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glimmeringwinchester · 19 days 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.

#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 #john winchester #john winchester x daughter #john winchester x ofc #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x sister!reader #supernatural x ofc #series: love was the law

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stormruff · 1 year ago

Text

Jealousy 2

Pairing: RedHair Pirates x Reader, Uta x Sister!Reader, Shanks x daughter!reader and some Straw Hat Pirates x reader

Warnings: agnst

A/C: Sorry for delay in posting, my college comes back to classes and kill my time, but here it is. sorryfor the mistakes and enjoyy (we'll have part 3)

Part 1

"(n/n)! (n/n)! Look what I find! "

Your relationship with Uta a lot improved, since from that day on, Shanks tried to make you interact more with the crew, you learned a little with each officer on the crew. Beck taught you how to fight with Shanks, some medicine with Hongo, improve your aim with Yasopp, cooking with Roux, and your music skills with Monster and Punch.

"a sheet music? where did you find it?"

"Here on this bench, can you read sheet music?"

"very little, but I understand that one a little. shouldn't we talk to these strange uncle or Shanks?"

"Nah, It's okay, you worry too much. they don't know anything, that uncle wants me to stay here, and stop being the singer for the Redhair's pirates!"

"Uta... This weird uncle loves your voice maybe..."she shush you with her index finger in your lips.

"Don't you dare behave like Shanks! He says the same thing! I belong to the Red Hair pirates like you! We are Shanks children! We will be the most powerful of the New Genesis!" She removed her finger away from your lips. "Let's play this song! I start and you accompany me with the flute, okay?"

You sigh: "Fine. Let's do with! I wanna see Monster face after this!" You giggled putting your flute near your lips.

Uta take a breath and...

Everything went out.

It was like a blink of an eye, you felt the noise of the waves… and murmurs. Soon you heard words… but you didn't understand.

"Boss... waking up." You tried to concentrate more.

"Guys.. slowly... she... hit... head... hard" You felt a headache and begin to regain the conscience.

"(y/n) are you awake?" Shanks voice come into your ears.

"hm... Shanks? What... What happened?" You tried to get up, but Hongo hands pinned you in the bed.

"At least she didn't hit her head so hard." Beck says. he was stand up beside Hongo.

"Uncle Beck..."

"Thank God, she didn't lose her memories." Hongo sigh in relief. "do you wanna sit up?" You nod and Beck aproached you and put his hand under your shoulder and sits you up in the bed.

"There you go, Troublemaker." He smiles, and Shanks aproached you.

"How are you feeling, little archer?"

"What happened?"

"You've already asked this question." the capitain teased with a smile while his hand brushed your hair.

"And you didn't answer..." You rubbed your head.

"I wanna bring some painkillers for her, I will be right back" Hongo stand up and smile faintly to you and left the room.

"I will warn the others, that our little Devil is awake..." Beck pat your shoulder and left.

You notice the sudden silence. Shanks finaly spoke.

"You slept for three weeks... You worried me..."

"Three... weeks...? I... I... don't remember anything after I close my eyes for start play my flute... Wait. Where's Uta? Is she fine? Does She? Does she..." Tears started to fall as you thought the worst. Shanks quickly cut those thoughts short.

"Uta is fine, don't worry."

"I want to see her!"

"(y/n). Uta stayed in Elegia." Shanks smile faded for a while. "She will become the best singer in the world, and she couldn't do that with us. She decided to stay."

"That... That... That's a lie, Shanks!" You shouted your tears running out your eyes. "She said... She said..." You sob "She said she wanted to stay with us! She wanted to stay with us! You abandoned her?! If you did this please tell me!"

"I didn't abandon Uta, (y/n). Listen, I know you've been through a lot and are very mature for a 10 year old… but you're still a child… all I can say is that you and Uta messed with a sheet of music that you shouldn't move." he hugged you. "Do you want Uta to make her dream come true?" You nod. "So be happy, I know you're sad, but you have to be strong. When the time comes, we'll see her again, and when that day comes, we'll be very proud. Promise you'll be happy for your younger sister?

You took a while to respond. "I promise"

He smiled.

12 years later

“already awake at this time, (y/n)?” Robin says when she sees you in the kitchen "you slept really late last night."

"I wanted to sleep more, but a certain commotion invaded my room." You sit in the table, ruffling.

"(y/n)-chan! I'm sorry that you sleep has been interrupted!" Sanji runs after you with heart in his eyes with a tray with a glass of milk and cookies. "I made these cookies for you! But before you eat, Let me know who are the bastards who bothered you."

"Don't worry I already take care of it."

"what is this (y/n)? Why so much violence towards us?" Luffy says rubbing his head followed by Usopp and Brook, the three has huge cocks in their heads.

"We just got a little carried away, there was no need to hit us, like that." Usopp say walking towards you.

"Stop giving excuses like Uncle Yasopp!" You shouted while hit Luffy who tried to eat your cookies. "If I had known that spending a few months with you would be such chaos, I would have stayed with Shanks."

"Even Brook was among them?" Nami asked.

"He took advantage of these two idiots coming in to invade my room."

"Don't get me wrong, (y/n)-chan, I was just curious to know the color of your panties."

"PERVERT!" Sanji kicked him.

"You are too, wire eyebrow!" Zoro shouted.

"SILENCE!" Nami put an end to the chaos. "What (y/n) would think about us?"

You giggled.

"No problem, I'm used with Luffy. And I can see, you are pretty excited. What happened?"

"I'm so excited to met princess Uta!" Usopp shouted and you froze, your cookie fell in the ground with your glass of milk.

"(y/n). You okay?" You woke up from your trance of amazement, with Robin's voice.

"Uh, I'm fine. Just... surprised..." you went to pick up the broken glass, but Sanji stopped you.

"she has the same name as your sister, Is it not h-"

"It's just a coincidence Luffy." You cut him. "You must be excited, Brook, they say Elegia is a song heaven."

"Yes, it feels like I'm living a dream. But you must be excited after all you are an instrumentalist too."

"It had been a long time since I played a complete song" You had learned to use your flute as a weapon, you were from a windy island after all, maybe using this knowledge and the power of wind manipulation that you acquired from your island could launch stronger attacks. and you also coated your flute with Haki, which made it more resistant, as well as your archery attacks.

"We're coming to Elegia, Luffy." Jinbe's voice resounded as everyone went upstairs to pack their things to dock the ship.

...

"I can't believe it, Shanks! Did you really bring us here?!" Uta exclaimed, jumping off the ship.

"Elegia, the paradise of music! Feel free, girls." Shanks yelled putting you on his shoulders.

"Can I ask a favour to you, (n/n)?"

"Of course."

"When you see that Uta is going to get into trouble, activate big sister mode, okay?" You nod. "Uta is in your little hands..." he smiled and placed you on the ground "anything that happens, you can call any of us"

"Okay!" you jumped and did a somersault, running to the entrance of the island. "Run inside!"

"(y/n)!"

...

"(Y/n)."

"Ah Zoro." the swordsman broke you out of the trance of memory "did something happen?"

"We've already docked."

"Ah, thank you for warning me. You can go ahead, I'll meet you."

"are you sure? the island is very big. you can get lost on the island.”

"I'll be fine. I'm not going to get lost." You headed outside heading to the room they lent you at Thousand Sunny. "I'm not like a certain swordsman..."

"your..." he clenched his teeth when he heard your giggle.

...

You came to a conclusion, when you saw Elegia, you had already been transported to Uta's world. just like all the Straw Hats. You had to tell Luffy and the others the truth, but you didn't want to and couldn't meet your little sister.

you went to the remote side of the island, where your memories took you. Soon a song started, you knew the melody right away.

"Our song..."

...

"Uncle Punch! Monster!" you came running to Punch and Monster. Punch smiled picking you up.

"look who it is! Our favorite flutist!" Monster who was on his shoulder laughed along with him.

"What's wrong (n/n)? you're really happy."

"Why didn't you wait for me (n/n)?" Uta came running as you giggle.

"You are too slow!"

"Ok! ok! What the two little ladies want?"

"We write a New song together!"

"Uta!" You shouted.

"A song?" Monster came down from Punch's shoulder

"Together?!" Punch shouted happily picking up Uta too "I can't believe these little girls wrote a full song! Boss will love hear that!"

"Shhhh!" Uta says "It's a secret! we only told you because we want help.”

"what kind of help do you two want?"

"I'm having some problems with the sheet music." you said.

"and I want more things in our song!"

"what did you want?" Monster asked.

"a flute solo that (n/n) is going to do!"

"Will you play a flute, (y/n)?!"

"Well... I didn't agree 100%..."

"but I decided that she will!"

Monster and Punch laugh, and Punch put you two down.

"Fine we'll help you two, but we need to know one thing..."

"What" You and Uta ask together.

"the name of the song you fools!" Monster giggled at the comment.

"Your... what?" You gritted your teeth at the monkey.

"The name... the name... name..." Uta pondered "I know! New Genesis!"

you stopped chasing Monster and he stopped running. "New Genesis? It's wonderful, I loved it!"

...

you were deep in thought when you hit something, or someone.

"Don't you watch where you're going? You idiot."

"I should be asking that question, (y/n)-ya.”

"Trafalgar Law?!" You and Law have known each other for many years... you exchange favors from time to time, largely because of the alliance between him and you.

"Wait? What are you doing here? Don't tell me..."

"Don't even think that." he said in his serious tone, extending a hand to help you. "I came to accompany... Bepo." You remembered how much the polar bear liked Uta. "but I have to admit, she's quite strange, she just arrested Big Mom's crew, she seems to be extremely strong, not just anyone can defeat Oven, But there's something I want to know."

"what would it be?"

"strawhat-ya said something a few minutes ago... about Uta-ya..."

"yes...she's my sister."

"WHAT?! YOU ARE UTA'S SISTER?!" Bepo shouted surprised.

"Adopted."

"Oh! It's the same thing! Why didn’t you ever tell me?!”

"Bepo... it's enough" Law cutted his firstmate.

"I'm sorry." bepo apologized, you almost let out a rare laugh, when you felt a strange tingling. You activated your Observation Haki.

"Luffy has problems. Uta captured his crew and him."

"I see"

"Sometimes I forget you have Observation Haki"

Law rolls his eyes and extends his hand. "Room. Shambles." Luffy appear near you together with Bartolomeo.

"Bartolomeo?!"

"(Y/n)?! Oh Trafalgar you are here too. Wait, what's happening here?"

"(Y/n), You won't believe who I found." Luffy says he excitedly.

"Let me guess: my younger sister?" you replied seriously.

"your younger... wait did you know? Why didn't tell me?"

"we don't have time for that stawhat-ya, we have to run away."

"But-"

"Law is right. we have to go. Uta is coming here."

...

"Welcome to Elegia, the music heaven" a weird Old Man call your attention. "Red haired pirates I guess, Feel free, I see you brought two beautiful little girls, may I know their names?"

"I'm Uta, and she is my big sister, (y/n). She is a flutist and I am a singer." Uta introduced you and her to the old man.

"Uta, let (y/n) introduce herself"

"It's okay Uncle Beck."

"a singer... and a flutist, you're too young to know how to play such a complicated instrument."

"(Y/n) She may be very young but she plays very well." Shanks says like a prouldly father. "She is a genius!"

"I would like to see your talents." the old man told you and uta to follow him... You looked at Shanks before follow Uta.

...

"(y/n)-ya, focus." Law's voice called you again... but it was different. you felt like you were in a different place, in Law's arms. you blinked to focus. "you were going to hit your face against the wall"

"Oh, I'm sorry and thank you."

"Why didn't you stop me from banging my head against the wall?"

"she wasn't being stupid."

"(y/n) are you a little too quiet? Is Uta?"

"What?"

"you always diverted the topic when we talked about her. Why Shanks did-"

"That's not the time to talk" you cutted him.

"It is!'

"What are you doing? Run away now, when we're safe, we'll hear the answers. Right (Y/n)-ya?"

You sighed getting up. "I promise, I'll give the answers for all of your questions" You looked up. "We need to hide, now" You looked at the Uta soldiers.

"Hey all of you!" All of You look up. "Come here."

It was a man, a old man with gray long hair in the laterals and no single hair on the top, a scar is noticed of his head, and the voice is so familiar.

"You grow up, (y/n)."

"Gordon..."

...

Applause, applauses and more applauses.

To Uta.

You are beside her and you just hear the sound of the people screaming Uta's name and you are invisible.

"Amazing! Please Uta stay here in Elegia and I will teach you the music art! I'm begging!" This broke your little heart in little pieces, you walked away slowly whimpering while Beckman picks you up and lets you cry on his shoulder queitly. You feel a hand rub your back softly for a second before leaving.

"You did great, troublemaker"

"No one even listen my song... Uncle Beck"

...

"(y/n)?" Luffy said. "What happened to you today?"

"I already say: nothing."

"Who are you?"

"I ruled Elegia a time ago, my name is Gordon."

"This was a Kingdom? But I don't see anyone here!"

"Elegia has once known as a greatst musical Kingdom in th world, but it dissapeared overnight."

"This place just dissapear?"

"They say the island was attacked by a famous pirate."

"Let me guess: Twelve years ago?"

Your voice caught everyone in suprise.

"Y-yes..."Law afirmed

"how did you know the date?"

"This was the last time I've seen Uta." Your look was fixed in Gordon. "Long time no see, Gordon."

"do you know each other?"

"Long story."

"Let's talk about Uta. I raised her, here in Elegia, we are the two people in the island,when she is alone, she always sing about her adventures in the sea..."

you stop listen, in some time... you don't when, but your mind was in your sister. Shanks said he didn't abandon her, and you believed him. she was the perfect sister. The singer everyone loves.

"Please, I"m begging stop Uta! Luffy I know you was his friend and (y/n) she is your sister!"

you couldn't have time to reply, when you realise her plan.

"Wait, her plan is the live show?!" Law shouted as Bepo addressmake noises again, Law turns arround ready for scold the Polar Bear. "Bepo-" He froze to see his first mate changed in mini cute form. "What the-"

"she is here." You speak calmly, running your hand to your bow.

"Uta"

"Gordon. Why are you here with that pirates"

"Uta, why you leave Shanks' ship?"

"Why don't you ask to her?" she pointed to you.

You start walking towards her with your bow in your hands.

"(n/n)."

"Lil sis."

#law x reader #red hair pirates #Red Hair Pirates x reader #Uta x Sister!Reader #Shanks x daughter!reader #Straw Hat Pirates x reader #shanks x child!reader #shanks x you #shanks x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #bepo one piece #bartolomeo #uta #one piece red #monkey d. luffy

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yuusishi · 5 months ago

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idc how corny it sounds but the thought of being wedded to Sunday then Robin singing a song she personally wrote and composed just for this day after the ceremony ☹️ imagine sitting next to Sunday while watching her performance knowing how loved you are by this family ☹️

#[ishitalks]#UGGHH HUSBAND SUNDAY AND SISTER IN LAW ROBINNN 😭😭😭#they really do come as a pair do not separate (canon did)#hsr x reader #sunday x reader

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x-bluefire-heart-x · 10 months ago

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Forever and Always

So first I owe an apology to @autumntheblogger who requested a sequel to Our Family. It has taken me a while to write this and be happy with it. But it is finally here and I really hope it was worth the wait.

I recommend reading Our Family first, which is linked below but you don't have to.

Warnings: None. Just good old fluff.

Masterlist

Prompt List

Our Family

You smiled softly as Rafael whined low in his throat as you slowly moved out from under his arm that was wrapped tightly around your waist. You wiggled out of bed looking back at him as you sat up, his forehead was wrinkled as he reached out to you in his sleep. You huffed out a laugh putting your pillow in his reach before leaning over and pressing a kiss to the furrow in his eyebrows. It was a similar event every time you got up before him, it was rather adorable, although a little bit amusing at the same time.

You swapped your shirt for the one of his that was sitting at the end of the bed as always before you padded down the hallway, checking in on Noah before continuing to the kitchen. Rafael had had a long night, a difficulty in a case causing him to stay later than he normally did these days, so you wanted to cook him a nice breakfast before he had to head into the office.

You were half way through cooking waffles and some egg and bacon when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and lips on the back on your neck before Rafael buried his head in the crook of your neck.

“You could have slept a little longer babe,” you whispered.

“Hmm, I could have, but you weren’t there,” Rafael whispered pressing kisses up and down your neck. “There is no point sleeping in if you aren’t with you.”

“Sook,” you teased.

“You are so mean to me, Carino,” Rafael whined, you could feel him pouting. “Don’t make me tell Liv on you.”

“Ooh, bringing out the big guns huh?” you asked lightly running your fingers along his forearm. “You know she would be on my side right?”

“Fine, I’ll tell Finn,”

“Also on my side,” you turned your head enough to kiss him on the temple before you pulled out of his arms to plate up the rest of the food. “Could you get our son?”

“I can go get our son,” Rafael grinned sneaking in one last kiss before going to get Noah. It didn’t matter how much time had passed since you had told him that Noah was his son as much as he was yours, he would always get so happy to refer to Noah as “his” or “our” son. You shook your head a little as you brought the plates to the table, being sure to grab Noah’s sippy cup with his juice and Rafael’s cup of coffee. You could hear him coming back down the hall, humming softly to Noah.

“So, what is the plan today?” he asked, getting Noah settled.

“Hm, gotta drop Noah off at day care, then I have a meeting with a client that’s probably going to take all day,” you sighed, already feeling the headache that this day will induce.

