes he’s reeled back to hit her again. Her nose pulses with every beat of her racing heart in her chest, and a trail of something warm and thick dirties her upper lips. She doesn’t have to wipe at her nose to know that it’s blood, and even though every part of her wants to fall to her knees and cry about how she’s back in this position when she’d promised herself the night she ran away that she’d never come back to this, she doesn’t so much as bristle as the breeze trails past her damp face.

“I’ve had enough of your damn mouth.” John seethed, stepping forward to strike her again as Grace becomes increasingly aware of Dean’s raised voice beside her; the ringing between her ears finally dwindled down to silence as the shock of his previous blow ebbs away.

“That’s enough! That’s enough, Gracie.” He pulls her back by the loose fabric of his jacket around her torso, but before she can shrug his hands off of her and step up to John again, the satisfaction of finally standing up for herself an addictive sensation, Dean is slotting his body between them, his shoulders squared and rigid. “That goes for you too. And I swear, if you ever put your fucking hands on her again, it won’t be her that fights back. You hear me? Do you hear me!” He raises his voice, but John doesn’t answer. All he does is scoff and shake his head, already making his way back to the truck.

Grace huffs, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She barely flinches at the blood that smears across her palm and the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, retreating back to the car with pent up anger weighing her down. She slams the door behind her, grumbling beneath her breath as she leans between the seats and sets her eyes on Sam.

“Set my nose.” She demands gruffly, her eyes glazed over with residual anger and stinging pain. She’s not fully here with them, that much Sam can tell as he searches for glimpses of sweet green in her dark eyes. He doesn’t know how to handle the situation when he’s never seen her so… Sam doesn’t even have a word to describe Grace’s attitude at the moment, but it scares him to no end to consider how after an entire lifetime of abuse, tonight was her breaking point. Pride ripples off of his shoulders – pride in her, pride in himself – but he’s otherwise frozen as he looks at the young woman who bears no resemblance to his little sister at this moment. “Sam, set my fucking nose!”

“Come here.” Dean’s voice is gruff as it washes across his two younger siblings, and Grace snaps her gaze toward him instantaneously out of learned instinct. She hadn’t heard him get in the car, hadn’t registered the door slamming shut or his presence in the slightest, but as the seconds pass her by and the engine in the truck revs beside them, she’s beginning to fall away from the front of disassociation that had tried to save her active mind from the trauma of confronting the man who scares her more than any monster or spirit ever could. She leans her head into Dean’s hands, already knowing what lies ahead of her as she pinches her eyes shut and nods her head in acceptance of the pain that’s to come. Dean doesn’t give her a countdown, but he feels around her nose for a couple of seconds before he’s gripping both sides of it and straightening it out. She groans, recoiling backward instinctively as another stream of blood falls above her lip. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” Grace huffs, but as Sam straightens out the car and lets John pull out in front of them on the road again, she deflates entirely, suddenly feeling the weight of her exhaustion as she rubs at her swollen eyes. “You stuck up for me.” She muses softly, pulling at the tips of her fingers with anxious uncertainty, the invincibility that had washed over her when adrenaline was coursing through her veins slowly dissipating the longer she sat with the memory of recent events playing like a highlight reel in her head.

Dean scoffed out a breath, but he nodded his head regardless after a handful of seconds passed by. “Yeah, yeah.” He shrugs her comment off, but her eyes are burning holes into his shoulder, and he can’t avoid the conversation despite how he wants to. Dean Winchester had never been good at emotional displays, but Grace very rarely gave him the choice of backing away from them. “I meant what I said Gracie, I did think this time would be different. The way he talked about the both of you when you were at Stanford – I just thought he’d at least try to turn a new leaf. Can we cut the chick-flick shit?”

“No, because I am a chick. That rule only applies to Sammy and you know it.” The youngest Winchester huffed, uncrossing her arms only to drop them at her sides like they weighed too much for her to carry. “You know that wasn’t the first time he broke my nose?”

For once, Dean didn’t try to shut down the conversation. For once, all he did was try his best to actually listen to Grace as she opened up her heart to him. He craned his head to peer into the backseat, comforted by the sight of her sprawled against the leather seats. She hadn’t sat like that in weeks, she’d been keeping herself closed off and small, but a piece of Dean’s heart heals as he keeps his eyes on her now.