“Wait, is this that guy that keeps changing his mind?” Rafael asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, after we agree, he calls and then says he doesn’t want it that way anymore, it is doing my head in,”

“Next time he tries, tell him your boyfriend is a lawyer,” Rafael grinned. “A verbal agreement is a legally binding contract.”

“Mhm, my boss will love it if I subtly imply that I will sue one of our top paying clients,” you roll your eyes.

“Well, the option is there,” he placed a kiss on your forehead as he stood up. “Thanks for breakfast I gotta get into the office.”

“Have a good day!” you were too focused on helping Noah eat to see the look on Rafael’s face. His hand went into the pocket of his pants and stayed there as he headed out the door, looking back once to the scene at the kitchen table before closing the door.

---

Rafael stood outside the station one hand in his pocket fiddling with the box that he had been carrying around for months, since you had told him that he was Noah’s father. He had been standing there for a lot longer than he ever wanted to admit.

“Counsellor?” Rafael jumped at the sound of Nick’s voice behind him. “Are you going in?”

“Yes, need to speak with Liv about the new case you lot have dumped on me,” Rafael cleared his throat attempting to cover up how nervous he was.

“We haven’t given you a new case,” Nick raised his eyebrow as he followed Rafael inside. “And you’re jumpier than normal, it’s too early for you to have had enough caffeine to make you like this considering your tolerance.”

“I hate detectives,” Rafael muttered.

“You’re nervous,” it was not a question as Nick’s eyes traced the movement of Rafael’s in his pocket. “Congrats.”

“Not a word…I haven’t even told Liv yet,” Rafael pointed his finger at Nick. “And I want to ask for Liv’s blessing…and Finns.”

“My lips are sealed,” Nick promised as they entered the bull pin.

“Why is one of my detectives telling you that his lips are sealed?” Liv questioned, her eyes narrowing as she catalogued every movement Rafael made before her eyes zeroed in on his hand still in his pocket. “My office. Finn, join us.” Her tone left no room for argument.

“Good luck,” Amanda winked as both men followed Olivia into her office. Rafael felt his heart pick up speed, he knew Liv would notice straight away, but he had not considered her tone to be that specific one, it was her Lieutenant voice. And the way Finn walked ahead of him was the same way he walked into the interrogation room.

Olivia closed the door behind the two of them before she walked around her desk, Finn taking his spot right beside her as they both stared Rafael down. It was rare for him to be on the receiving end of those looks, at the same time. He now knew how a suspect felt when Liv and Finn would team up. Rafael felt sweat start to build on his forehead as he took a deep breath.

“I am aware that the both of you already know what I want to ask,”

“Well, you aren’t very subtle Counsellor,” Finn mused. “You’re more wired than I have ever seen you.”

“Have I mentioned lately how I hate detectives?” Rafael asked trying to buy himself some more time. He had originally had it all planned out but he found himself struggling to remember everything he had practiced.

“Quit stalling Rafa,” Liv teased, which helped Rafael relax a little. “I wanna hear what you have to say.”

“I wanted to ask for your blessing to ask y/n to marry me,” Rafael forced out. “I love her with my entire heart and soul. I could not imagine my life without her. Or without Noah, the two of them have changed my life for the better. I mean I have a life now, before I wasn’t really living but y/n and Noah brought light and love to my life. They helped me to live again.”

Olivia’s lips twitched as she struggled to keep her face neutral, she didn’t want to break too early but her eyes gave away everything. They brightened with happiness with every new word that left Rafael’s mouth. She knew the two of them would be a forever thing from the moment they started seeing each other but to hear how much her sister had impacted Rafael’s life was another thing entirely, especially when she already knew how much he had impacted her life as well. Finn on the other hand had no issue with holding strong. He needed to rib the ADA a little.

“Not our permission?” Finn raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that normally what people ask for? Not blessing?”

“My carino is her own person and I don’t believe she would appreciate if I asked for someone else’s permission to marry her as if she was property,” Rafael pointed out. “But to have the blessing of her sister, who raised her and your blessing Finn, who has been such an important person in her life. That would mean a lot to me, to know that the two of you trust her heart to me.”

“Well,” Liv said her voice a little heavy and if Rafael peered a little closer he could have sworn that he saw some tears forming.

“I got questions,” Finn demanded, still not giving in but his demeanour had softened. Rafael fought so hard to not roll his eyes but Olivia did not.

“Of course you do, one would forget that I was the one who raised her,” Liv muttered.

“Alright, Finn,” Rafael sighed before squaring his shoulders. “What questions?”

“When are you planning to pop the question?”

“This Saturday, it’s the anniversary of when we met,”

“I am trying very hard to restrain myself right now,” Olivia muttered as she stood up and walked around to stand in-front of Rafael, she pulled him into a tight hug which he returned in kind. “I whole heartedly give you my blessing to marry my sister. I know you will continue to make her happy and that you will continue to be an amazing father to Noah.”

Finn kept his arms crossed as he moved to stand in-front of Rafael, his eyes narrowed. He stared Rafael down but Rafael did not waver as he held the detective’s stare. He had never wavered before and he definitely wasn’t about to start now. But the stare down didn’t last long before Finn’s tough shell broke, his lips pulling back into a smile as he threw his arms out wide.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to know,” Finn grinned. “Was just pulling your leg, there was no way I wasn’t giving you my blessing to marry Little Benson, she would have throttled me.”

“Good to know that is the main reason,” Rafael muttered shaking his head.

“I mean of course I think you’re good for her as well,” Finn shrugged. “But she’s a Benson.”

“Little unsure if I should feel complimented or insulted by what that implies,” Olivia narrowed her eyes at Finn before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “I want all the details. Now.”

“Of course you do,” Rafael had resigned himself to this the moment he bought the ring.

“I was thinking, this Saturday I could take little Noah for an aunty/nephew sleep over, it’s been a while,” Liv stated as the two of you were getting your nails done. It was a little earlier than normal but Liv had insisted on changing your appointments to Friday instead of the Saturday two weeks from now. And Liv had insisted on choosing your nails, and for you to choose hers. You narrowed her eyes at your sister, tilting her head to the side before you looked at the calendar on the wall and saw the date.

“He’s proposing,” you didn’t even ask, you just stated.

“…damnnit,” Liv cursed. “I really thought I could have gotten this past you.”

“You might be the detective but I was raised by you,” you shrugged. “Plus, these nails are like fancy nails. Not to mention you and Amanda taking me shopping yesterday and insisting that I try on really pretty dresses and to get the one that is almost the exact shade of Rafael’s eyes. And tomorrow is the anniversary of when we first met.”

“I now understand why Rafael always says he hates detectives,” Olivia laughed shaking her head. “I didn’t realise you had picked so much up from me.”

“Yeah well,” you just shrugged again. “You were always my hero Liv, of course I wanted to be able to do what you do. Plus you did drill into me to be observant and then Finn even started teaching me recon shit.”

“Part of me wants to offer you a job but the other part of me definitely wants you to stay as far away from police work as possible,”

“As if I would take it anyway,” you rolled your eyes. “No offense but I like my job too much and I get paid really well. Plus I don’t get shot at so.”

“Yeah, yeah alright,” Liv grinned. “So, I get Noah on Saturday, and Sunday until lunch, then his dad gets him while, you and I go out for dinner and you tell me everything.”

“Liv, I don’t think you’re going to want to know everything,” you giggled, your heart fluttering in excitement. You may have been nonchalant when you stated what this was all about but truthfully you were nervous. Even knowing what Rafael had planned you had no idea how he was going to do it.

“You are a terror,” Liv rolled her eyes.

“Little sister’s prerogative,” you shrugged. “But yes, I agree, you can have Noah up until Sunday lunch, which we will all have together, and then you and I will have a dinner in? I doubt I will be up for going out.”

The two amazing women who always did yours and Liv’s nails both giggled at that.

“I remember when my husband proposed to me,” the one doing Liv’s nails sighed. “We didn’t leave our room for days.”

“Liv showed me the dress you will be wearing,” your technician grinned. “These nails will go beautifully with it.”

Liv had chosen a golden base for your nails, that simmered gently, with a pale green swirling pattern overlaying it. The pale green was almost a perfect match for your dress and Rafael’s eyes. You smiled softly holding your left hand up in-front of you, imagining the ring that will be sitting on your ring finger tomorrow night.

“Have you seen the ring?” you asked.

“I have,” Liv nodded. “It’s gorgeous and very you. Rafael did a good job choosing it. And that is all you get from me.”

You pouted a little but knew you would rather have that as a surprise. Since you technically ruined the surprise that he was proposing to you in the first place.

---

“Come on! We want to see,” Amanda sang as she held Noah on her hip, with Oliva beside her.

You stood in-front of the mirror in Olivia’s bedroom, brushing down the front of your dress. Amanda had volunteered to help do your make-up when Liv mentioned that you had worked out what was happening tonight, and she had done an amazing job. It was a beautiful subtle look that managed to empathise your cheekbones and bring focus to your eyes. Olivia had curled your hair and pinned the sides up, so nothing obscured your face.

“Alright, alright! I swear you are more excited than I am,” you laughed walking into the lounge room, blushing at the looks on the two women’s faces. “Is it too much? Will he know that I know?”

“You look beautiful,” Liv whispered her eyes tearing up a little.

“I don’t think he will care,” Amanda smiled. “Not when he sees you. What do you think little man?”

Noah cooed clapping his hands and reaching out for you. You allowed him to latch onto one of your fingers as your stepped forward to place a soft kiss against his chubby little cheek.

“I hope you have fun with your aunties tonight,” you smiled.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Liv wrapped an arm around your waist holding you to her side. “Manda, Noah and I will have lot’s of fun tonight.”

“Though not as much fun as you,” Amanda wiggled her eyebrows. “He’ll be here any minute.”

You giggled, holding in the small squeal that wanted to escape when a knock sounded on the door.

“Make that any second,” Liv squeezed you before going to let the man of the hour in.

“Breathe,” Amanda whispered kissing you on the cheek as Rafael walked into view and you felt your air in your lungs leave you in a rush. He was wearing your favourite suit, which thankfully complimented your dress perfectly.

“Carino,” Rafael breathed. “You take my breathe from me.”

“Well, you two need to get going,” Liv started pushing the two of you towards the door when you failed to say anything in response. You couldn’t, you found for once you had no words. This was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with and tonight was the start of the next chapter of it.

---

“Rafael, this place is beautiful,” you whispered as the hostess led you to your table. Which was in a quiet corner, lit candles decorated it, and a bottle of expansive red wine was breathing next to a vase filled with peonies and lilac. Your favourite flowers.

“Tonight is a special night,” Rafael pressed a kiss to your temple as he helped you into your chair.

“The anniversary of our first date?” you asked tilting your head to the side as he poured glasses of wine.

“Exactly,” Rafael grinned, you could see the nerves that he hid behind that smile. You reached across the table and grabbed his hand squeezing it once, as a gentle smile pulled at your lips.

“You always spoil me Rafi,” you pulled your hand away to focus on the menu in-front of you. “You look especially handsome tonight. Amanda had to remind me to breathe.”

“Turn about is fair play,” Rafael teased. “Everyday I must remind myself to breathe, when I wake up with you in my arms, when you smile at me I feel the world stop.”

You felt your heart squeeze as your stomach fluttered before it stopped, contentment settling over your body as Rafael pulled a box out of his pocket.

“I was going to wait until dessert but I found I can’t,” Rafael chuckled, as he slid the box to the middle of the table. “Carino, everyday that we have been together has made my life better, happier and brighter. The day you told me you loved me I knew that I would know no better happiness, until you told me I was Noah’s father. You have given me a home, a family. I know that your love has made me a better man and I promise you that everyday I will be sure to be deserving of your love, of your heart and of our son. You are my heart, my soul and the very breathe in my lungs. I wish to wake with you in my arms every day. Carino, my love, will you marry me?”

Rafael opened the box as you tried to stop the tears that fell down your cheeks. Nestled in blue fabric was the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. It was also far from a traditional engagement ring but it showed that Rafael knew you. For you never wanted a traditional ring. It was a black band twisted around itself, with lines of silver and gold entwined along it. Three gems sat in the band, the middle one held above the others by the twisting of the band, wrapping securely by the gold and silver. It took you a moment to realise what the gems represented, and when you did your heart ached with love. They were your birthstones, Noah’s, Rafael’s and yours.

“Rafi,” you breathed holding out your left hand for Rafael, he lifted the ring from the box holding it just over your ring finger before he slowly slid it down. “Yes, always.”

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australiancarisi · 7 months ago

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A little part 2 of this from 2021 oop half of which was written in 2021 half written in 5 minuets just now

Sister!Olivia Benson Peter Stone x Reader Words: 535ish

soz for any mistakes I don't care lets just enjoy that I'm writing again

You laughed from the couch as Noah ran around the living room with his Iron Man mask on.

“Don’t encourage him!” Liv exclaimed through laughter of her own

“But I’m the fun aunt!” you wrapped your arms around Noah as he ran past you, pulling him to chest and began tickling him. Noah squealed and kicked in a half attempt to get away from you “This is what I’m supposed to do”

Liv rolled her eyes and you let Noah go. Things calmed down as she joined you on the couch, handing you a glass of wine, she, opting for tea. You guys didn’t get to spend a lot of time to just relax, have dinners and spend time together, you were both so busy. So when you did get the chance you really did appreciate it.

“what?” you eyed her off

“What?” she repeated back

“I know you, I am you. You want to say something” you squinted

“I was just thinking-“

“That’s not good” you said which got a giggle out of Noah who had found himself on the floor with some lego

“-that you and Peter seemed to be pretty friendly lately” Liv ignored your comment. It had been about a month since you’d met Peter in that bar and then again the next day in Liv’s office. Since then you may or may not have made a habit to look for the man whenever you were walking around the courthouse, striking up a conversation or popping into his office when you were walking by.

“Is that a crime?” you asked, slightly defensive “We have many things in common”

“Like what?” Liv asked

“Like how much you and your squad annoy us both” that made Liv roll her eyes and let out a huff. With all her years of detective work under her belt she was sure there was something going on between you and Peter. But she could never be 100% sure with you. Just when she thought you were going to zig, you zagged. “He’s a good looking guy. Stable job. Smart you could do a lot worse then him” Liv said as she lifted her cup of tea towards her lips before whispering so Noah couldn’t fully hear“and you have” “Well if you think he’s so great why do you go for him” you grunted a pang of jealousy hitting your gut as the words came out of your mouth. Liv smirked. She knew it. She knew there was something happening. You could tell.

But

She decided to keep it to herself, not wanting to potentially cause an argument. Over the years you have had numerous arguments about the men you dated…. if you could call it dating. No one would ever be good enough for Olivia Benson’s little sister, even if you were a pain in her ass. The two of sat in silence and watched the movie Noah had decided he wanted to watch, even though he was not paying attention to it at all.

You felt your phone vibrate next to you. Flipping it over you suppressed the smile threatening to make its way onto your face. It was a text from Peter.

Brunch? Tomorrow? Absolutely

#law and order svu imagines #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #sister!olivia benson x reader #peter stone x reader #peter stone fanfiction #peter stone imagine

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scorpio1205 · 5 days ago

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Meet 'Moon' Sturniolo

tag

@sturnmeovr @colorthecosmos444 @big-poppa23

boarders by

@bernardsbendystraws

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #bambi!reader #childhood friend!reader #dealer!matt #sturniolosister #nate doe #nate doe smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo bots #sister in law #brothers best friend

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cursingtoji · 3 months ago

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so i’m rewatching demon slayer and a scene i didn’t remember was tengen says his brother and father treated their wives as an object to produce children and he didn’t want to be like them

#im having ideas #sister in law reader maybe? that can’t bear children and is threatened by his brother #— chatting break 💬

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gravehags · 8 months ago

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secondo giving copia the "excuse me what the actual fuck do you think you're doing stronzo" talk after watching him act shitty to curator reader i know that large bald man said do not fuck with my girl!!!

#all the papas are like “that rat better not fuck this up we want a sister in law god dammit”#curator reader series

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glimmeringwinchester · 1 month ago

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𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester never had the chance to know her mother, but twenty years later, she finds herself in her childhood home facing something evil that apparently isn't alone

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — canon typical violence, panic attacks, injury, brief description of blood, ptsd, anxiety, protective dean and sam, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester sits across from her brother at a small table beside a large window that overlooks the parking lot. Her laptop is open, pulled up onto a recent newspaper article from somewhere in Texas. She and Dean have been here for almost an hour, scouring every website they could think of to find a case to work, both of them itching to get up and moving again. They’ve never known how to be still, how to just take life as it comes instead of searching for danger, and they certainly have no interest in learning how to do that now.

“All right. I’ve been cruising some websites. Think I found a candidate for our next gig.” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, already dressed for the day ahead of them, meanwhile Sam’s still tucked into one of the beds. Grace cranes her head to see him, smiling softly when she realizes that he must’ve just woken up, a soft flush against his cheeks insinuating that not long ago he’d been practically dead to the world tangled up in thick blankets. She’s glad that he’s seemingly able to rest without nightmares of Jessica plaguing his subconscious, but something tells her his sleep wasn’t all that terrific even without the visual of his girlfriend's burning body. “A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali. Its crew vanished.”

“I’ve got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Grace hummed, looking over at Dean once she knew he didn’t have anymore more to add about the potential case in California.

“Hey!” Dean called out, startling Grace who had looked away for only a second to dive back into the article she had pulled open, searching for the single line in the middle that was what led her to believe it was their kind of case to begin with. Her wide eyes found Dean’s, assuming she was the one he was raising his voice at, but she very quickly realized he was talking to Sam, who sat upright in the bed sketching frantically on a notepad. “Are we boring you with this hunting-evil stuff?”

“No, I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam shook his head, glancing away from the notepad for only a second to prove that he was listening to Grace and Dean. The youngest Winchester rolled her eyes, reaching for her mug of hot chocolate that Dean had somehow lifted from the diner. She didn’t want to question why he’d chose to bring back two mugs instead of the take-away cups that made their lives easier, but she was more than willing to pretend like she was in some lavish hotel as she held the porcelain mug to her lips and obnoxiously slurped up what remained of her melted whipped cream.

Dean rolled his eyes at her, but he couldn’t help but shake his head laughing when she pulled the mug away and was left with a mustache of cream on her upper lip. She wiggled her eyebrows at him jestingly before she licked it away, focusing her attention back on the article in front of her.

“And here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head..three times…” Dean held up three fingers, waving them around as if hoping to catch Sam’s attention, but his efforts were in vain. Their brother was fully engrossed in his own world, flipping through pages of the notepad despite it seeming that he was drawing the same thing over and over again. Grace frowned in contemplation, wondering what had him so tightly wound, but Dean was less concerned for Sam’s wellbeing and more aggravated that everything he was saying was going in one ear and out of the other. “Any of these things blowing up your skirt, pal?”

Grace rolled her eyes, and if she hadn’t been sitting criss-cross applesauce on the chair, she would’ve jutted her leg out to kick his shin. She expected Sam to have a sharp response, but he remained silent, proving that he wasn’t really listening to them at all. Grace deflated, wondering what was so important that he was entirely neglecting the main focus of their entire lives, but then his eyebrows furrowed, and he grabbed a page of the notebook he’d already flipped away from, bringing it back down into view.

“Wait, I’ve seen this.” Sam commented, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny as he tried to analyze the sketch he’d drawn still half-asleep. Grace craned her head questioningly, taking another sip of her hot chocolate despite how warm it made her feel. She shrugged her sweatshirt off, being left in only a yellow tank top that brought out the yellow in her green eyes.

“Seen what?” Dean questioned, taking the bait that Sam dangled in front of their faces even if that wasn’t the intended purpose of his muttering.

Sam didn’t answer him, nor did he even glance in Dean’s direction. The eldest and youngest Winchester locked eyes, both frowning in concern as they watched Sam stand from the bed and approach their bags on the other side of the room. “What are you doing, Sammy?” She questioned softly, closing her laptop to instead focus solely on her brother who was acting more than a little strange.

He pulled John’s journal out of Dean’s duffle bag without a word, leaving both Dean and Grace in the dark as he flipped through pages until he found an old photograph tucked behind disheveled notes and coordinates. Grace knew the picture well. It was one of the only ones that had been salvaged in the fire – or at least one of the only ones she’d ever seen – and it was something that felt so foreign to look at knowing what she did now. She was being held up in John’s arms, a gummy smile on her lips as she looked straight ahead at the camera. Sam was in John’s other arm, and Mary held Dean close to them, all five of them looking like any typical and normal family outside of the house that Grace had never really known as their own. She frowned in confusion, not seeing why that picture was so important to Sam at this moment, but she didn’t outright question it, content to let him put pieces on the table at his own pace.

“Dean, I know where we have to go next.” Sam looked up, his eyes searching Dean’s face with intent. Grace frowned, wondering what had him so rattled that he seemed to be reeling at the connection. She put her hot chocolate down, becoming uneasy as the energy in the room shifted to something heavier than it had been in a while.

Dean inclined his head, nodding for Sam to continue. “Where?”

“Back home. Back to Kansas.” Grace’s frown deepened at that, her eyes flickering to Dean to gauge his individual reaction. She was unsurprised to find that he’d recoiled in the same surprised manor, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?” He threw back at Sam, who seemed to fumble over his thoughts trying to find a way to explain what had led him to this conclusion.

Grace watched Sam step closer, his eyes flickering to her for only a second before he turned to address Dean entirely. Grace was no help in the matter, no matter how much easier it was to convince her than it was to convince Dean. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed the picture from his outstretched hands, studying it carefully despite having almost every aspect of the print memorized. Grace leaned back in her chair, fingering pulling through her knotted locks that trapped heat at the back of her neck.

“And it didn’t burn down completely. They rebuilt it, right?” Sam asked, voice thick with contemplation that Dean and Grace still didn’t know anything about. He was making no sense, but they’d been abused by weirder conversations.

“I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talking about?” Kansas was always a sensitive topic for Dean, not that he would ever admit that, but his siblings had learned to sparingly bring up Mary and the house he’d spent the first six years of his life within after one to many explosive conversations. They all had a hard time discussing the events that had led up to where they currently found themselves in life, but it was different for Dean because he could remember what it was like to only worry about monsters in a hypothetical sense. He remembers what it was like to come home from school, have an afternoon snack at the table and work on homework. He remembers what life was supposed to be for them and even if he doesn’t mind the hunter life, there’s still a little boy inside of him that yearns for what he hadn’t even had a chance to appreciate having at all.

“Okay look, this is gonna sound crazy but the people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger.” Sam sank into the chair next to Grace at the table, his eyes flickering to hers as he silently pleaded with her to blindly trust him on this. It never took much for Grace to do that, to put all of her trust into her brothers, but she still found herself frowning in concern as she glanced at Dean.

“Why would you think that?” She asked hesitantly, soft eyes glancing back at her brother when it became evident that Dean wasn’t going to be the one to speak up and dig further. His eyes were glued to the picture, like he was trying to memorize every detail of Mary’s face. Grace’s heart thumped in her chest, wishing desperately that she could remember her mother in even the smallest capacity. She couldn’t. She’d never been able to.

“Um– Just, uh– Look, just– you got to trust me on this, okay?” Sam was frantic, scrambling for anything that would turn Dean in his favor, but he didn’t say anything else, anything more. He had given them crumbs and expected them to make an entire dessert. Grace could only frown deeper, rubbing at her head as the good mood she’d woken up in began to ebb away.

Sam stood from the table, moving toward the bags they had stacked up on top of a dresser in the far corner. Grace and Dean shared a concerned glance before the latter was rising from his spot at the table, the picture still in his grip as he addressed Sam. “Okay woah, woah, woah. Trust you?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, breathless. Whatever had led him down this path had clearly shaken him, and he moved with an anxiousness that Grace hadn’t seen since he’d packed his bags for Stanford nearly three years ago. She’d been only seventeen years old, not quite prepared to lose one of her brothers, and despite how much she’d grown into herself since then, she feels that same unavoidable unease creeping up her spine as she watches Sam pack.

“Come on man, that’s weak. You got to give me a little bit more than that.” Dean argued, standing between Sam and the door almost instinctively. He’d let him walk out the first time, there was no way in hell it was happening again when there was even less to go off of now then there was when he’d decided to follow his dream of being a lawyer. At the very least, that was practical. This was just insane.

“I can’t really explain it is all.” Sam fired back, glancing up from his duffle bag for a second before his gaze snapped back down to what he was doing and he continued shoving clothes and weapons inside.

Grace didn’t move from the table near the windows, but her soft voice cut through the room sharply. She’d never been the type to ask first shoot later, not when it was her brothers calling the shots at least, but something about Sam’s sudden interest in Kansas had her uneasy; like there was something far bigger going on just beneath her nose.“Sammy, you’ve gotta give us at least something to go off of.”

“Well, tough. I’m not going anywhere until you do.” Dean came back at him, both of them ignoring Grace who’d been trying to take a more level-headed approach. She rolled her eyes, wondering if they’d ever be able to settle a disagreement without raising their voices.

For once, Sam wasn’t quick to jump on Dean, sighing beneath his breath as he strained out his posture and faced the both of them fully. “I have these nightmares.” Fell off of his lips, but there was more still forming on his tongue that Grace expected to be the main reason for his sudden interest in revisiting Lawrence.

“I’ve noticed.” Dean nodded, though his exasperation was poorly hidden beneath his clipped tone and exaggerated hand movements. He’d been exceptionally bad at heart-to-heart moments lately, but the rekindling of old wounds had only given him a sharper edge. Grace didn’t bristle so easily, keeping ehr gaze unassuming and soft and she nodded for Sam to continue, taking a sip of her hot chocolate despite the fact that it was cooling down to a gross temperatur and she didn’t really want any more of it at all. Still she took a sip, feeling like she needed something to be doing with her hands as she waited for Sam to drop whatever bomb he’d been hiding on them.

“And sometimes they come true.” That was not at all what either Grace or Dean expected to hear, and the book-end Winchesters had near identical reactions as they flinched away from the spoken truth, their dark eyebrows raising in confusion amidst other conflicting emotions that swirled at the forefront of their minds.

“Come again?” Dean questioned, hoping that he’d heard Sam wrong, or at the very least had interpreted what he’d said wrong, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case, knew he’d heard Sam correctly.

Sam sighed, his eyes locking on Grace’s before he built up the courage to look back at Dean. Somehow, their sister was their safe person, and no matter the conflict, they looked to her for support not having to question if she’d give it. Grace managed a weak smile, nodding softly for Sam to continue. “Look, I dreamt about Jessica’s death for days before it happened.”

“Some people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean shook his head, desperately wanting to convince Sam that what he thought to be true was just odd timing. Grace wasn’t so sure that he wanted to convince Sam of that for his benefit, or for his own personal sake. Dean had a good grip on his external emotions, but she was sure that this was freaking him out because it was freaking her out; not that it took much to rattle her. She’d always been the jumpiest of the three.

Sam shook his head, his voice wavering the more he spoke about these nightmares and their direct correlation to events in his life. He looked so far from the strong, confident man that Grace had come to know since running away to Stanford. They’d both found themselves there, had created lives that had nothing to do with monsters and hunting, but the more time they spent away from the normalcy of campus life, the more they were losing themselves to the shadows of who they’d always been before that. She didn’t like it, but there was only so much they could do to change the inevitable. “No. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. Now I’m dreaming about that tree, our house, and some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started. This has to mean something.”

“I don’t know.” Dean admitted weakly, sinking into the bed as he looked down at the picture in his hands again, trying hard to wrap his head around what Sam had just laid out in the open. Sure, they’d been the one to push him to open up, but neither one of them could have anticipated this being what had him so rattled and set on returning back to Kansas.

Grace locked eyes with Sam for a second, still sat beside the window despite every nerve in her body telling her to run as far away from all of this as she could. “Even if you have these dreams, Jessica’s death isn’t on you, Sammy. It’s not your fault.” She offered weakly, and for a minute Sam’s eyes flickered with something softer, but then they hardened again and he returned his gaze to Dean.

“What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica.” His voice raised, still trembling, still vulnerable, but there was a weight beneath his words that only drove his desperation further into the thick air of the motel room.

Dean grumbled at his younger brother's persistence, standing from where he was perched on the bed to instead pace the carpeted floors. “All right, slow down, would you?” Dean didn’t beg, but he was pretty damn close to sounding like he was as he tried to get his thoughts and the facts in order. They knew monsters existed, they’d known that for decades. They had friends and connections that were psychics, so what was to say that Sam didn’t fall into that same mysterious category. There was little to deny the possibility, but accepting the truth felt heavy, like it would change the basis of everything they’d ever known and fought for. “I mean, first you’re telling me that you’ve got The Shining…and then you tell me that I've got to go back home, especially when…” Grace looks down at her hands, squeezing her fingers into tight fists when they begin to tremble without her consent. Her chest is tightening, she’s aware of it, but she needs to keep herself together. Sam looks to be on the verge of tears, and Dean isn’t faring much better. She can’t be the one to break down, not when they need somebody to be strong, but she can’t say that this isn’t a lot for her too. Seh remembers the years when all she’d ever wanted was to know about Mary. She’d ask John about her every little detail, even when those questions got her locked in motel closets and kicked out of diners; made to wait on the curb outside until the boys were finished eating. Going to Kansas had been something she’d wanted desperately at one point in her life, but now she’s not so sure she can face what should’ve been her life. It’s not fair that she has to.

“When what?” Sam pleads with Dean, his voice soft and breathy. His eyes are wide, desperate and vulnerable as he lays everything he has left within him out on the table for his siblings to scrutinize and unpack at their own will.

“When I swore to myself that I would never go back there.” Dean’s voice wavers, and Grace can see the tears pooling in his eyes as he turns his back to Sam, facing the windows before his chin sinks to his chest and he draws in a shaky breath.

“Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.” Sam pleads, his eyes flickering to Grace, but he doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s with him wherever life leads. She’d follow her brothers to the ends of the earth, because they were the only people that had ever been there for her through the thick and thin of life and its hardships.

Dean takes a second, but eventually his head nods just slightly, and he peers over his shoulder to find Sam’s eyes. His jaw is clenched, his eyebrows are furrowed, but there's determination in his features that both of his siblings can read. “I know we do.” He says, and that’s all it takes for Grace to stand from the table in the corner of the room, knowing that within the hour they’d be off and on the road toward a place she hadn’t been since she was six months old.

The car is quiet, filled with adrenaline and grief. Dean’s mood hangs heavy, and Sam’s isn’t much better. They’d said little about where they were headed since bags had been packed and the keys had been pressed into the ignition, but as they pass another sign on the side of the roads where overgrown crops and bushes thrive with the turn of Springtime weather, the atmosphere shifts to something different; something that Grace can’t quite interpret. She feels a small smile tug at her lips as she reads the words ‘Welcome to Lawrence’ , unable to deny that there's a small part of her that feels healed just being in this town. Her mother had lived here. Mary Winchester had lived within these town lines, and that meant something to the youngest Winchester even if it was just another fact to her older brothers.

“This isn’t what I expected.” Grace hums quietly, unable to take the silence any longer. She knows this is hard for both Sam and Dean, it’s hard for her, but there’s something inside of her that feels like it's been reawakened now that she’s physically seeing the streets that her mother had walked on a daily basis. Had Mary envisioned walking her down these same streets? Had she thought that at one point, she’d sign Grace up for dance class at the ballet studio they passed right beside a small pharmacy? There were endless possibilities that would never have answers, but Grace still held onto the hope of inquiring anyways. It was all she had, and so it had to mean something.

“What did you expect?” Sam asks with a light laugh, craning his head to look into the backseat and see her fully. Her body is pressed up against the driver's side door, her eyes wide and breathtakingly bright as she takes in all of the different houses and shops along the roads. For the first time in hours, his lips curve into a soft smile, and what awaits doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“I don’t know… cows, maybe? I’d always thought that there was a farm.” She hummed thoughtfully, only just realizing how stereotypically normal Lawrence, Kansas is. Grace had always thought that there would be something unordinary in the town, something that set it apart from every other midwest suburb. She didn’t know why, she’d never know what, but that assumption had made it easier to swallow the trajectory of her childhood and adolescence when she was able to grab onto it. Now, after figuring out that the only abnormal thing had been them, her family, well, her heart fell further down into her belly, something twisting up within her that she couldn’t place, but it didn’t fully dim the sparkle that twinkled beneath her green eyes.

“Sorry to disappoint, Gracie.” Sam laughed, reaching into the backseat to pat her knee affectionately. Even if her eyes were bright with wonder, he could still recognize the traces of pain and grief etched across her expression; he could still see how hard this was for her beneath the mask of enjoyment she’d crafted near perfectly.

As Dean slowed the car until it came to a near complete stop in front of a two-story house that was painted a welcoming shade of baby blue, her eyes narrowed with scrutiny. There was no mistaking it as their own. The tree in the front yard, though it had aged and changed with passing time, remained almost entirely the same as it had appeared in the picture John kept in the first few pages of his journal. The surrounding area had changed since 1985 when the picture had been snapped, but it wasn’t hard to establish that this is the place they were meant to be in. She was antsy to step out of the car, to firmly plant her feet on the ground where her mother had walked. She’d spent twenty years desperately longing for a maternal figure, and while there wasn’t a way to bring Mary back, this was still the closest that Grace had ever gotten to knowing who she had been at all.

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam braved the question that Grace didn’t have the courage to say as Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition, his eyes focused on the house he’d spent the first six years of his life in. This was hard for Grace because she’d never gotten the chance to actually know this house or her mother, but Dean fell on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She couldn’t imagine being him in this moment.

A beat of silence elapsed as Dean kept his eyes on the house, a million memories playing in his head, but eventually he trailed his gaze to Sam, a soft, nearly inaudible sound, falling off of his lips. “Let me get back to you on that.” He requested, and both of his younger siblings nodded curtly. They could do that, they could give him the time to figure out how he was feeling before talking about it.

Grace waited for Dean to step out of the car first, but when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be the one to make a move, Sam opened his door, nodding for Grace to follow him even if Dean remained in the car. He didn’t. The second Grace had her feet on the ground, he was stepping out onto the road, breathing in through his nose before he exhaled through his mouth attempting to sike himself up for whatever faced them.

Grace shuffled toward her eldest brother somewhat desperately, wrapping an arm around his waist as she stole an awkward hug. Her soft green eyes flickered up to meet his after a moment of contemplation, and even though his lips were set into a thin expression of neutrality, he didn’t pull away from the embrace. Sam was steps ahead of them both, hardly even aware that they’d stopped at all, but Grace didn’t mind the separation between them, desperately needing this quiet minute with Dean to have any chance at finding the strength she needed to get through this, even if it didn’t turn out to be their kind of gig. His arm fell around her shoulders, pulling her tighter into his side when he finally pulled himself out of the trance-like state he’d been in before.