“I don’t remember him ever breaking your nose before.” Sam frowned, evidently paying more attention to the conversation than either Grace or Dean had first thought. Frustration and anger was still rolling off of his shoulder in waves, but he’d always been good at keeping his feelings away from Grace. Even if she wasn’t aware, she had been both of her brother's soft spots for as long as they could remember.

“Because you weren’t there.” Grace says softly, her eyes saddened and brimming with tears. “Whenever Dad took me on hunts… they were never as long as he told you they were. Sometimes we’d be gone a week, but the hunt itself would only take two or three days. One time–” Grace looks down, her hands beginning to tremble at the memory that plays at the forefront of her mind like it had been burned there by someone sadistic and cruel. “One time, when I had the flu, he took me out to South Dakota to kill some pissed off spirit. Shit went wrong, and he just– he just flipped; finished the hunt himself and dragged me back to Bobby’s. He must’ve hit me a few hundred times. That was when he was the worst. When he didn’t have to worry about you asking questions, when he didn’t have anyone there to stop him. At, uh, at one point he punched me so hard that I fell over, and then he just kept kicking me. I don’t remember much honestly. It’s like… glimpses, flashes. All I really remember is that he kept throwing rocks at me, telling me to get up, yelling at me to get up. I tried, but I couldn’t and I puked all over myself. That pissed him off even more, he grabbed me by my shirt, pulled me up to my feet. He, uh, he had his hand around my neck. It was one of the first times he said he’d kill me and I actually believed him. If Bobby hadn’t gotten back from his own hunt, I really think he would’ve killed me that night.” Grace, despite herself, smiles sadly at the memory. She can’t look up at her brothers. She doesn’t want to know what they look like. But, she’s not done. Somehow, there’s more to the story that isn’t really a story at all. It’s her life. The tragic and twisted existence of Grace Campbell Winchester. “Bobby brought me inside. I didn’t think anything was broken, I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t leave it alone. I’ve never seen Bobby so scared, so terrified for anyone. The way he looked at me… I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. He looked at me like one wrong move would be enough to finish what Dad didn’t. He set my nose back in place, but I can’t even remember how Dad broke it. If it was his fist or his foot or one of the rocks he threw, I– I don’t know. I just know that I stayed with Bobby for a couple of days after that. Dad went off to do another hunt, or I don’t know, maybe he just got wasted at a bar and got a motel room somewhere. I just– all I remember is that four days later he showed up, told me to get in the car, and we drove back to that crappy ass motel he left you at. Before we got inside he told me not to tell you, that if I said anything, he’d have no problem killing me for real and making sure it hurt.”

“Gracie, look at me.” Dean pleaded tenderly, his voice thick with tears as he searched for the only pair of eyes that could make him question doing something stupid and reckless but she refused to look at anything besides her blood stained hands in her lap. She doesn’t know what had changed her mind about sharing that specific encounter, but she doesn’t think she feels any lighter in the aftermath of its exposure. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please.”

Grace’s bloodshot eyes trail up to meet Dean’s after a beat of thick silence, and her bottom lip trembles as she sets her gaze on his crestfallen green gaze. The green gaze that they share. The green gaze that is so entirely Mary it almost hurts Dean to even look at his sister and see someone so broken down they're hardly even recognizable. Mary would hate what they’ve become. Hate what John simultaneously made of them and unmade of them. Sometimes, he doesn’t even feel like a person. He’s got such a misconstrued sense of his own autonomy that life or death doesn’t feel like such a weighted gamble of cards. What Dean Winchester hates the most is that the two kids he gave his own childhood up for – to raise and nurture when nobody else was around to do it –, have the same troubles embedded deeply in their instincts. “You don’t have to say anything, Dean.” Grace deflated sadly, wanting to just move on, to focus on the hunt and maintaining pleasantries with their father who is undoubtedly stewing in his wild anger only a car ahead of them.