“You gonna be okay, sweetheart?” He asked quietly, keeping his hushed voice away from Sam who still hadn’t realized he walked alone toward the front door.

Grace nodded, her head resting on Dean’s shoulder as she craned her neck to meet his worried eyes. She forced a slight smile, downplaying the torrential downpour of emotions that were muddying her clarity. Regardless, she gave him an answer. “This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

Dean sighed when Grace pulled away from his touch before he could tell her that she didn’t have to be strong just because she’d always wanted to come back here. He followed after her silently, joining Sam on the front porch, though he stuck close to Grace’s side, able to see through her near-perfectly curated mask of indifference. He promised himself that for her sake, he could see this case out.

The door creaked open seconds later, and all three Winchesters stared at the woman in front of them for a second too long for it to be a normal exchange before Dean was slipping into his chosen role; not that they’d discussed what alibi they’d be giving this woman to keep their tracks clean. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal–” He began, but was quickly interrupted by Grace, who couldn’t lie in the face of honest truth. There was truth here, and fragile honesty, and she didn’t want to be some variant of herself that was fake and sleazy. Mary wouldn’t want that for her, for any of them, even if she’d never really known the woman, somehow Grace was sure of that fact.

“I’m Grace Winchester, and these are my brothers Sam and Dean. We used to live here. Or, they did. I was a baby. But, I mean, I guess I lived here too. Um,” Grace fumbled over her words nervously, pulling at her knuckles as she tried to keep her eyes from peering behind the woman and inside of the house. Did it look the same? Had they kept the same layout? The same wallpapers and tile? She wouldn’t know, but the questions still came to her anyway. “We were just driving by, and we were wondering if we could see the old place.”

Grace couldn’t stand to look at her brothers, so she kept her eyes on the woman in front of her, who smiled fondly at her rambling with a tilted head. This woman was a mother, Grace knew that the second she’d started rambling and all she’d received was a fond smile of encouragement. “That is so funny.” The woman noted, opening the door wider, giving all three of the siblings a deeper glance inside the house. “I think I found some of your things the other night. A stuffed bear and some photos. You said your name was Grace, right?”

“Yes ma’am.” Grace nodded, her eyes tearful as she tried to keep herself together, but the longer she spent outside of the house that had been the only physical home she’d ever known, the harder it got to keep her emotions underwraps. Even if this turned out to be one of their gigs, it wasn’t just any other hunt. She couldn’t lie to herself and say that it was.

“Come on in.” The woman smiled after a brief pause, and the invitation was all that Sam needed. He stepped over the threshold without hesitation, but Grace and Dean lingered outside. After nearly twenty years, they were back home, back at the place that had simultaneously started their lives and derailed them.

Grace flinched when Dean laid a firm hand between her shoulder blades, but stepped over the threshold with a shaky breath. Dean closed the door behind them, his eyes sweeping across every piece of decor he could find, searching for something that Grace didn’t know about. Evidently, he came up empty, because as quickly as hope had filled his eyes, it vanished. They followed the woman into the kitchen where a little boy was kept occupied in a playpen, but he didn’t seem all that interested in the toys scattered around his feet, instead, he held onto the wooden bars, bouncing on his toes and demanding juice.

“That’s Richie. He’s kind of a juice junkie but, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” The woman laughed as she unlocked the refrigerator and reached for a sippy cup of what Grace could only assume was apple juice. She smiled fondly as the blonde crossed the floor and held out the cup for her son, ruffling his chestnut brown hair before she turned her attention back on the siblings.

A young girl, no older than ten-years-old, sat at the counter filling out a sheet of homework. She wore a collared shirt beneath a sweater, her hair brushed and pulled neatly into a half-up half-down style. Grace wondered if her mother had done that. If she’d taken the time out of her morning to dress her kids in expensive clothes and style their hair to perfection. John had never done that for her. The earliest memory she has of having her hair brushed was by Dean’s hands, and he’d been less than gentle as he tugged out the knots and kept her still between his knees, stressed beyond belief as she wailed and squirmed away from the pain. Their lives had never been fair, but Grace was beyond glad that at least Sari’s seemed to be. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and Grace. They used to live here.”

“Hi, Sari.” Grace greeted the girl softly, her smile warm and inviting like it always was when she didn’t have a role to slip into. It was weird, being on a case but having no cover story, though she wouldn’t say she minded the freedom to just be herself.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean questioned, his eyes sweeping across the kitchen before they found the woman. Grace wasn’t sure if she’d even told them her name yet, but she couldn’t find the strength to ask as emotions piled up in her throat.

“Uh, yeah, from Wichita.”

“You got family here?” The question was innocent enough, but the woman still bristled as it fell into the air and smothered her beneath its weight.

“No, I just, uh… um, needed a fresh start. That’s all.” She explains through thick emotions that she's obviously trying to keep away from her children. When Sari looks up, she forces a smile, breaking off into a different approach to explain how they found themselves in Lawrence. “So new town, now job – I mean, as soon as I find one– new house.”

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Sam asks quietly when she turns to the sink, and her head snaps back to glance at them as she finds an answer to the question on her tongue.

“Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home – I mean, I’m sure you have lots of happy memories here – but this place has its issues.” Grace bristles at the mention of happy memories. She’s honestly not sure that she has any at all – in this house or anywhere else that she’s lived –, and the realization that even some of the ‘best’ moments of her life were still twinged with worry and pain has her glancing down at her feet, tears pricking her eyes.

“What do you mean?” Sam questions again, his eyebrows furrowed as he runs through a mental list of any abnormalities he can think of that relate to their unique specialty. Grace doesn’t even bother trying to play the role of a hunter in this moment, taking the time to just be a twenty-year-old kid with no real connection to anything real in life outside of her brothers.

“Well, it’s just getting old, like, the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.” She can feel Dean stiffen at her side, and instinctively her hand reaches for his. She wants to berate herself for being so quick to an emotional response, but for once she just lets herself be, not having the energy to wage a war against her instincts when her heart is hammering in her chest to the point where she’s almost certain the insides of her ribs will bare bruises in the aftermath of this encounter.

“Well that’s too bad. What else?” Dean, ever the stoic individual allergic to showing vulnerable emotions in the presence of others, lets her hold onto him, and softly he squeezes her hand between his fingers, reminding her that despite what they face and what stains their pasts, he’s here with her in this current moment.

“Um… sink’s backed up. There’s rats in the basement.” She prattles on, but when Dean’s lips purse, she looks away bashfully; almost apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

“No.” Dean’s quick to brush off her apology, smiling brightly despite the pain that clutches his heart in an iron grip and refuses to loosen. “Have you seen the rats or just heard the scratching?”

There’s a flicker of contemplation on her face before it clears, and she inclines her head just slightly to the left as she trails her gaze up to meet Dean’s eyes.“Just the scratching, actually.”

Dean’s eyes flicker to the floor in a moment of realization – both that there was something here, and Sam was right to be frantic about the sudden happenings in his subconscious – but before her can question anything further, Sari was craning to face her mother somewhat bashfully. “Mom?” Her voice was incredibly thin, and Grace didn’t miss the way her shoulders sank beneath the weight of something.

The woman – who Grace has still not retained the name of – approaches her daughter quickly, abandoning the dish rag on the edge of the countertop to address her eldest child. She bends down to meet Sari’s level, and immediately the little girl's voice slips out timidly,“Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

For a moment, the mother looked panicked, but there was evident concern etched across her brow as she knew immediately what her daughter was so worried about. Before she had the chance to reassure Sari, or at least try to get the Winceshers to silently pick up on the need for reassurance, Sam was inclining his head encouragingly. “What thing, Sari?” He coached.

“The thing in my closet.” Sari’s eyes flicker downward almost immediately, and she doesn’t look up until her mother crouches beside her again, shaking her head in unabashed concern; somethin John Winchester had never shown his children. Grace’s heart clenches with longing as she watches the encounter unfold. Even if John hadn’t been the way he was when she was growing up, she doesn’t think she ever would’ve had this. Dean and Sam; Grace thinks that they would’ve, at least in some manly ‘bro-code’ way. She doesn’t harp on what she’ll never know for long, because Sari’s defiance against the reassurance Sam tried to give was all too familiar. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom, and it was on fire.” Sari defends, and the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck rise.

With the confirmation that something was definitely happening inside of the house, the Winchesters quickly excused themselves. Grace stepped out of the house ahead of her brothers, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t even realized was blooming within her chest until she was no longer surrounded by what might’ve been relics of her past, but also could’ve been new things.

“You hear that? A figure on fire!” Sam exclaims as he stomped down the stairs with passionate intent, his head craned in Dean’s direction as Grace remained steps ahead of them, needing to be in the car and surrounded by comfortable familiarity for at least a handful of minutes.

“And Jenny was the woman in your dreams?” Dean double-checks, wanting to be sure that this hadn’t all been some odd one-off coincidence, not that he could really argue that case anymore, but desperately he tried to find grounds to believe it, not wanting to admit that their lives and their already askew definition of normal was becoming even more abnormal and eerie by the hour.

“Yeah, and you hear what she was talking about – scratching, flickering light? Both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam doubled-down, and Grace could only sigh, continuing to listen to her brothers back and forth without contributing anything herself.

“I’m just freaked out your weirdo visions are coming true.” Dean snapped, his jaw set tight as he picked up his pace, rushing toward the Impala with a desperate urge to just get the hell out of dodge and let what was apparently prophesied to happen, happen. He hated that he thought that at all, always the first one to defend the line of work they found themselves tangled into, but even he was beginning to feel indifferent about the case that brought them right back to where the worst night of their lives had occurred.

Sam wasn’t as rattled as his siblings, and with fiery passion, he scoffed. “Forget about that – the thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean raised his voice, clearly frazzled from how many times Mary’s death had been dragged into conversation, but Sam still didn’t relent, if anything, his voice got more strained than it had been as he held his hands out at his sides.

“I mean, has it come back or has it been there the whole time?”

“Or maybe it's something else entirely Sam. We don’t know yet!” Dean argued, for once coming across as the logical one of the two as Sam was fueled by raw emotion and terror, just not the same bone shattering emotion that his siblings felt. He was worried, panicked, sure, but Grace and Dean were terrified, and submerged in grief that had spanned across twenty years.

“Those people are in danger Dean, we have to get them out of that house.” Sam threw back at his brother.

“And we will.” Dean assured, hoping that would be enough to sway Sam from doing anything irrational before they had all of the facts in line and a game plan, but all it did was spur him on more.

“No, I mean now.” The middle Winchester demanded, and had they still been inside the house, Grace knows his voice would’ve bounced off the walls with how loud it was. She couldn’t help but flinch away from the conflict, shrinking into herself as she watched her brothers squabble like children.

“And how are you gonna do that? You got a story she’s gonna believe?” Dean threw his hands out in exasperation, his voice rising to match Sam’s.

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Sam snapped, but there was evident worry shining through that hadn’t been so obvious before. He hadn’t done everything he could’ve to save Jessica, but now he had a chance to not let this woman die in the same way. Grace could sympathize with the grief and responsibility Sam undeniably felt, but acting rash and being quick to emotion was only going to get them all killed. Sam knew that once, he lived by that motto, but every day that passes in the wake of Jessica’s murder only drives him farther and farther away from the beaten path they’ve walked for years.

“We wait, Sam! You know this!” Grace snapped, pushing herself off of the car door to stand between her brothers, aware of how her hands tremble and her voice wavers with emotions she has no control over. “Get your head out of your ass and think about those kids – that woman. You want to make up for how you handled Jessica, I get that, Dean gets that, but going in now is a sure fire way to get all of us killed, or worse, outed. So, would you please get in the fucking car already and stop acting like a toddler with no sense of impulse control?” She didn’t wait to see his reaction, she didn’t need to look at him to know that tears glimmered in his sad light eyes and his mouth hung open in startled shock.

She slipped into the backseat without another word, pulling the door closed with unnecessary force. Dean shook his head, but in a moment of vulnerability, he pointed his words at Sam carefully. “I can’t have the both of you breaking down on this, man, and I can’t – we can’t – ask her to pretend like being here isn’t killing her. So for the love of god, start thinking about more people than just yourself, would you?”

Sam nodded after a minute, looking past the reflection on the windows to see Grace. She has her nails between her lips, teeth gnawing away at scabbed over skin as she draws in deep breaths that don’t look to be having the desired effect as her shoulders remain tense and her back rigid. He hadn’t really seen her before, he’d been too far into his own head and worries, but he does now, and his heart hammers with guilt when he realizes that being here is the reason she’s so on edge. She’d wanted this moment for decades; had spent years grilling John about Mary and the first six months of her life only to be met with silence or explosive rage. She was finally here, finally getting to see what should’ve been her life – their lives –, and it was muddled by the very demon that had taken it all away from her. His heart hurt for Jessica, for himself, but it hurt even more for his little sister that only ever tried to find the good in the shitty cards life dealt her.

“We just got to chill out, that’s all.” Dean said as he leaned against the trunk of the car, both him and Sam waiting by the pump as Grace ran inside to grab a handful of snacks to tide them over until they had a chance to grab a real bite to eat. She hadn’t said much since they’d pulled away from Jenny’s house, but she didn’t need to say anything at all for her brothers to know she was drowning. “If this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”

Sam sighed, dropping his hands to the hood of the car as he looked around, racking his brain for the procedure they’d perfected and followed over years of trial and error. “We’d try to figure out what we were dealing with. We’d dig into the history of the house.”

“Exactly, except this time we already know what happened.” Dean nodded, but Sam wasn’t too sure that he was right about that.

“Yeah, but how much do we know? How much do you actually remember?” Sam sat on the trunk of the car, finally out of his head enough to address the bigger questions that he had.

Dean sighed, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s encouragement was blunt, but he knew better than to try and press Dean any harder than that.

“Not much.” The eldest Winchester admitted after a moment of contemplation, “I remember that you had wet the bed so Mom put you down in Gracie’s room. I remember waking up to Mom screaming. I remember the fire… the heat. Then I carried you out the front door.” It wasn’t all that Dean remembered, but the more specific visuals didn’t need to be spoken. They weren’t important, but they flashed before Dean’s eyes anyways as he let himself remember the first night he’d ever tried to block out of his memory.

Sam’s head inclines to the side, and he turns his gaze to settle on Dean’s. “You did?”

“Yeah, well, you never knew that?” Dean frowned, but continued anyway. He’d spent decades holding onto these troubled memories, but being back where it had all happened, he just didn’t see the point in keeping them so close to his heart anymore. “Dad gave you to me. Told me to get outside as quickly as I could. Gracie was in their room… I think… I think Dad tried to get Mom first, but when he couldn’t, he went and got Gracie and met us outside. He got out there just before the explosion.”

“No.” Sam didn’t know what to make of that information. He’d never thought much about how he’d gotten out of the house, but now that he knew it was Dean, well something changed inside of him that he couldn’t quite place.

“Well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do – Mom was… was on the ceiling, and whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

Sam frowned, craning his head to glance at Dean before his eyes wandered to the scenery around them. “And he never had a theory about what did it?”

Dean shook his head, turning to sit beside Sam on the trunk.“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times. God knows Gracie asked him enough times.”

Sam didn’t want to accept that as the truth, but it was all that they had to go off of, and so he found himself taking the information for what it was worth anyways. “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s going on now, we have to figure out what happened back then, and see if it’s the same thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his eyes squinted as the sun shone brightly overhead. “Talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam asked, his voice solemn and quiet as he peered out at the road ahead of him.

Dean swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as his adams apple bobbed. He didn’t answer the question, couldn’t bring himself to, and quickly he excused himself, not wanting to cry in front of Sam, and desperately not wanting Grace to choose this very moment to come back outside. “I’ll be right back. I got to go to the bathroom.” He excused, even though he knew Sam could see through the weak excuse.

Minutes later, Grace came out of the gas station holding three bags of chips and a milkshake. The straw was pink, and on any other day she would’ve beamed at the small detail, but her eyes barely held onto their light as she sank into the trunk beside Sam, offering him the bag of doritos she’d snagged with him in mind. “I’m sorry.” She admitted quietly, glancing up to meet his eyes with nothing but sadness and regret clouding her green gaze. “I know this is a lot for both of you, not just me. I know I’ll never be able to understand how you feel about Jessica’s death. I just, I couldn’t listen to you fighting anymore. Not when– not when–”

“Hey, hey.” Sam shook his head, cutting Grace’s tearful rambling off by throwing an arm over her shoulder, pulling her warm body into his embrace with gentle protectiveness. “I know, Gracie. It’s okay.” He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, his eyes fluttering closed as for a minute, he let himself slip away into stillness. “Dean and I, we’re gonna canvas the area. Talk to anyone Dad might’ve had a connection to; anyone who might know more about what happened to Mom. If it’s too much, you don’t have to come. Believe me, Dean and I understand.”

Grace shook her head, holding tighter to her milkshake that was hardly doing its job of bringing her comfort. “No. No, I need– I need to know. I want to know. You and Dean, you had Dad. Maybe he was an asshole, maybe you didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was still a guy, and in his own fucked up way he showed you he cared. I remember when he’d come back from a hunt with new hot wheels for you; when he was so fucking proud that Dean caught a bass on that fishing trip we took when he went to visit Bobby that one time. I just, Sammy, I want Mom. I’ve always just wanted a Mom. I want to know everything about her, and if this is all I’ll ever get, I have to be there to hear it myself. I just… I h-have to.” Tears fell down her cheeks, hot and salty as they pooled around the straw pinched between her teeth.

“Okay.” Sam sighed softly, pressing another kiss into Grace’s head. “Okay. But I mean it, G. If this gets too much, if it’s not what you want to hear, or it’s too hard– Dad’s not here. You don’t have to push yourself to do this with us. Promise me… promise me that you’ll step away if you can’t do it.”

“You know I can’t promise that.” Grace shook her head, not only because this was everything she’d ever wanted as a little girl desperately craving a maternal figure, but also because John Winchester would have a shit fit if he knew she was slacking; letting her brothers finish a hunt alone. He might not be here to see her fail, but it’s too close to home for anything she does to feel right.

“I know.” Sam sighed, but his gaze snaps to Dean when he starts to approach the Impala, his hands in his pockets as he looks his eyes down. “She’s all ready to go.” Sam was talking about the car, about how the tank was finally filled and they could hit the road, but he was also talking about Grace.

Dean looked his sister over, and when he didn’t find signs of unruly distress, he nodded, but not before Grace extended her arm and waved around the mint chocolate chip milkshake. “They had one of those f’real machines.” She hums quietly, silently offering him a sip. Not because she wants to share, no she’d always been territorial over her milkshakes and the boys had learned that the hard way over the years, but rather because she figured Dean could use a little pick me up, even if her offer was weak and he didn’t like milkshakes nearly as much as she did.

The eldest Winchester managed a soft smirk, and he reached out to take the cup. He took a sip that was far too big for Grace’s liking, and the youngest Winchester pouted in disbelief. “Hey! Don’t drink it all!” She whined, reaching for the cup back before jutting her foot out to assault Dean’s shin. “Asshole.” She grumbled.

“Get in the car, princess.” Dean knows how much his sister hates that nickname, and although Grace rolls her eyes in annoyance, she doesn’t fight it as aggressively as she would've done any other day. This isn’t any other day, and it’s definitely not any other case, and for the first time in a while she really does appreciate her brother's tendencies to annoy the living shit out of her.

It was the next morning, and the Winchester siblings had an early start to the day despite none of them getting much sleep. Grace stuck close to Dean and Sam as they wandered through a mechanic garage, their eyes taking in every detail with the knowledge that once, John had not only worked here, but owned it. It feels so far-fetched to Grace. She can’t imagine a life where her father did anything but torment sorry sons of bitches (i.e., her) and hunt monsters, but apparently he’d had himself a quaint little life before everything got derailed.

“So, you and John Winchester. You used to own this garage together?” Dean questioned, his leather jacket slung around his shoulders despite the comfortable temperature outside. Grace was in a pair of leggings and a Stanford t-shirt, one of many that she’d stolen from not only Sam, but from Jessica. She knows the one she wears currently is the womans, and it brings her just the slightest ounce of peace as she strives to keep her memory alive.

“Yeah, we used to. A long time ago. Matter of fact, must be 20 years since John disappeared. If I’m remembering correct, his littlest one should be about your age.” The man muttered, looking at Grace, who for the time being, was playing the role of cop in training. She tried not to bristle at the mention of herself, but her fingers twitched with emotion that lucky didn’t draw eyes. “So, why are the cops interested all of a sudden?”

“Oh, we’re reopening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of them.” Dean nodded, looking to Sam before he trailed his eyes back to his fathers old business partner.

“Uh-huh. Well, what do you want to know about John?” The mechanic questioned, and Grace was suddenly aware of who truly off her game she was. She knows the man introduced himself, knows that Sam and Dean both had told her who he is and what his connection to their father was, but she cannot find his name in her memory anywhere.

“Whatever you remember. Whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean opened the conversation up to miniscule details and major ones, knowing that they’d be able to do a lot with any information at all.

“Well… he was a stubborn bastard. I remember that. And, uh, oh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It was that whole marine thing.” The mechanic had no idea who the three individuals in front of him really were, but somehow it wasn’t surprising for Grace to hear from an unbiased opinion that her father was a rough character and a hard man. “But, uh. Well, he sure loved Mary, and he doted on those kids.” Grace couldn’t picture a time where John had felt anything but resentment and hatred for her, but evidently there had been a small window of love because the man had no reason to be lying to them. What had changed? Sure, losing Mary had changed him, but there were still moments in the early years when he didn’t treat the boys any differently than he always had. So, it must’ve been her. There must be something so horrible about her that even her father can’t stand her simple presence.

“But that was before the fire.” Sam noted, almost certain that he was correct, but needing verbal confirmation to fully run with whatever theories he was trying to wave together.

“That’s right.” The man nodded, his eyes falling to the concrete floors as memories flooded his mind.

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam continued to press, but there was an unmistakable gentleness in his tone as he flickered his eyes to Grace momentarily.

“No, not at first. I think he was in shock.” Grace could picture that being the case. Even when John had formed a thick skin around monsters and the plethora of things that went bump in the night, there had still been cases that rattled him to a short temper and violent anger. Grace had always thought that was one of the most ironic things about the way she was raised. John allowed himself to be rattled and affected by the cases he worked and the monsters he hunted, but the second it was her that couldn’t quite carry the load of trauma and terror, she was berated and beaten until she promised to never show weakness again.

“Right, but eventually – what did he say about it?”

“Oh, he wasn’t thinking straight. He said, uh– he said something caused that fire and killed Mary.” The man nodded as he remembered events that happened almost twenty years ago.

“He ever said what did it?” It was Dean’s turn to press for more, and so Grace shifted her weight, squaring her stance as she raised her chin to look at the man who had known her father before everything went downhill.

“Nothing did it. It was an accident.” The man bristled, “An electrical short in the ceiling or walls or something. I begged him to get some help, but…”

“But what?” Grace found herself being the one to ask, her eyes sharp and interested even though all she really wanted to do was shrink into herself and step as far away from this conversation as she could get. She wanted to know about Mary, about her mother, not listen to people try and sympathize with her lifelong abuser.

“Oh, it just got worse and worse.” The man noted, but when Dean pressed for more, he relented easily. “Oh, he started reading these strange old books. He started going to see this palm reader in town.”

Grace perked up at the mention of someone new for them to tail, her eyes narrowing as she inclined her head and looked up at Dean. “Palm reader? Do you have a name, sir?”

“No.” The man chuckled, shaking his head like not having a name wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it wasn’t to him, but Grace felt her shoulders sink in defeat. It wouldn’t be impossible to locate which one her father had visited, they’d found more with less, but still it felt like just another roadblock keeping her from the truth.

They didn’t stick around for much longer, and when they did finally clamber into the Impala, Sam insisted that they find a phone booth and book to search for more answers about this supposed palm reader. Grace had no objections to her brother's suggestion, nodding her head quietly as she sank into the backseat and pulled her knees to her chest. Once upon a time, Dean had been adamant about a ‘no shoes on my seats’ rule, but that had lasted merely a week before he gave up and let Grace do whatever she damn well pleased. Even if the young woman didn’t realize it, she always got what she wanted when her brothers were around.

That’s how they found themselves in a near abandoned parking lot. Sam had his nose in a phone book, and Dean and Grace leaned against the Impala, happy to take a step back for a minute to get their composure in order. “So, there are a few psychics and palm readers in town. There’s uh, there’s someone named El Divino. There’s the mysterious Mr. Fortinsky. Uh, Missouri Moseley–” Grace stood up straighter at the third name that rolled off of Sam’s lips.

“Wait! Missouri Moseley?” She backtracked, her eyes wide as she stepped forward to read the name over Sam’s shoulder.

“What?” Sam craned his head to look at his little sister, moving the book just slightly so that she could see the entire page, not sure what information she was after or what puzzle she was putting together in her head.

“She’s a psychic.” The young woman breathed out in realization, immediately pulling away from Sam and stalking toward the trunk of the car, leaving her brothers to stand alone in their confusion as she unintentionally kept them in the dark. She pulled the trunk open, her movements frantic as she ripped through their duffles until she found John’s journal. “In Dad’s journal… come here, look at this!”

She slammed the trunk closed, flipping open the worn leather cover as her eyes scanned the words scribbled in black ink. “The first page, the first sentence. I’ve always thought it was weird. Read it.”

She pushed the book into Dean’s hands, and Sam came to stand beside their brother, his eyes scanning the page before he began to read aloud. “I went to Missouri…and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Dean mumbled beneath his breath, but Grace had never been so blind to the intricate quirks of John’s work. The way he wrote state names and people names was different, if only just slightly. The way he’d dotted the ‘i’ like he’d been trying to signify something without outright saying it had always stumped her. Her fathers handwriting was terrible and messy, but something about Missouri had always seemed so formal and correct to her. She didn’t say anything else, just snatched the journal back and crawled into the backseat, silently telling the boys to get a move on before she melted down from anxious anticipation.

The Winchester siblings sat in the foyer of Missorui Mosley’s home and practice, waiting for their turn with the psychic as they individually went over what they knew about the case. It wasn’t even a full five minutes later when they heard a woman’s voice draw near, and seconds later a black woman who Grace assumed to be the woman they were seeking a conversation with led a middle-aged man out toward the door. “All right, then. Don’t you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She smiles encouragingly, showing the client out, but the second she closes the door behind him her expression drops into one of pity, “Whew! Poor bastard – his woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.”

Grace’s lips quirk upward in tired amusement, her eyes trailing after Missouri as she steps back toward where she’d come from. “Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean questioned, a smirk splaying across his lips although Grace thinks that has more to do with the mental image rather than the actual deception at hand.

“People don't come here for the truth. They come for good news.” The woman corrects Dean’s expectations for her service, and when it becomes clear that Grace is waiting for her brothers to make a move and neither of the Winchester men are eager to comply with the time crunch they’ve been presented with, Missouri looks back over her shoulder in exasperation. “Well? Sam and Dean, come on already. I ain’t got all day. Your sisters waiting for you.”

Despite the emotional exhaustion that weighed Grace down, she couldn’t help but find herself smiling as she stood from the cushioned bench and followed after Missouri, looking back at her brothers with amusement as they begrudgingly followed after her, evidently not so pleased with the favoritism their sister was already being shown by the psychic.

“Well, let me look at you.” Missouri demanded once all three Winchesters had ducked beneath her doorframe decorated in beads. Grace’s cheeks flushed bashfully as she felt the woman's eyes rake over her frame, subconsciously rubbing at the spot on her bicep where a bruise always lingered whenever John was around to drag her around like a puppet. If Missouri noticed the movement, which Grace knew that she did, she didn’t comment on it. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome. And you were one goofy looking kid, too.” She pointed to Dean specifically, and Sam’s lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced at their older brother. “And you, Miss Grace, you look just like your mother. If I didn’t know any better I’d say I was looking at her carbon copy.”

Grace’s heart thumped heavily in her chest at the complement, her cheeks flushing pink as she glanced down at her shoes bashfully. In all of her life, she doesn’t think anyones ever compared her to Mary; not John, not her brothers. She knows Missouri’s being more kind than she is truthful – Mary had blonde hair, Grace has brown. Mary had thinner lips, Grace hates how full hers are – but it still warmed her heart and hurt her feelings nonetheless. Would Mary be proud that they looked alike? Would she float around in all of her social circles beaming about how her baby girl has the same high cheekbones and kind eyes as her? Desperately Grace hopes that would’ve been her reality. She knows that had she looked more like John, he would’ve drawn no attention to it.

Missouri grabs onto Sam’s head, and her gaze saddens as she looks at him carefully. “Sam. Oh, honey. I’m sorry about your girlfriend, and your father…he’s missing?” All three siblings inclined their heads at the women's knowledge of their situation. Grace hadn’t doubted her abilities for a second, not when she knew John Winchester only sought out the best of the best, but it was still eerie for a supposed stranger to simply know and be aware of their hardships.

“How’d you know all that?” Apparently Sam couldn’t blindly trust as easily as Grace, because even with the premonitions and nightmares that plagued his subconscious, he still found himself questioning Missouri’s abilities.

“Well, you were just thinking it, just now.” Missouri fired back at him.

Dean bristled at the mention of their father, and his eyes betrayed his composure as they bled worry and concern. “Well, where is he? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” Grace knew that Dean wasn’t going to take that answer well, but before she could speak and control the nature of the conversation, Dean was narrowing his eyes, disbelief clouding his gaze.

“Don’t know?” He questioned, shaking his head as he glanced at Sam and Grace. “You’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”

Missouri recoiled at his tone, her eyebrows furrowing. “Boy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit. Please!” She demanded, her gaze snapping to Sam who was smirking in amusement as Dean got – rightfully – torn into.

Grace didn’t have to be told twice, shuffling forward until she could wedge her body into the corner of the couch closest to the windows. Sam fell into the cushions beside her, his thigh brushing against hers as he adjusted his position to rest his elbows on his knees. Grace rolled her eyes, batting him away from her until a sliver of space separated their skin. She’d never understand her brother's inability to sit considerably. She was always benign squished onto someone or something.

“Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m gonna whack you with a spoon.” Missouri interjected before Dean could even get comfortable on the couch, his weight still sinking into the well-loved cushions as her warning fell into the air.

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean defended, his head inclined to the side as he glanced at the psychic with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Well, you were thinking about it.” She clapped back at him, and once again Sam found himself laughing in amusement. Grace wasn’t so easily distracted from the case at hand, growing antsy to find any kind of answer for what they were dealing with or what Mary had been subjected to.

Sam shifted on the couch when a beat of silence elapsed, leaning forward just slightly to address Missouri. “Okay, so. Our dad. When did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading a few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him.” Missouri explained, and conflicting emotions bombarded Grace’s heart as she looked across at the woman. She had better things to put her energy into, but still she couldn’t help but linger on the newfound knowledge that in part, this was the woman she had to blame for her life becoming what it was. It wasn’t Missouri’s fault, she couldn’t have predicted what John would do with that information once he had it, but without her helping hand, there might have been a chance at normalcy for the youngest Winchester.

“What about the fire?” Dean questioned, evidently not phased by the deeper connections that his sister was making, but then again, he didn’t have any hard feelings about the life they lived. He’d never known anything else, and at this point, he didn’t see any way out, so there wasn’t much for him to harp on or shed tears over. “Do you know about what killed our mom?”

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.” Missouri explained, but she trailed off, evidently emotional as her voice softened and ehr tone wavered just slightly.

Sam leaned closer, eager to know what else the woman knew about Mary and that fateful night. “I don’t…” She faltered, shaking her head.

“What was it?” Sam pressed for more, able to see that there was something Missouri was holding back from them.

“I don’t know.” She exhaled sharply, her head shaking as she recalled the things she’d sensed all those years ago. “But it was evil.” She rose from the couch, moving her body to keep the memory from consuming her entirely. Grace knew that coping strategy well, but it wasn’t doing her a lot of good now that they’d been spending so much time trapped within the Impala.

Eventually, Missouri collected herself, turning back to the Winchesters with concern in his dark eyes. “So, you think somethings back in that house?”

“Definitely.” Sam nodded, speaking for both of his siblings who were more than content to let him take the lead on this.

“I don’t understand.” Missouri mumbled, sinking back into the chair she’d been sitting at before, her eyes trailing across all three siblings.

“What?” Sam asked, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?” She asked the same question that Grace had.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house – all happening at once – it just feels like something's starting.” Sam explained thoughtfully. Grace felt goosebumps rise on her arms as she considered that very real possibility. She was raised to face danger in the face, but she wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever supernatural storm was undoubtedly coming their way.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean hummed humorlessly.

After telling Missouri more about what they thought was happening in Jenny’s home, the psychic insisted on sniffing out the supposed energy herself, which is how all three Winchesters ended up back at their old house standing on the porch with her at their side. Grace stood slightly behind her brothers, her eyes taking in every minor detail of the front door as they waited for Jenny to greet them. Missouri glances at her, but Grace pretends not to notice, keeping her eyes on the house.

Eventually, the door is pulled open and Jenny comes into view with Richie on her hip, looking slightly panicked if her grip on the toddler's overalls was any indication. “Sam, Dean, Grace, what are you doing here?” Her eyes trail across every Winchester on her doorstep curiously, although they linger on Grace for a second longer than they’d lingered on her brothers.

“Hey, Jenny.” Sam greets hesitantly, his eyes on Richie before they shift toward the woman just slightly behind him. “Um, this is our friend Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble we were hoping to show her the house, for old times sake.” Dean cut in, pulling out one of his signature charming smiles as he looked at the single mother in front of him.

“No, you know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.” Jenny’s eyes flicker nervously, and instinctively she steps back into the house, preparing to leave the Winchesters out on the doorstep. Grace doesn’t miss the uncertainty that’s laced within the woman’s eyes, or the way that she holds onto Richie just a little bit tighter as she steps back.

Dean evidently doesn’t pick up on the same telling traits as Grace, because he takes a step forward, his tone becoming harsh and intent. “Listen, Jenny, it’s important – ow!” He whines, holding the back of his head as he turns his gaze to Missouri, wondering why she’d just slapped the back of his head with no warning.

“Give the poor girl a break. Can’t you see she’s upset?” Missouri scoffed, looking at Dean with furrowed eyebrows and a judgemental frown. “Forgive this boy. He means well. He’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out.”

“About what?” Jenny frowned, but turned her body toward Missouri, giving the woman her full attention.

“About this house.”

Jenny frowned, but there was something beneath her eyes that told Grace she already knew where this conversation was heading. “What are you talking about?” She asked regardless, not ready to admit that all of the strange feelings she’d been having were related to the house itself.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri approached the conversation softly, but there's a firmness in her tone that has Jenny staring back at her in concern. Clearly Missouri had hit the nail on the head, but without knowing who the woman was or what she was capable of doing, it only further unsettled the mother of two.