“No, I do. I do, Gracie. I should’ve said something to both of you a long time ago.” Dean shakes his head, so often forgetting that he hadn’t willfully been a silent observer of the abuse. Grace hates that he blames so much of her suffering on himself, but she’s guilty of the same fate when there’s nothing else to keep her mind busy. “I’m not going to let him lay another finger on you, and if does, if I’m not there to stop it and shit happens, you come and find me, and I’ll deal with it. You hear me, sweetheart? He so much as grabs you too tight and I’ll handle it. I’ll finish him.”

“You know I don’t blame you right? Either of you.” She asked softly, her voice wavering as she breathed through her mouth, her nose still throbbing at the center of her face. She’d need ice and Advil whenever they had a chance to dig through their duffles, but for now, she could live with the reminder that she’d finally stood her ground in some capacity. “The only one I blame is Dad, and it looks like we’re stuck with him for the foreseeable future, so can you stop trying to dig your own grave? And can you please stop looking like you’re going to tear his head off? This is what you wanted, and maybe it didn’t turn out the way you hoped, but we still have a job to do and I cannot be the only one thinking straight. I mean, we’re up against fucking vampires, you should be bouncing off the walls and you should be stressed beyond belief because halloween came early.”

“Halloween did not come early.” Sam huffs, a small smile cracking his stoic expression as he threw a glare at Grace over his shoulder, his grip on the wheel loosening just slightly as he let her words wash over him. He couldn’t promise his best behavior, but he could certainly try if it meant keeping her happy.

“We’re literally up against Dracula and his evil family, Sammy. Halloween basically came early.” Grace rolled her eyes, feeling more like herself as she taunted her brother and his eternal hatred for anything related to the tail-end of October.

“Freaking vampires, dude!” Dean bellowed, and that was all that it took for peace to be restored amongst the siblings, John’s presence no longer so daunting now that Grace knew they had each other's back in any circumstance.

Grace stood between her brothers in broad daylight, concealed by only a couple of overgrown and intertwined branches as they scooped out the vampire nest from a distance. John stood only a few inches away, his eyes memorizing the terrain that they’d stumbled across intently. Dean grumbled at her side, shaking his head as he watched two vampires engage in a rushed conversation before slipping into the abandoned barn. One lingered by the doors, sweeping his gaze across the expanse of trees and shrubbery before he disappeared too.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered beneath his breath, “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

“No, direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill them is by beheading them.” Grace’s nose scrunched at the violent nature of their only true weakness, and subtly she was reminded of her reset nose when an ache ran deep through her bones. She stepped just slightly to the left, her forearm brushing against Dean’s as she created distance between her fathers body and her own. She could talk a big game about carrying on with the hunt and letting the past take up residence on a back burner, but instinct was something harder to control. Dean nudged her with his elbow, nodding just slightly to convey his watchful eye. He meant what he’d said. John Winchester would never lay another hand on her if he had any say in the matter; and he’d make sure he got a say this time around. “And, yeah, they sleep during the day. It doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.”

“So I guess walking right in’s not our best option.” Dean assumed, and Grace was inclined to agree that walking right into a vampire's nest was a dumb play, but John’s reaction insinuated the very opposite.

“Actually, that’s the plan.” He mused, nodding toward their cars parked a few feet away in a clearing not visible to the barn doors. They followed him cautiously, stepping over twigs and branches that would give away their position if even one of the creatures heard something suspicious.

She pulled the trunk of the Impala open, her eyes training over the stuffed bear she’d taken possession of all of those weeks ago in Kansas. A saddened warmth spread through her chest at the memory of Mary burning before her own two eyes, but she pushed it aside. Now was not the time nor place to unpack her boatload of parental traumas.

“Dad, I’ve got an extra machete if you need one.” Dean called over his shoulder as he looked to John who had his own trunk open and was scrounging through his collection of weapons for something specific.

“Think I’m okay. Thanks.” He replied drying, unsheathing a machete that glimmered beneath the overcast sky. Its blade was impressive, not something that Grace had seen before, and the irony that he suddenly had a weapon of that nature in a hunt like this didn’t leave her entirely. For someone who said he’d never hunted a vampire and thought all they were all extinct, he certainly had the weapons and knowledge to disprove that.