“Who are you?” Jenny questioned, emotion laced into her tone as her eyes flickered to Grace.

The youngest Winchester stepped around her brothers to stand beside Missouri when it became evident that Jenny wanted to hear the words come from her. She doesn’t know why the woman likes her so much, but from the very first time they’d met Jenny hadn’t looked at her the same way she’d looked at the boys. “We’re people who can help you; help your kids. We can stop this thing, but I need you to trust me for that to happen. You don’t have to trust my brothers, or Missouri, but I need you to at least trust me. Can you do that?”

Jenny sighed, and for a moment Grace thought that she was going to turn around and close the door in her face, but then she inclined her head toward the entryway and stepped out of the way, nodding softly in acceptance of Grace’s terms and conditions. The youngest Winchester smiled gracefully, but that quirk in her lips slipped away as she stepped into the house, her eyes immediately wandering to the stairs. Her nursery was up there. The room that Mary had spent time decorating and perfecting for her was just right up those steps, and maybe it wasn't exactly the same anymore, but the young woman still itched to see it.

“We’ll need to take a look upstairs. If that’s okay with you, Jenny.” Missouri explained softly, and Grace’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that whether she could handle seeing her old bedroom or not, that’s where they were going. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until they made it up the stairs and Missouri pushed the door open until all four of them could slip inside.

“If there’s a dark energy here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri commented, her eyes taking in the soft pink walls and white trimming.

“Why?” Sam questioned, but Grace knew that he’d already figured out why this particular room was so important to Missouri. His eyes held crystal tears, but he refused to let them fall as he glanced around at everything he couldn’t remember. It was the room of a child undoubtedly, but he still couldn’t draw on the memories of it being a baby’s room, much less his sisters.

“This used to be Grace’s nursery. This is where it all happened.” Missouri explained regardless of what the Winchesters already knew.

“It looks the same.” Dean breathed beneath his breath, and Grace’s gaze snapped to him immediately. Her breath hitched, and immediately she drew her eyes to every miniscule detail. It was obvious that the room had been renovated, but she couldn’t help but think some of the paint was its original craftsmanship. A spot on the wall near the window was streaky, and very obviously not the work of a professional. Did Mary paint the room by herself? Had Dean and Sam helped her do it? The help of a toddler would explain why the coat was uneven, and it warmed her heart to think about a little five-year-old Dean helping paint what would be her room.

She must’ve gotten lost in her head, because when she finally tuned into the conversations happening around her, Missouri had her full attention on Dean as she asked him about what item he held in his palm. “That an EMF?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded without even looking up at the woman, and Missouri scoffed, shaking her head. “Amateur.” She commented.

The EMF detector buzzed to life, the lights flashing red, but Missouri wasn’t convinced that what she found was what the Winchester’s thought they were dealing with, her attention turning to the three siblings who stood in a nonuniform cluster. “I don’t know if you kids should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.”

Grace’s gaze snapped to the woman, and Sam’s eyes grew wider. “Are you sure?” He questioned, not sure whether he was relieved to not be facing that demon head on, or disappointed that he was still far from getting justice for Jessica and Mary. “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s something different.” The woman noted, walking to another corner of the room, her gaze set firmly on the closet.

“What is it?” Dean questioned, confusion etched across his features.

“Not it…them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.” For a moment, Grace’s heart fluttered in her chest. Was it Mary? After all of these years, was she in the same space that her mother took up? No, Mary wouldn’t become a vengeful spirit. She didn’t know much about the woman, but what she did know was that her mother was kind, and sweet, and gentle. She wouldn't terrorize a little girl and go after a family that was so similar to her own. “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds, and sometimes wounds get infected.”

“I don’t understand.” Sam shook his head, but Grace couldn’t even find the words to voice her confusion, or any words at all for that matter. Her eyes were still trailing across every inch of the room, mesmerised by its simple beauty and wondering what it must’ve looked like when it was filled with toys and clothes and a crib. When she was little, she’d always told John that she wished motel rooms came in different colors. He’d always scoffed and called her an idiot, but that had never deterred her from wanting a pink room to spend just one night in. She’d had a pink room. This was her pink room. Somewhere inside of her a piece of that broken little girl healed just slightly.

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist – a nasty one – and it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.” Missouri explained, shaking her head as she reaped more of the spirits' intentions off of the walls.

“You said there was more than one spirit.” Sam brought her attention back to that simple point, and Missouri nodded with assurance that she’d gotten that right.

“There is.” She walked back toward the closet, “I just can’t quite make out the second one.”

“D-Do you think it’s our Mom? Sari– Sari said she saw a woman burning in her closet. Is there a chance– could it be her?” Grace hated how she stumbled over her words, hated that she even voiced that question to begin with, but it was falling off of her lips before she could really think about what she was saying.

Her heart broke when Missouri shook her head, her eyes soft and caring, but even that couldn’t soften the blow of losing hope yet another time. “I don’t think so. This energy… it’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Well, one thing’s for damn sure – nobody’s dying in this house ever again. So, whatever is here, how do we stop it?” Dean stepped toward Missouri, standing in front of Grace who looked like she’d just been crushed from the very core of her soul. Her green eyes glittered with tears, her lips quivered with emotions she couldn’t suppress, and no matter how many times she tried to draw in a deep breath, her shoulders shook with sobs she was desperately trying to swallow.

“I’ll be back.” The young woman whispered to nobody in particular, stepping out of the room before either of her brothers could decide to follow her out to the car. She needed a minute. She couldn’t be the strong, unafraid hunter her father expected her to be right now. She doesn’t think she’s been that girl since before she left in the middle of the night to join Sam at Stanford when she was nineteen.

The second she was out of the house, everything that she’d been trying to keep underwraps came tumbling out of her. She stumbled to the Impala, a hand over her mouth to catch the sobs that fell off of her tongue and drew attention to her presence in the quaint little town. Her chest ached, her throat burned, and when she finally reached the Impala, she threw a weak punch at the trunk, but that didn’t quell the agonizing pain anymore than sobbing like a child did. Her mind flashed white for a second, consumed by not only the stinging pain in her knuckles, but the emotional anguish that tore her up from the very core of her body. She had a million questions: How was this happening again? Why was this happening again? Was this something bigger than what she could see?, but there weren’t any answers for her to find, not right now at least. The simple truth was that sometimes, shit happens, but that felt weak and like only half of the truth as she reminded herself of all the terrible things that had accumulated over the course of her life. Why could she never catch a break? Anytime she tried to distance herself from the life her father had built without even consulting his children, something dragged her right back into the chaos of it all. Anytime she tried to accept the life of a hunter as her own, something terrible came for them; whether that be a tough case or her fathers very own fists. Nothing she did was right. She has no sense of herself. She thought she did for a while, thought she’d finally figured out what her life could be like if she just had the chance to work for it, but even the simple dream of normalcy felt like it didn’t fit her anymore.

The woman, who was really only a twenty-year-old kid who’d never even really had a chance at life, finally manages to collect herself, and with trembling hands she brushes the tears from her cheeks and squares her shoulders. She might not be ready to face the music and go back into the house where her mother was murdered in her bedroom, but she doesn’t have a choice. She’s never had a choice. She doesn’t let the reality of her life keep her paralyzed in pain, if there’s one consistent thing about Grace Winchester, it’s that she doesn’t back down from a fight, and especially not one that her brothers are intertwined with.

She’s about to walk inside, face her fears, when her brothers come out with Missouri on their heels. Jenny stands in the doorway, and when her eyes meet Grace’s, she smiles a soft smile that can only be described as something entirely maternal. It nearly chokes Grace up again, but she manages to keep her composure as she smiles back, hiding her fist behind her back as she’s acutely aware of the blood running down her fingers and dripping onto the concrete beneath her feet.

“Where are we going now?” She asks when the boys are within earshot, and she tries to ignore how Dean’s eyes soften as they memorize the pain etched across her face. Her eyes are swollen and rimmed red, and she knows her cheeks are flush with emotion that she can’t even find a name for. She’s sad, scared, filled with grief, but there’s something else that plagues her too. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or maybe it’s something different; something that she’d never been able to understand when her father expressed it, but recognizes in herself now. She’s pissed. Pissed that yet another spirit is disrupting what’s left of their childhood home. Pissed that no matter how far they run, something always pulls them right back to the start of it all. Pissed that her mothers final resting place can’t even see peace. Whatever the feeling is, it fuels her rage, and she’s learned that rage can be a powerful and helpful tool in cases like this.

“Back to Missouri’s.” Sam tells her softly, gently pulling her hand out from behind her back. He frowns when he notices split knuckles and sticky blood caked between her fingers. Grace is a lot of things, but she’s not violent or quick to anger. He can’t even begin to know how she’s feeling, but he guesses it's overwhelming enough to come away with split knuckles.

“Did you punch my car?” Dean questions, concern laced within his green eyes. Grace doesn’t know if it’s concern for her, or concern for Baby, but it's not hard to assume that he’s more worried about the state of his precious car than her nondominant hand.

“She’s fine.” The youngest Winchester huffs, looking back at the Impala where the only indication that she’d even touched it at all is the smear of blood along the silver trim that dries down to something copper toned the longer it’s exposed to the fresh Spring air. “And it wasn’t even a punch. Dad would make me do it again just so that I did it right.”

Dean shakes his head sadly, evidently not so concerned about the car in this moment. Grace averts her attention at the realization that it's her he’s concerned for, and she looks down at her shoes as she begins to feel like a child that everyone needs to keep an eye on. “I’m fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know.” The eldest Winchester doesn’t believe her in the slightest, but she learned that response from him, so he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he just grabs her wrist, leading her over to the trunk where he has a first aid kit buried beneath their duffle bags.

Sam leads Missouri back to her own car, evidently talking about what the next step should be. Grace thinks he just wants to give her another minute to collect herself without an audience, and she can’t say that she’s not thankful for his thoughtfulness as she flinches away from Dean’s soft touches to her wounded skin. “It's really the same?” She asks softly, looking up at him with so much untouched innocence in her eyes that his own heart stutters in his chest.

“Yeah, Gracie.” He sighs, taking an antiseptic wipe and bringing it over her knuckles, trying not to react to the way she takes in a sharp breath of air when the sting registers in her head. He wipes the blood from her fingers before he tosses the wipe into the trunk to be dealt with at a later date, reaching for bandages that he knows she’ll rip off in only a matter of hours, but still puts the effort into finding regardless. “Dad wanted to hire painters, but Mom wanted to do it herself. When he was at work one day, she took Sammy and I out to the store to get the paint. She had it all figured out; she always did. I remember… I remember painting with her when Sam was taking a nap. You would’ve loved her, Gracie. She was… you are… God, you’re just like her. From what I remember anyways. She never backed down from a fight, never let anything stop her. She and Dad would go at it, and then she’d just start laughing because she couldn’t take him seriously when his face got all red. She was– she was the only person that could make him laugh in the middle of a fight. But, um, yeah, the paint is the same.”

“I always wanted a pink room. When I was little, when we first started going to different motels, and Dad started working longer cases. I always told him that I wanted to stay in a pink room, and he always got so pissed off and told me to shut up and be grateful I got to sleep anywhere at all.” She hums, and Dean remembers that vividly. He’d always laughed and ruffled her hair, always tried his best to distract her from the fact that none of the walls were ever pink. He doesn’t say anything though, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing will make those memories go away, and nothing will give her what she never had. Grace doesn’t bristle at his chosen silence, instead, she lets it fall over her until something else crosses her mind. “Dean?” She hums as she looks down at the bandages he’s wrapping around her knuckles.

“Yeah, Gracie?” He sighs his attentiveness, letting his eyes flicker to hers for only a moment before he’s looking back down at her hand, pinching her fingertips and ensuring that nothing is broken or sprained.

“Do you think I look like her? Missouri said I do but…” She trails off, biting at her lip as she waits for her older brother to find the right words to answer her question.

“When you were little, you looked just like her.” He said eventually, and Grace’s heart dropped at the implication that she didn’t look like Mary anymore. That life had aged her beyond the point of recognizable similarities. “You have her smile, her laugh. That’s how I can tell when you're bullshitting me. You don’t laugh like her when you’re just putting on this act that everything’s fine.”

“Oh.” Grace mumbles, tears pricking her eyes as she glances down at her feet. “I wish I got to know her.”

“Me too, Gracie. Me too.” Dean sighs, pulling her into his chest for a second. He kisses the top of her head before he pulls away and closes the trunk. “Get in the car. We have work to do.”

Grace and Dean are at the dining room table at Missouri’s. Sam is leaning against a chair, not much help to them, but neither sibling calls him out for simply wandering around aimlessly. Dean doesn’t have the energy to fight, and Grace is just thankful that she has something to keep herself busy with.

“So, what is all this stuff anyway?” Dean questioned as he filled another black cloth. Grace had already filled seven, steps ahead of her older brother who had never been good at following directions. The first three he made weren’t right in the slightest, and Missouri hadn’t been afraid to make him start over while mentioning that Grace was better at this than he was. It wasn’t often the youngest Winchester was singled out for something positive, and so she’d found herself grinning bashfully before sticking her tongue out at Dean.

“Angelica root, van van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends.” Missouri highlighted, nodding toward the individual bowls of herbs on the table before she diverted her attention again.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean bumped Grace’s arms, nodding toward one of the farthest bowls. She honestly couldn’t decipher what was what, but that didn’t really matter when it was all going in anyways. She moved it between them, reaching for another pinch of it and spreading it inside of her unwound black cloth.

“We’re gonna put them inside the walls in the North, South, East, West corners on each floor of the house.” Missouri explained as she grabbed a seat at the table on the opposite side from where the Winchesters sat.

“Punching holes in the drywall – Jenny’s gonna love that.” The sarcasm dripped from Dean’s lips like honey, and Grace rolled her eyes at his takeaway. She’d get over a few holes in the wall if it meant she and her children got to keep their lives.

“She’ll live.” Missouri pursed her lips, looking directly at Dean who very quickly diverted his attention to the task at hand.

“And this will destroy the spirits?” Sam questioned, still leaning his weight against the back of the chair, offering his siblings no help. Grace huffed at the bandages around her hand, the bulky padding was making it hard for her to tie off the bags, and so she began to pull it off without much care for how easily wounds could become infected. Both of her brothers rolled their eyes as she peeled the bandages away and discarded them on the table in a heap, but neither commented, knowing they would’ve done the same thing a hell of a lot sooner.

“It should.” Missouri nods. Grace is about to tie off her eight bundle when Dean taps her bicep, sprinkling a pinch of something into the palm of her hand. He raises his own fingers to his lips, tasting whatever herb he’d dipped his fingers into, and immediately pulls away when he realizes that it tastes horrible. Grace can only roll her eyes at his idiocy, dusting her hand off on her pants as she goes back to the task at hand. “It should purify the house completely. We’ll each take a floor, but we work fast. Once the spirits realize what we’re up to, things are gonna get bad.”

“Were they ever good?” Grace chuckles dryly, shaking her head as she ties off her final bundle. She huffs when she realizes that Dean still has two left, and he’s not moving any faster despite the finish line being in sight. She nudges his arm out of the way, pulling both black rags closer to her body, and by the time she finishes them, he’s only just finished the one he’d already been working on.

Nighttime falls over Lawrence like a thick blanket, and Grace has taken it upon herself to see Jenny and her kids out of the house for a couple of hours while they do what they need. The single mother of two still only had blind faith in her, and that’s not something the youngest Winchester takes lightly as she softly caresses Richie’s back. She has one hand in Sari’s, guiding her down the steps, but Richie seemed insistent that she paid him the same amount of attention too.

“Careful.” She warns the little girl who holds onto her tightly, her tone soft and incredibly maternal as she ensures that the little girl doesn’t slip beneath the cover of darkness that blurs the stairs together.

“You’ve asked me to trust you, and I do, but– I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving all of you alone in the house.” Jenny stumbles over her words, stopping to stand at the bottom of the stairs as Grace fixes the jacket around Sari’s shoulders. She zips it up, hoping that the thin layer is enough to keep the little girl warm.

“Jenny,” Grace puts a comforting hand on the top of Sari’s head, wanting to keep the little girl calm though she undoubtedly has picked up on the tension that strains her mothers shoulders and had filled her house when they’d first arrived minutes ago. “I lost my mother to something evil in this house, and it still haunts me to this day. Let me make sure that your kids don’t lose you too, okay? This is my job. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Take the kids to see a movie or something, and it’ll all be over by the time you get back. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

Jenny stalls for a minute, but eventually she nods, shifting Richie’s diaper bag higher on her shoulder as it begins to slip off. “Okay.” She relents.

Grace gives Sari’s head once last caress, and she brushes her fingers against Richie’s cheek before she nods, turning to walk up the stairs and back into the house once she’s certain that the family of three had gotten into their car okay.

She sighs softly, desperately hoping that she can keep her word on this. She walks into the kitchen where Dean is already searching for a weak spot in the drywall. She doesn’t linger, knowing that time is running out and if she waits any longer, her job is going to get a whole lot harder. She knows where she has to go, and there’s something bittersweet about the fact that she’s the one that'll be putting the bundles into the walls of her childhood bedroom. She might not have been able to help when bad things were happening the first time around, but there’s something liberating in the knowledge that she’ll be able to end it all now.