“Wow.” Dean hummed, turning back to the trunk. Grace’s fingers were curled together in a pattern that Dean hadn’t seen since his teenage years, but a broad smile broke across his lips as he shook his head. Years ago, they’d created a silent code for the times when their father was being nothing short of an arrogant dick. It was one of the only ways that they could get anything beneath his nose, and still Dean found humor in it, even if this time his smile was drawn from the stirrings of nostalgia that blossomed in his chest.

“So… you boys really want to know about this colt?” Grace could only roll her eyes at the fact that her father refused to acknowledge her, but she didn’t say anything. Truth was, they did want to know, and she was willing to sacrifice her pride if it meant gaining precious insight.

“Yes sir.” Sam replied, his attention snapping to John instantaneously.

John sighed, and for a second his eyes lingered on Grace angled between his boys so perfectly that it looked like something natural. John couldn’t remember a time when his kids had been so at ease around him, and even if their shoulders were still rigid with tension, there was something about their closeness that struck him deeply. “It’s just a story… A legend, really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel’s letter. Back in 1835, when Halley’s comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun… a special gun. He made it for a hunter – a man like us, only on horseback. The story goes he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. ‘Til somehow, Daniel got his hands on it. They say– they say this gun can kill anything.”

“Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean questioned, astonishment laced within his tone. Grace stood straighter at the realization, her gaze falling upon that hidden corner of the trunk where she’d tucked her precious bear in between a pocket knife and the first aid kit Dean kept.

“Like the thing that killed Mom.” Grace whispered as she trailed her gaze back to John, looking at him with so much confidence he almost didn’t have a clapback for her direct mentioning of Mary. Almost. He opened his mouth, probably to threaten her into silence, but she stepped up closer, her voice even and calm as she raised her chin. “You do not have the right to take her away from me. Maybe I don’t remember her, but she is still my Mom. The only one I’ll ever have. So why don’t you just get on with it instead of wasting any more time that we don’t have.”

John, for once in his life, listened. “Yeah, the demon.” He licked at his lips, shifting his gaze to Sam who stood in the same state of shock as Dean. “Ever since I picked up its trail, I’ve been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun… we may have it.”

Grace nodded, looking directly at her father, no longer afraid to so much as meet his eye without explicit permission. “Well let’s go then. I’d say it's about twenty years overdue.”

Grace climbed through a window after Sam, standing on piles of hay that sank beneath her weight. Dean was right behind her, and softly he closed the boards up after he’d climbed through, drowning them in near complete darkness before their eyes adjusted to the change in light. John was ahead of them, but what else lay ahead of them was incredibly daunting. At least four vampires laid asleep in makeshift hammocks, their arms folded over their stomachs as they assumed the same near identical positions.

She kept close to Sam, and Dean kept close to her. They had each other's backs, and that was as much comfort as Grace was going to get before they managed to secure the gun. As they stalked through the barn, it became evident that it wasn’t just four vampires that surrounded them, but over a dozen, and chills crawled up her spine as she grimaced internally. She snapped ehr gaze to Dean when teh toe of his shoe clashed against an abandoned bottle of beer, his shoulder jostling the hammock that a vampire rested in soundly. Their eyes widened, and both siblings froze to gauge the reaction that was to come, but when nothing happened and the vampire settled back into sleep, Grace breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Dean, Gracie.” Sam whispered for their attention, crouched beside a woman that Grace could only see half off. She crept closer, blood stains coming into view. Sam was already busy trying to untie the ropes that bound the woman, but Grace and Dean snapped their gaze to the far corner of the room when they heard a muffled sound.

“There’s more.” Dean whispered, and Grace nodded, already back on her feet and heading in the direction that they’d heard the slightest commotion from. Dean grabbed onto a metal lever, putting both of his hands around the cold material to dampen the noise, but a clanking squeak still echoed around the barn and Grace kept careful watch of the vampires surrounding them. One of the guys shifted in his sleep, but thankfully he remained that way.

The quiet didn’t last long, and Grace flinched into Dean when a near demonic sounding scream came from the woman bound to the pole in the center of the barn. All at once the other vampires woke, bouncing to their feet as they took in the sight of intruders around them.

John smashed a window in the corner of the barn, his eyes wild as he looked over his shoulders to locate his children; all three of them. “Kids, run!” He threw out the order, and they listened, but Grace faltered when her eyes caught something silver in the distance. She stumbled on her feet, but didn’t go back for the gun that caught her attention. There would be another opportunity, their had to be.

When sunlight broke across her face, she squinted at the intrusion of bright light, running through the wooded area where the calls of her brother's voices created an audible path. “Gracie! Dad!”

“I’m right here. God, I’m right here, stop fucking yelling you idiot!” She groaned, batting her hand against Dean’s shoulder when she got close enough to reach them. Dean rolled his eyes at her attitude, but stopped calling for John, realizing that he was essentially giving their covered position away. “They have the colt.” She told her brothers, confirming that they were chasing the right lead for more than just a police scanner call.

“They won’t follow. They’ll wait till tonight. Once a vampire gets your scent, it’s for life.” John panted as he came running up to them, and Grace could only roll her eyes at the fact that he was only thinking to tell them that small detail now.

“What the hell do we do now?” Dean threw back at their father, evidently less than impressed with that simple answer.

“You got to find the nearest funeral home, that’s what.” Dean reared back at the cheap solution, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he schooled his features.

Grace stood beneath the cover of nightfall only a few feet away from where Dean had parked the Impala. There’s a crossbow at her side, arrows from John already loaded into the weapon. She doesn’t know what they are, but she doesn’t really care. All she knows is that he’d sent her and Dean out as bait, but not without shoving the weapons into her empty hands, demanding that she prove she hasn’t lost her worth in the years that it had been since they’d seen each other. She doesn’t want to think about how his eyes had flashed with something genuine as she nodded to the instruction, but she can't help but consider that maybe she doesn’t know him as well as she’d thought. Regardless, his sudden care for her wellbeing doesn’t change her opinion of him. If anything, it only pisses her off more. She doesn’t need him anymore; doesn’t want him. She’s long since abandoned the desire to win his affection and praise. All that she cares about is doing her part in keeping her brothers alive.

She waits for the perfect moment before she reaches for the weapon, letting the arrows cut through the darkness of night only when she’s certain that she has the perfect shot. Both arrows pierce through the hearts of the vampires, and they crane their necks to face the expanse of trees behind them. Her heart is hammering, unable to recall the last time she’d even held a crossbow, but the knowledge that after all the time that had elapsed and she was still a perfect shot had her jogging toward her brother without concern. Sam and John were right behind her, and Grace couldn’t pinpoint when they’d arrived, but she smiled cheekily at Sam over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows tauntingly. For a second, she was just the girl he’d started to know at Stanford, and Sam had never been so glad to see that stupid smile in his life.

“Barely even stings.” The woman calls over her shoulder, looking straight at Grace who still holds onto the weapon of choice for the night. She can only shrug, but John has more to say.

“Give it time, sweetheart. That arrows soaked in dead man's blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?” Grace’s gaze trailed down to her fingers, suddenly aware of the fact that she’d touched both arrows to lace them into the weapon. She could roll her eyes at John’s inability to ever be truly transparent, but she pockets the complaint for a later date. The woman’s eyes began to grow heavy, and in second both vampires dropped to the ground. “Load her up. I’ll take care of this one.”

The last thing Grace saw before she turned to help her brothers was John slicing the head of the vampire off with one clean blow.

“Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk, cabbage, and trillium – it’ll block our scent and hers until we’re ready.” John hummed, a fire burning bright beside Grace as she stood in the middle of the woods beside her brothers.

Dean coughed, pacing the rough terrain with understandable restlessness. “Stuff stinks.” He commented, and Grace could only shake her head at his reflection.

“Well, that’s the idea. Dust your clothes with the ashes and you’ll stand a chance of not being detected.” Grace didn’t have to be told twice, mostly because it wasn’t her jacket she was ruining by spreading ash across her chest and sleeves. She shot Dean a cheeky smile, flaunting his ash covered jacket in a silly spin that had him chuckling and shaking his head. She’d never been so light in the presence of John, had never been so light in the presence of Dean, but new leaves had been turned since he’d punched her, and fear was something she muddled through so intensely. She could only hope it lasted, but if this was all that she ever got of ‘peace’, she’d take it as a win.

“You sure they’ll come after her?” Sam questioned, looking back at John.

“Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun. But the blood sickness is gonna wear off soon, so you don’t have a lot of time.”

“Half-hour outta do it.” Dean hummed, stepping up to the conversation with Grace on his heels.

“And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can.” Grace frowned at the ultimatum, or, direct order. She’d been thrown enough orders in her life to know when something was optional, and John’s direction to leave town was definitely not that.

“Woah, Dad. You can’t take care of them all yourself.” Dean fought back, but John shook his head.

“I’ll have her and the colt.” He tried to reason, but all Grace heard was bullshit masculinity and its inability to let anyone else help. She hadn’t thought for a second that things with him would be any different, but somehow she didn’t expect this.

“But after, we’re gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together, right?” Sam questioned, his voice laced with something that Grace couldn’t determine. His words were pointed, level and directed, but there was still something else lingering in his civil tone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you? You still want to go after the demon alone? You know, I don’t get you. You can’t treat us like this.”

John looked toward the fire before his gaze swept back to Sam, who’d thrown his promise to the wind, but for once, Grace was right behind him, not bristling at the conflict that was beginning to rise between them. “Like what?”

“Like children.” Sam snaps, the same argument eating away at him each time it slips away from focus unsolved and unaddressed.

“You are my children. I’m trying to keep you safe. All of you.” John looked right at Grace, and there was that genuinity again. She stepped back instinctively, her body partially concealed by Dean as she tried to make sense of his sudden care. She hated this. Hated that she’d finally been ready to cut her ties with him and this is how he acts; like the father she’d wanted when she was seven.

“Dad, all due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.” Dean sighed, not willing to stand out in the cold and let their father lie to their faces to save his own ass another time. He’d endured this treatment for years, but he’d finally reached his limit.

“Excuse me?” John recoiled, and both Grace and Sam turned their gaze to him, jaws hanging slack as they watched Dean make good on his promise that wasn’t solely aimed at the youngest Winchester. He’d meant what he said about sticking his neck out; not letting history repeat itself. But, he hadn’t meant it only for Grace. He’d meant it for Sam too, but more importantly, he meant it for himself. He didn’t want to be a soldier anymore; he couldn’t be. Not when he’d finally seen what could become of him if he just acted on his own impulses every once in a while.

“You know what Gracie and Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can’t be that worried about keeping us safe. I mean, fuck Dad, you’ve never been worried about keeping Gracie safe at all. That was my job. My responsibility. So why don’t you let it stay that way.” He prattled on, and Grace could only dip her head down at the mention of her name. She knows what he gave up for her, but she desperately wished he hadn’t had to. It’s not her fault that it happened, but that doesn’t lessen the guilt she carries.

“It’s not the same thing, Dean.” John shook his head, but that only further frustrated his children who were damn near fed up with being kept in what seemed like eternal darkness.

“Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?”

“This demon… It's a bad son of a bitch. I can’t make the same moves if I’m worried about keeping you alive.” He relented, but even with his spoken word, little was actually revealed to the siblings. John Winchester just had a way of being elusive without even batting an eye.

“You mean you can’t be as reckless.” Dean snapped back, going toe-to-toe with their father, tired of just being the little boy that listened and obeyed blindly. He’d played that role for twenty-six years, he couldn’t stand to fill the shoes for another second.

“Look, I don’t expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mothers death… it almost killed me.” Dean looked away at the mention of Mary, and John shook his head, growing teary. “I can’t watch my children die, too. I won’t.”

“What happens if you die?” Dean’s voice wavered with the slightest indication of vulnerability before it grew cold and detached, his jaw clenching as he spoke. “Dad, what happens if you die and we could have done something about it? You know, I’ve been thinking. I think maybe Sammy’s right about this one. I think we should do this together.” He was pleading at this point, begging with John to let them see this through with him. Grace couldn’t admit it, but a piece of her yearned for the same thing as her brothers. She may hate the man, may despise his presence next to her, but she couldn’t be an orphan. She still can’t even begin to handle the fact that she’s already down one parent. “We’re stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it.”