She climbs the stairs two at a time, looking into the master bedroom where Sam is supposed to be depositing one of the bundles. He looks over his shoulder when the hardwood creaks beneath her weight, and he nods encouragingly before his eyes go back to the wall. Grace takes a deep breath, continuing down the hallway until she reaches the bedroom that was once a nursery. She lingers in the doorway for a minute before she’s pushing through the fear that grips her and walking into the closet. She shoves one of Sari’s rainbow dresses out of the way and gets to work at finding a weak spot in the drywall. For a minute, everything is fine, but then a hammer is hurtling her way and the only indication of its presence is the sound of the air around her whipping around. She turns just in time for the back of the hammer to break through the skin of her shoulder, penetrating her deep and painfully. She bellows out a loud cry of pain, sinking to the floor as she doesn’t know whether to rip the tool out of her shoulder or desperately cradle the area around it. For a minute, she remembers that she’s wearing Jessica’s shirt, and the pain only amplifies when she realizes that it's ruined; blood soaked and torn beneath her hands. The only things that gets her moving again is the stubbornness to not let it be in vein, and with all the effort that she can muster up, she breaks through the drywall and shoves the bag in just as the closet doors slam shut and something slides across the floor.

Panic grips at the young woman instantly. Memories of crappy motel room closets flash before her eyes. She hates this. Hates confined spaces. Hates being trapped. She pounds at the doors with little energy, suddenly aware of all the blood she’s losing as it drips down her chest and to her belly, leaving a crimson trail on the front of the shirt as if the circular ring around her shoulder isn’t enough. Her head feels heavy as she panics, her breathing coming out short and labored as she cries out weakly. “Let me out! Please! Please let me out!” She cries, but it's futile, because if these spirits have gotten to her, they’ve definitely gotten to Missouri and her brothers. She can’t breathe, her throat feels like it's closing in and every minuscule twitch of her muscles has her shoulder aching in brutal protest.

It’s been years since she’s seen the inside of a closet like this, years since she’s been close enough to John Winchester to even be tormented with the thought of being locked away, but no matter how much she’s healed since the last time she found herself thrown into a motel closet and locked in there for hours, it all comes rushing back to her now that she’s faced with the same fate once again.

Grace sinks to the floor, curling herself up as much as she could manage with the literal hammer sticking out from her shoulder. She knows that you never pull something like this out, especially not by yourself, but she’s panicking as she puts her head on her knees and tries to ignore the agonizing ache and inability to breathe. She doesn’t know when she started sobbing, but she’s acutely aware of how her shoulders tremble and it only further aggravates the open wound on her body. She doesn’t hear the footsteps getting closer, or even notice the closet doors opening until Sam and Dean are both kneeling in front of her, concern filling their eyes as they take in the sight of her sobbing into her knees and rocking back and forth. Her knuckles are white from how tightly she’s holding into the fabric of her pants. When Dean’s hands frame both sides of her cheeks, guiding her face up to meet their soft and concerned eyes, she flinches back, and only then does Sam notice the hammer lodged deep within his baby sister's shoulder.

“Fuck, Gracie.” He cusses lowly, scrambling closer to assess the physical damage while Dean tries to coax her through the emotional. He’s cradling her to his chest, reminding her to breathe with him, desperately trying to bring her back down to reality as she claws at her throat and weeps. “Hey, I need to get it out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but you’re gonna be fine. I need you to answer me, Gracie. You’ve lost a lot of blood, I need to hear your voice.” If it was any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have been so persistent to gain her attention, but he needs to make sure that she’s okay enough for him to do this. He reaches for one of the shirts hanging in Sari’s closet while he watches her, ripping it in half like it’s the easiest thing in the world, preparing to use it as a tourniquet of sorts until they can get her back to the motel to patch her up for real.

“Gracie girl, I need to hear you.” Dean mumbles softly, his fingers tapping at the side of her face when her eyes flutter closed. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell Sammy you’re okay.”

“G-Get it out.” Grace pleads with as much strength as she can muster, finally feeling like she can breathe again as the panic attack slips away into something of the past. “Please Sammy, it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna count to three, okay? And you’re gonna squeeze Dean’s hand as hard as you want.” Sam grips the hammer tightly, nodding at Dean that he’s ready whenever he is. He doesn't’ consult Grace, it doesn’t matter whether she’s ready or not, because he knows it's going to hurt like a bitch with or without the mental preparation. “One,” He doesn’t even get to two before he’s ripping the hammer out of her shoulder and tying the tourniquet around her. The young woman bellows in pain, her head thrown back on Dean’s shoulder while she squeezes his hand tightly. “I need you to move your arm. We need to make sure it didn’t tear a muscle.” He coaches roughly, knowing that if he was any softer with Grace she wouldn't actually register what he was saying.

Grace does as asked, wincing and whimpering through the entire ordeal, but eventually Sam’s content, and tells her she can put her arm down. She slumps against Dean’s chest, sobbing into him as she grips at his flannel tightly. Neither of her brothers have to ask to know that she’s not crying because of the pain, but because she’d been trapped in a closet with no escape, and this time she hadn’t even done something to deserve the punishment; not that any of the times John threw her in the closet was deserved, but point still stands that this was the last thing she’d expected to be subjected to today.

“Where’s Missouri?” Grace asked eventually, pulling herself away from Dean when she felt capable to move on and forward. She wiped at her cheeks with the hand that wasn’t connected to an injured shoulder, clearing away the tears that had fallen.

“Downstairs.” Dean informs, clambering to his feet when he realizes that Grace wasn’t willing to take another minute to collect herself. He offers her his hand and pulls her up to her feet when she grabs it. She rolls out her shoulder, groaning in pain, but she doesn’t let it slow her down. Believe it or not, she thinks she’s finished a hunt with worse injuries not inflicted upon her by monsters and spirits.

Grace grimaces when she sees the state of the kitchen, knowing there was no way that Jenny wouldn’t notice the damage to her kitchen table. The walls were one thing, but adding damage elsewhere was breaching unforgiving territory. She stalks over to one of the kitchen chairs, taking a seat as she feels woozy for a second. It hadn’t occurred to her how much blood she’d lost until she glanced down and found a trail of blood leading down to her fingers and even more staining the front of the shirt. Again she feels herself getting worked up, running the tip of her finger along the stark white lettering that still says Stanford, though now the letters are noticeably discolored.

“This was Jessica’s shirt.” She frowns more to herself than anyone else but Sam hears her as he approaches with a glass of apple juice, and sadly his lips quiver into a comforting smile. “Thanks.” She mutters tiredly, reaching out for the juice that she knows will replenish her blood. Learning that little hack had saved them from too many trips to the emergency room, but it wasn’t an immediate cure, and so even after she’d chugged the contents and shoved the glass into Sam’s waiting hands, she still found it hard to keep her head up and her vision clear.

“Are you sure this is over?” Sam questions after he’d placed the glass in the sink, coming back toward Grace with a bottle of water that he’d already cracked open. She sips it slowly, savoring the cold feeling washing across her tongue and throat.

Missouri nodded, “I’m sure.”

“It better be over.” Grace slurs from the kitchen chair, her head lulling to the side as her eyes become heavy. She fights to keep herself awake, taking another sip of the water and setting her eyes firmly on Sam.

“Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri turned to face Sam, concern flooding her features.

“No, never mind.” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, I guess.”

Missouri didn’t have a chance to press Sam any further because the lights in the hallway were flickering to life the second he’d finished speaking, and soon Jenny’s voice trailed in from the front door. “Hello? We're home.” She announced, coming into the kitchen with Sari’s hand holding hers and Richie on her hip. Grace grimaced as she looked around, taking in the absolute destruction sight that had been made out of her kitchen. “What– What happened?”

“Hi. Sorry, um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam insisted out of instinct, despite the fact that they did not possess the funds to pay for everything they had damaged or entirely ruined. Their credit cards may be endless with the scams that John and Dean run, but their limits were well… limited.

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Missouri better amended the situation, and if Grace weren’t so lightheaded she would’ve laughed about how for once in his life he wasn’t being shown favoritism. “Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop. And don’t cuss at me.”

Dean did as asked – or demanded – and cleaned up the kitchen to the best of his abilities while Sam made sure Grace didn’t pass out. By the time Dean was helping Missouri hobble down the stairs, she felt better if only the slightest amount, but she knew that a long night of sleep would be the best remedy she could find. She was looking forward to passing out in the backseat of the Impala, already longing to feel the chilled leather beneath her skin.

She said goodbye to Missouri quickly, rushing toward the Impala once there was nothing else in her way. Grace Winchester was asleep before her brothers even got in the car.

“Dean!” Grace woke up with a jolt, groaning in pain when the tension of her muscles aggravated the wound on her arm that had yet to be correctly patched up. She looked around frantically before she realized that her brothers were clambering out of the car and rushing toward the house. She didn’t think twice about following after them, sheer adrenaline fueling her body as she somehow managed to catch up with them just as Sam passed through the threshold of the house.

“I’ll get Sari! You get Richie!” Sam yelled over the thumping of his heart, looking back at Grace who only nodded at the order. Her own heart was racing, but she pushed through the pain, taking the steps three at a time as she raced toward the little boys room.

She found the toddler standing up in his crib, sobbing with his arms reaching out in her direction, evidently reaching for his mother if his babbled cries of ‘Mama’ were any indication of who he wanted most. Grace’s heart sank in her chest, but she pushed through the feeling, reaching out to pick the little boy up and cradle him close to her chest.

“Shh, you’re okay, sweet boy. Everything’s okay. Nobody’s gonna hurt a hair on your little head, I promise.” She soothed the toddler to the best of her abilities, nearly crashing into Sam as he came flying out of Sari’s room. The little girl was in no better shape than her brother, but before Grace could call for her, try to be a person of clarity in the chaos, something was wrapping around her waist. “Sam! Richie! Get Richie!” She screamed as she was pulled backward, her arms letting go of the toddler with blind hope that her brother could move quick enough to catch him before he fell completely.

Her head must’ve hit the wall as she was dragged backwards, because the next thing she knew was that she was pinned against the cupboards in the kitchen by an invisible force and Sam was right beside her in the same predicament. Before she could do anything, she was flung against the opposite wall, her body crashing to the ground before that same force lifted her up again and flung her over to where Sam was pinned.

“Gracie! Sam!” She can hear Dean yelling, but at this point, she has no idea where the sound is coming from. Her head is throbbing, her shoulder is killing her, and every other inch of her body aches from being slammed against walls and the floor.

She whimpers in pain when a figure walks into the room, and just like Sari had mentioned on their first day in town, it was on fire. Her eyes widened, Missouri’s doubts about her mothers spirit being in the house coming back to her. “Gracie! Sam!” Dean’s voice is getting closer, and then he’s right in front of her and Sam with his shotgun raised. Grace’s eyes widen in panic, but no words come as she stares ahead at the figure she’s entirely certain is Mary Winchester.

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam, however, is able to find his voice, and he calls out to Dean frantically.

“Why?!” Their older brother calls, evidently not connecting the pieces that Grace and Sam can see plain as day. A tear falls down Grace’s face as she squints her eyes, trying to see through the constantly burning flames.

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.” The flames around the figure burn brightly until they don’t burn at all, and perfectly clear can all three siblings see the spirit clearly.

“M-Mommy?” Grace cries softly, and Dean’s hand quivers as he slowly lowers the gun, staring straight at the woman he’d made peace with never being able to see again in this lifetime.

“Mom.” It’s not a question. He knows that this is Mary, and his heart stutters in his chest as she walks toward him with a soft smile.

“Dean.” She hums simply, taking in all of his features. She doesn’t linger long, she doesn’t have the time to linger at all, but she can’t pass up the fleeting seconds she has to truly take in the sight of her children. “Gracie, my girl. My sweet sweet girl. Oh, my baby.” She reaches out, like she wants to caress Grace’s face and feel her skin one last time, but she pulls away before she makes contact, looking to Sam whose lips quiver as he memorizes Mary. “Sam.” She hums, “I’m sorry.”

“F-For what?” Sam stutters, and Grace’s eyes plead with Mary to stay with them, come back to them, but the woman avoids her gaze and instead of answering, turns on her heels and walks toward the center of the room.

“You, get out of my house. And let go of my kids.” Grace shakes her head, knowing where this is headed, but her protests are futile. Mary is engulfed by a bright flame again, but this time, the flames evaporate into the ceiling.

“Mom! Mommy!” She cries out, fighting against the invisible restraints until she falls to the floor, the force of the spirit no longer around to keep her pinned to the cabinet. She clambers to her feet, rushing to Dean. She digs her face into his chest, sobbing without constraint for the umpteenth time since driving over Kansas state lines. His hand comes to hold the back of her head while the other holds the center of her back. Her fingers curl into his jacket, holding tightly to it as she weeps. After twenty years, she can finally say she met her mother. But, she can also say she watched her mother die after she’d already been gone. Somehow, Grace thinks this hurts worse than not remembering Mary at all.

“Now it's over.”

The very next morning, the Winchesters are getting ready to head out. Dean and Grace stand on the front lawn of their childhood home, finally getting a hold of those items Jenny mentioned finding when they’d first introduced themselves. Dean holds onto a stack of pictures that none of them had ever seen, but Grace holds onto a small teddy bear. Her name is embroidered on the bottom of the right foot in the sweetest pink thread, and her heart stutters as she realizes that Mary had been the one to personalize this bear for her. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of it since Jenny had come out of the house holding him by his belly, and she doesn’t think it’ll ever leave her possession. The only other thing she had from those first six months of her life was the blanket she’d been wrapped up in when John carried her out of the house. Twenty years later, it still lives in her duffle bag, though it has acquired a couple of blood stains and rips since its prime.

“Thanks for these.” Dean looks up at Jenny once he’d gone through all of the pictures, his smile and tone sincere as he curls his fingers around the stack possessively.

“Don’t thank me. They’re yours.” Jenny shakes her head, smiling fondly back at Dean and Grace. “Thank you.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to let anymore kids lose their mom in that house. I meant it.” Grace forced a smile, still not feeling entirely herself or even close to functioning, but that had never stopped her from completing a hunt before. She had to see this through, and the finish line was finally in sight.

“Take care of yourselves.” Jenny patted Dean on the shoulder, giving Grace one last maternal smile before she was walking back toward the house where Sari and Richie were inside eating breakfast at the table – that still sported holes from various utensils being plunged into it.

Grace held onto the handle of the Impala as she watched Sam get closer, having said his final goodbyes to Missouri. She doesn’t want to talk about everything that happened, and neither do the boys. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready to talk about what happened here.

“Don’t you kids be strangers!” Missouri calls from the front yard, and Grace’s lips wrinkle into a weak smile.

“We won’t.” Dean assures before they’re slipping into the Impala. She has a tight grip on her teddy bear, holding it close to her chest as she slumps against the side of the car, her eyes closing out of instinct. It’s not five minutes later that she’s sound asleep, hoping to god the next hunt doesn’t tear her apart completely.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x ofc #sam winchester x sister!reader #supernatural #john winchester #mary winchester #series: love was the law

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thesoftestpunk · 2 years ago

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Why do I wanna write a greys anatomy inspired fake marriage fic where Eddie has no insurance and reader is a doctor willing to marry him so he’ll get the fuckin surgery he needs

#I thought of like. delayed injuries from after the earthquake #but an actual earthquake and not the upside down #because au’s are always fun #idk I haven’t fully fleshed out what the surgery is for exactly but google is a dear friend #reader is like a resident doctor so still learning but almost in charge #and yes I’m watching greys for the first time ever #blame my sister in law

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nanamimizz · 2 months ago

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me and the rdr2 sadie alder stepcest draft i have rotting away </333

#lamb.talks #reader is her sister-in-law (jake adler’s sister) and its her intense and burning devotion to you born from the fact that you are the last #of her jakey she has…..Guh…..

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x-bluefire-heart-x · 1 year ago

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Our Family

Alright so a surprise for me and everyone else. I am managing to post today! I had a little gap between my little celebrations and since I managed to do most of my editing and reviewing of this piece yesterday I am able to quickly post this before I go for drinks!

@autumntheblogger requested a fic with Female Benson reader who adopts Noah, and Rafael is the surrogate dad. So, I hope you enjoy and that is something like what you were after!

So, the gif doesn't really have anything to do with the story I just liked it....

Warnings: None.

Master List

Prompt List

Forever and Always

You woke up in the middle of the night, expecting to hear the cries of little Noah as you had the past several nights. But you heard nothing, there was no crying. Sitting up you looked around in confusion, mind still half asleep. Running a hand through your hair you turned to look at your bed partner, your brows furrowed in further confusion seeing the bed empty beside you. The sheets were still warm. There was no light coming from the ensuite, so he wasn’t there. You pouted a little as you got up from bed, determined to hunt him down. You paused to check in on Noah, noticing that the crib was empty.

“Huh,” you muttered.

You slowly walked down the hallway rubbing sleep from your eyes which widened at the sight that you stumbled upon in your loungeroom. The sight answered both mysteries of the night, the absence of Rafael from your bed, and the lack of Noah’s crying. Rafael stood in the middle of the loungeroom, bouncing lightly on his feet holding Noah to his chest as he softly sang to the little boy, the Spanish lullaby soothing him back to sleep. Noah had grown a lot in the year that you had fostered him, it had been just under two months since you officially adopted him, but he still looked tiny in Rafael’s arms. You leaned against the wall, your heart melting at the sight of your two boys. You had been weary about dating Rafael when he first showed interest, you had first met the man when you went to the SVU squad room with the intention to drag your sister out for lunch, it had been a while since you had seen her.