“We’re running out of time.” John nodded, entirely bypassing the point that Dean had been trying to drive home. Grace deflated behind her brother, taking a step away in wild defeat and discouragement. She hates the thought of being around John, but she wants to have a hand in righting her mothers death. It’s not fair that even after all of this, John still dangles any kind of closure over her head. Every part of her knows that he’s incapable of change, but a piece of her heart breaks as she realizes that nothing about them will ever be enough to get him to stay. “You do your time, and you get out of the area. That’s an order.”

She scoffs as she shakes her head, turning her back to her brothers and her father as she made her way back to the Impala wordlessly. She’d fought for John to love her for years, she wouldn’t let herself waste anymore time on someone that had never been what he should’ve been for her.

The door slams behind her, and she sinks into the leather seats wearing a pout of frustration. When Sam and Dean sink into the seats up front, a beat of silence passes before the engine roars to life and Dean pulls out onto the road like a bat out of hell, the timer already running out of time.

Grace crawls through the window after her brothers, silently landing on the bails of hay that are stacked up against the boarded wall. She brushes her blood stained clothes off, grimacing at the hay that still sticks to her and sends prickly sensations down her spine whenever she moves. She creeps through the hallways wordlessly, grinning beside Dean as they sweep a coin off of the desk and listen to it clank as it hits the floor. She slips into the hallway, gripping tightly to a machete that conveniently is perched against the wall of the barn. She doesn’t let herself think about the irony of this nest of vampires housing the very weapons that can kill them, focusing instead on the plan at hand.

She holds her breath as a vampire stalks through the barn searching for the cause of the sound, and when he’s just a few steps ahead of her, Dean pops out from the sideroom, a grin on his lips as he whispers, “Boo!” The vampire didn’t even have a chance to spin on his heels and search for Grace before she was wielding the machete with practiced ease, slicing his head clean off in a second.

“That is either the coolest thing I’ve ever done on a hunt or the most disgusting.” She grimaces as blood drips down her face and further stains her clothing. She can’t tell what’s her blood or his anymore, but the satisfaction in knowing she’d killed the evil they stumbled across eased the disgust pooling in her belly as warm blood began to cool on her skin.

She wiped a palm down her face, wiping the blood into the fabric of her pants as she followed Dean. When he had what he was searching for, he nodded toward the window where Sam was waiting with a machete from the trunk, having taken the role of lookout reluctantly.

“We’re going back for him, aren’t we?” Grace questions as she lands on the ground, brushing off her clothes again as dirt and hay stick to her.

“Obviously.” Dean retorted and Grace nodded promptly, not having it in her to argue about what their next move should be. Their father couldn’t handle what was coming his way, even if he didn’t know that, Grace did, and despite herself and every self-preservation tactic she’d learned since childhood, she couldn’t get herself to be the kind of person to walk away when showing up mattered most.

The headlights from John’s truck shone brightly in the expanse of darkness as Grace and her brothers rushed through the wooded area toward the gravel road. Grace wielded a crossbow with elegance, hardly bristling as she aimed for the chest of a woman and shot blankly, the poison coated arrow piercing directly through the vampire's sternum. Sam was only steps ahead of her, but before Grace could make a move to shoot the approaching vampire, he’d gained the upper hand and wrangled Sam into his grip.

“Don’t! I’ll break his neck.” He warned dangerously, hooking his arm around Sam’s neck with a threatening tightness that had Grace lowering the crossbow just slightly. Grace’s gaze trailed to Dean as leaves rustled beside her, and she found her brother gripping at the handle of a blood soaked machete with genuine fear shining brightly behind his green eyes. “Put the blade down.” He only tightened his grip when Dean looked to contemplate the ultimatum, and Sam began to gasp for air as his windpipe was crushed ruthlessly and slowly.

“Dean!” Grace called, shaking her head as she dropped the crossbow fully, allowing it to dangle at her side as she looked back at Sam whose cheeks were beginning to redden with the lack of oxygen.

The vampire, a man that Grace had no interest learning the name of, stared straight at Dean as the machete clanked at the impact of thin metal meeting the rough ground. “You people. Why can’t you just leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do.”

“I don’t think so.” Grace hadn’t even noticed her father pick himself up from the ground, but her gaze snapped to him at the sound of a gunshot firing. The colt glistened beneath the moonlight, one of its carefully crafted bullets slicing through the air before it embedded itself in the creature's head right between his deep eyes. Grace didn’t take another moment to take in the sight of blood slowly slipping from the wound, instead, she rushed to Sam, the crossbow forgotten in the clearing of brittle grass as her sneakers padded against the ground bringing her closer to where Dean held Sam upright by his shoulders.

Sam shrugged Grace’s concerned hands off of him as he turned to fully watch the vampire succumb to his injury. Light flickered from the hole in his head before he dropped to his knees on the gravel, groaning in pain before everything became still.

“Kate, don’t!” Another vampire called when a girl cried out in distress, attempting to rush toward her fallen leader before she was held back protectively. It was only a handful of seconds later that car doors were slamming shut and the vampires that remained sped away, their headlights shining bright in the darkness before they ebbed away.

Grace Winchester took one look at her father before she shook her head, abandoning the fight and turning toward the direction of where the Impala was parked in the near distance but out of earshot. The leaves crunched beneath her feet, but she said nothing as she sought out escape.

Grace’s hair was damp as she sifted through clothing that her brothers had somehow strewn across the room in the few hours that they’d actually occupied the motel room. She’d finally washed the blood off of her body and traded in her soiled clothes for new ones, but even with the seven minute shower she still felt heavy and out of sorts. She sighed as she threw a flannel at Dean, deciding against stealing it for herself when she noticed the grease stain smeared along the left side of the thin article. She stood in only pink pajama pants and a Stanford t-shirt when the motel door creaked open again, her father finally making his presence known.

“So, boys…” Grace could only shake her head in exasperation when her father entirely bypassed her existence, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care that much as she continued to sift through the random garments within reach. She threw a t-shirt on top of Sam’s duffle bag, wondering how they’d created such a mess in the first place when all they’d done was steal a handful of hours of rest.

“Yes, sir.” Dean cleared his throat, turning around to face John fully. Sam stepped up beside him, unintentionally shielding Grace from John’s sight. The youngest Winchester didn’t notice, but the eldest did, and John squared his shoulders at the realisation that he was being barred from looking at his own daughter.

“You ignored a direct order back there.” John continued, deciding that now wasn’t the time to breach any kind of conversation pertaining to Grace.

“Yes, sir. But we saved your ass.” Dean made sure to highlight what mattered, and Grace could only manage a smirk as she settled into the realization that it wasn’t just a one time promise. Even if it would take time to truly separate himself from everything that he’d been blindly following for years, Dean was putting the effort in where it mattered.

“You’re right.” John relented, and Grace frowned at the simple resolution, turning around to witness the conversation as she pulled an old hoodie over her head. She can’t even remember the last time she’d seen Dean wear a hoodie, but now wasn’t the time to question why he was still holding on to the tattered thing.

“I am?” Dean questioned skeptically, taking a step closer to Sam when he caught the slightest glimpse of Grace moving in his peripheral. All three Winchesters were on edge, knowing exactly what kind of treatment Grace would be subjected to taking had this occurred only two years ago. Dean wasn’t going to let it happen now, but still he worried about not being able to prevent it.

“It scares the hell out of me. You…you three are all I’ve got. But I guess we are stronger as a family.” Grace bristled at the words rolling off of John’s tongue, unable to picture a reality where her father ever admitted that she was worth bringing along. She hates that this is what she’s wanted for her entire life, and now that it's falling at her feet laced with sincerity, it feels wrong and misplaced. She hates that John is willing to step up, be the man he should’ve been albeit still with faults and ridged edges, but she’s already moved on. It’s too little too late. “So… we go after this damn thing…together.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean and Sam nodded but Grace couldn’t just let that be all that was said after years of torment and abuse; after he’d just broken her nose and backhanded her like she was just an insignificant child. He’d burned the bridge to her heart a long time ago, and there was no way to restore scattered ashes.

“I’ll help you, because she is my mom, and this is my fight as much as it is yours, but you are not my family. You will never be my family.” She spat uncaringly, slinging her dufflebag over her shoulder and heading for the door, stepping around her father and her brothers. The light from the lamps fell upon her face, catching on the swelling around her eyes and the bruising to her cheek bone.

John Winchester might be ready to finally accept his only daughter, but Grace Winchester has no obligation to forgive the years of anguish he’d inflicted on her.

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