“Well, if it isn’t little Benson,” Finn grinned as you strode into the squad room.

“That got old after the first three times you said it, Finn,” you rolled your eyes but let Finn pull you into a hug. You adored Finn, always had since you first met him when he joined your sisters squad. “Liv free?”

“She’s with our new ADA,” Nick answered coming up for his own hug. “Going to drag her to lunch?”

“Ooh, someone’s clever, they should make you a detective,” you teased winking at him when he playfully tried to mess up your hair. “Tell me something, this new ADA, Liv seems both happy and vexed with this guy. What do you guys think?”

“He’s good at his job,” Amanda answered. “He’s a little abrasive and should probably work on his approach to our victims but otherwise I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”

“Good, you guys deserve a consistent ADA,” you grinned before turning as you heard Liv’s voice. You studied your sister, checking to see if there was any signs that she was overly stressed, you let out a breath when you saw no signs. After checking on Liv, you allowed your eyes to drift the man beside her, taking in the fancy looking suit, his perfectly styled hair and his brilliant green eyes. Your heart fluttered for a half second as you took your fill of him, knowing that he must be the new ADA. You were more intrigued by him then you had been with any of the previous ADA’s.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Liv asked as she spotted you next to the rest of your squad. You were still studying Rafael when he turned to look at you, a look of confusion on his face at seeing an unfamiliar person amongst the squad. Your eyes locked for a split second before you forced you gaze away, that second was enough for you to know that you could get lost in his eyes forever.

“Here to drag my stubborn sister out to lunch,” you answered, tilting your head. “And don’t even try it, I already cleared it with Cragen.”

“Of course you did,” she laughed. “Rafael, this is my sister, Y/N.”

“Nice to finally meet you Rafael,” you stepped forward, offering your hand for him to shake.

“I take it Liv’s complained?” he asked stepping forward with a little smirk. He took your hand in his squeezing it gently as he shook it twice before letting go, letting his fingers trail along your palm.

“Only about as much as she would about me,” you responded.

“And that is a sisters job,” Liv poked you in the arm.

“And so’s making sure my sister eats and remembers that they have a sibling,” you hip checked her. “Now please go and grab your shit.”

“Your shout,” Liv said told you as she walked to her desk grabbing her coat and bag. You rolled your eyes playfully at her back ignoring how Rafael seemed to be watching the interaction with amusement.

“Duh, always is,” you added forcing your tone to match how you behaved as a teenager when Liv became more like your mother than your sister.

“They always like this?” Rafael asked Finn. The rest of the squad had been watching the back and forth between the Bensen siblings like it was a tennis match.

“Only as long as I’ve known them,” Finn shrugged.

“And how long is that?” Rafael asked.

“Since 2000, known Little Benson since she was 17, and even then she would come charging into the squad room to demand her sister join her for food,” Finn grinned. “Those two would share being the mother hens, once in I think 2005 Little Benson was really sick and Liv was out of her mind until Cragen told her to go home.”

“Odafin Tutuola you better not be selling our secrets!” you walked back over to the team wagging your finger at the man. “Don’t listen to him, Rafael.”

“I don’t tend to,” Rafael responded, his teasing smirk growing. “But from what I have witnessed he doesn’t seem to be lying.”

“Rude,” you laughed. “Wow, I can see now why you get along so well with Liv.”

Rafael’s smirk changed to a grin at your laugh, he had heard mentions of Liv’s sister in passing but Liv hadn’t talked overly much about you, at least not to him. He knew Liv was a somewhat private person and he hadn’t been working with SVU for long.

“Alright, call me-”

“Do not call her,” you interrupted. “Cragen promised me a full hour for lunch with my sister with no interruptions. I’m sure this place won’t collapse in that hour.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll handle anything,” Amanda promised you with a wink.

“That goes for you as well Rafael,” you pointed a finger at him. “If you have issues with anything regarding a case, call one of them.”

“Bossy,” Rafael muttered.

“You should have seen her as a teenager,” Liv agreed. You opened your mouth in a fake gasp of surprise.

“Who do you think I got it from?” you asked crossing your arms.

“From me?” Liv acted surprised.

“She’s got you there Liv,” Nick said teasingly.

“Alright we’re leaving,” Liv nudged you away from the rest of the squad.

You were drawn out from the memory when you felt Rafael’s hand caress your cheek. As your eyes refocused you saw his green eyes staring at you with love, a soft gentle smile on his face.

“There you are mi amor,” he whispered leaning to press a kiss your cheek. “I was trying to let you sleep.”

“Thank you, honey,” you covered the hand cupping your cheek, nuzzling into it. “I think my body automatically wakes me up now.”

“Where were you just before?” he smiled at you as you reached up to stroke the back of Noah’s head, Rafael removed his hand from your cheek, wrapping his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“Remembering when we first met,” you answered. “I remember thinking that I was in trouble from the split second our eyes met.”

“Really?” he raised an eyebrow, a smirk slowly replacing the soft smile. “Mi amor, charmed by me before I even opened my mouth.”

“Oh don’t go getting a big head,” you scolded him. “We should put him back to bed.”

“Hmm, don’t worry mami, I was charmed by you very quickly as well and that only grew every day,” he kissed your lips before walking back to the nursey to put Noah back in his crib.

“Do tell,” you drawled trailing behind as he entered the room and waited for him to lay Noah down before plastering yourself to his back, arms wrapped around his chest as you looked around him to Noah sleeping peacefully in his crib. Rafael chuckled softly as he ran his fingers up and down your arm before he unlocked them from around his chest, using the grip on your hands to pull you from the room and back to your bed.

“Should I be worried about you getting a big head?” he teased.

“Don’t worry, Rafi you’ll still have the biggest ego in this relationship,” you poked him before you laid down on his chest, your fingers playing with his chest hair. “Now, tell me.” You pouted up at him.

“Bossy,” he tapped you on the nose. “The way you are with Liv, and the rest of the squad. It showed me that you were a kind, compassionate and caring woman. But what really settled it for me, was when you first brought Noah to the squad room after you had started fostering him.”

You cradled the little boy close to your chest, humming soothingly as you walked into the squad room. You had promised the team that you would bring your foster son to see them after you had taken time to settle down. You hadn’t even seen Rafael since the court agreed to you fostering. Liv had asked if you would be interested in fostering the poor little guy after the latest care situation hadn’t worked out. At first you had been unsure but the caseworker had let you hold Noah and see him for a few hours at the centre and you were hooked from the moment he cooed at you. The court had agreed to you fostering him, having an older sister who was a Sargent in SVU speak for you helped and the background check was easy, your job paid extremely well and your apartment was big enough for a nursey. You had a year of just fostering him before you could petition to adopt him. That year couldn’t go quick enough as far as you were concerned .

“Hey guys, you got time for a special VIP visit?” you asked, your voice loud enough to draw Liv out of her office, Rafael following her. Your eyes locked and you were able to watch as he took in you holding Noah, his eyes softened as he looked back up at you.

“For my nephew?” Liv asked striding forward to meet you near the desks of the squad. “Always.”

“I will try to not take offence that I wasn’t included in that sentiment,” you teased handing over Noah to Liv who cradled him so tenderly.

“He’s gotten so big,” Amanda gushed her hand coming up to stroke the back of his head. “How’s he been?”

“Really good, the doctors said he is healthy, and he will probably start teething in earnest soon,” you grinned. “So that will be fun.”

Rafael came up to stand beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You smiled shyly at him, you weren’t entirely sure how he was going to take to you fostering the little boy.

“Mami suggested teething rings for him that we could put in the freezer,” he said holding a bag up. “I went and got some..”

The rest of the squad happily pretended to be distracted by the baby currently in Amanda’s arms but they all watched the couple, Liv especially was very invested in what was happening. You were currently wrapping your arms around Rafael’s shoulders a look on your face that Liv had never seen before.

“Rafi,” you cooed. “Thank you, I hadn’t even thought of that. Think your mum would be happy to provide some more advice and suggestions?”

“She would be over the moon,” Rafael grinned pecking you on the lips. “And…I would love to help in anyway I possibly could and in any way you want me to help.”

“Really?” you asked almost bouncing on your feet.

“Of course,” Rafael smiled. “If the squad can be torn away from little Noah I wanted to take the two of you out for lunch.”

“Let me see what I can do,” you planted a kiss on his cheek squeezing him tightly before you let go and spun around to face your sister and the others. “I’m going to need Noah back, you lot. My man is taking us to lunch.”

Since your back was turned you missed how Rafael was looking at you. The expression on his face was almost indescribable, his eyes were impossibly soft and he couldn’t tear them away from you as you took Noah back in your arms, kissing him on his head as you teasingly hip checked Amanda who was pouting at you.

“And I later learned that you are fiercely protective of your loved ones,” Rafael’s voice dragged you back to the present. The look in his eyes similar to the one from that day when he came out of Liv’s office.

“Damn right I am, would burn the world for my family,” you agreed pressing a kiss to his chest right above his heart. “Would burn it for you.” Rafael smiled at you trailing his fingers across your cheek.

“Truly?” he asked.

“You’ve been stuck with me since the night you listened to me scream and yell at you, blaming you for Liv being taken by that fucker Lewis,” you propped yourself up on your elbows, hovering above Rafael. “And all you did afterwards was hold me. I had been determined not to let myself feel anything for you, to ignore the signs that you felt something for me, and that night…that night I decided to ignore every reason why dating someone who worked with my sister was a terrible idea.”

“Still think it is?” Rafael asked hands running up and down your back.

“No, not at all,” you rubbed your nose against his placing a kiss on it afterwards.

“Know what I remember from that night?” he asked you rolling the both of you until you were underneath him, your legs cradling his hips as he kissed up your neck and across your cheeks, nuzzling you.

“What’s that?” you asked, a little worried about his answer.

“I remember seeing you breaking apart and knowing that I had no idea how to help you,” he started. “That all I wanted to do was take your pain away. So if letting you scream at me was helpful at all then I would let you scream at me for however long it was needed.”

You stared up at the man that held your heart as it squeezed at his admission. You didn’t think you could love this man more than you already did, but having seen him with Noah and what he just told you showed that you were wrong.

“Rafael, I love you,” you whispered, eyes wet with tears. “I love you.”

You had never said the words out loud yet, Rafael had told you he loved you six months after you started fostering Noah. You had mentioned that after the last six months of the fostering where up you were going to petition to adopt Noah, you had asked him what he thought about it, you had practically moved in together without it being official. You figured you should ask him, concerned that maybe adopting a child might be the line in the sand for Rafael, the two of your had never talked about kids in your future and you knew that if Rafael didn’t want kids that it would be the end of your relationship. But the man had surprised you when he responded by saying that he loved you and would support you in any way you needed. You hadn’t known how to respond, you were a little like your sister in that regards, love was a little tricky. But Rafael took it in stride, like the most amazing man in the world, he hadn’t mentioned it again, at least not out loud, he did small things to show you that he loved you. And that he loved Noah.

“Mi Amor,” Rafael’s voice came out soft and hushed. “I love you as well.”

The rest of the night was spent in bliss, until the two of you curled around each other trading lazy kisses as sleep tugged you both under.

The following morning found you waking up alone in bed. Again. You were thinking you would have to talk to Rafael about that. You hugged his pillow close to you as you rolled onto your side, wondering if you should try going back to sleep, until you heard the most adorable sound. Noah’s laugh coming from the kitchen followed by Rafael’s soft chuckle his words not loud enough for you to hear. You smiled at the sound of your boys, a warmth building up inside. You could hardly believe how well Rafael took to Noah this past year, helping you when Noah started teething, on nights when he stayed over he would always shush you back to sleep if Noah cried as he got up to sooth him. He would take time out of his hectic schedule to spend time with Noah if you were busy with your work so you didn’t need to get a baby sitter. He joined you to any of the doctor visit’s he could, if Child Services made a visit he would try to be there if you wanted him there. He took the two of you out to lunches and picnics in the park.

Rafael went above and beyond, you knew he meant it when he said he would help out but you had no idea he would go as far as he had. In your mind you kept thinking of him as Noah’s father, though you hadn’t dared to say anything out loud. A part of you was still worried that some time soon Rafael would decide that being with you and a kid was too much, that he hadn’t signed up for this. But knowing that right now he was in the kitchen, most likely feeding your son, playing with him and making him laugh almost gave you enough courage to say something. You smiled reaching out to grab the shirt Rafael had left on the bottom on your bed, it was one of his with Harvard sprayed across the front. It fell to your thighs and smelled of him, he would also always leave one of his shirts out for you to wear in the morning.

You padded quietly out to the kitchen phone at the ready to catch what your boys were doing. You peeked around the corner and your heart squeezed at the sight. Rafael was feeding Noah his breakfast while also keeping an eye on whatever he was cooking on the stovetop, from the smell it was pancakes. You switched your phone from camera to video, catching as Rafael imitated an aeroplane with the spoon waving in the air before bringing it to Noah’s mouth.

“Yum, yum, right little guy?” Rafael asked. “Your mami only buys the best for our-her little boy.”

You almost dropped your phone at his slip up, your heart pounding. He was going to call Noah “Our son”, he thought of Noah as his son. You stopped recording and ducked back around the wall, hand clutched to your chest. Happiness burst through you, your smile growing. This was what you needed, after finally telling Rafael that you loved him, you wanted him to know that Noah was his son as well. That this entire time you had been coparenting Noah, and Rafael needed to know. You stepped into the kitchen coming to Noah kissing his head before giving him the last bite of food left.

“Morning love,” you said to Rafael. “Thank you for this, you didn’t have to.” Rafael turned around after flipping the pancake sending you a beautiful smile before he started to make you tea.

“I’m well aware I don’t have do to anything mi amor but I enjoy looking after you and-” you stepped up to him pressing a soft kiss to his lips interrupting him.

“Our son?” you asked. “Because Noah is our son, Rafi. If you want?”

“Amor,” Rafael’s eyes were wide in awe, tears filling them as he stared at you searching your eyes. “Truly?”

“Yes, Rafael, I have thought it for a while I just didn’t know if you wanted that,” you nodded rubbing your nose against his in affection. “But after last night and seeing you this morning I needed you to know.”

“Our son?” Rafael whispered. “Noah is our son.”

“Yes,” you nodded. Rafael grinned as he wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up to spin you around as the happiest laugh filled the kitchen. He peppered kisses all over your face squeezing you tight.

“I love you mi amor,” Rafael whispered. “And I love our son.”

“We love you as well,” you whispered back. Rafael leaned down his hands cupping your face as he gently pressed his lips to yours before softly and gently moving his lips. Your hands gripped his hips stepping closer to him so there was no gap between your bodies. The kiss was passionate but without the heat of last night.

The two of you turned in unison as Noah’s giggle interrupted the moment between the two of you. Your son was sitting in his high chair giggling and playing with the spoon hitting it against the table part of his chair. Your lips pulled up into a smile at your son, at the happiness in his giggle. It had taken a while for Noah to express himself and every time he does you are so proud of him. Rafael grinned releasing you to lift Noah into his arms.

“Is our son happy?” he asked lifting Noah up enough to gently blow on his belly. “Does our son want to go to the zoo today?”

“The zoo?” you asked coming up beside your boys. “Don’t you have work?”

“I can take today off,” he grinned. “It’s been a while since we’ve spent the day together as a family.”

You tried to stop your smile from growing too much at the little white lie, you had spent time together last night but you knew to Rafael that this was different. This time you would be together as a family, where everyone knows that the three of you were family. Rafael was almost vibrating with happiness, as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I’ll get our little man ready,” he grinned heading to the bathroom.

“You’re going to take any chance you have to say our family aren’t you?” you called as you started to clean up, tearing a piece off of the pancake on top on the pile and removing the last one from the pan. “And the two of us our eating the pancakes before we leave!”

“Anything for you mi amor! The beautiful mother of my son,” Rafael called his voice a little sassy but no less loving.

“Yeah, that man is not going to tire from saying that anytime soon,” you chuckled to yourself. And you knew that you would never tire from hearing him say it.

#writing #imagine #law and order svu #imagines #law and order svu imagines #fluff #rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x female reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x y/n #Family #Dad Rafael Barba #Request #Olivia Benson #Benson Reader #Older Sister Olivia Benson

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bluebellhairpin · 5 months ago

Note

Well if you ever need on, this gal is public domain 😏

I already have two moots worked in (either pre-planned or newly-planned), and i will need to be finding more to fill in roles so 😏

#thank u for permission but i was already thinking of using u without it SORRY LOL #watch out #i don't think i could use 'patchy' outright bc of world building reasons BUT i will work it in #i'm very creative #he two npc's so far are handmaidens BUT harwin has two sister's who are never named in the books or shows #and his family is IMPORTANT. TO THIS PLOT.#so they will need names #reader's sisters-in-law are gonna be MOOTIES YAYYYY #nemo answers #patchy <3 #mutual appreciation

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sl-ut · 2 months ago

Text

princess of the north

in case i dont end up posting again over the holidays, i just wanna say i hope everyone has a great holiday season and a very very happy new year!!!!

pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!pregnant!reader

description: cregan has grown older and happier throughout his years as warden of the north with his beautiful new wife at his side. however, when he married into the royal family, he had not considered how frequently he would need to interact with his in-laws.

warnings: NO DANCE AU!!! (rhaenyra ascends the throne peacefully), weird blend of book and show timeline, slight description of character (silver hair, purple eyes, that’s it!!!), smut, reader gets pregnant like halfway through, pregnancy sex, oral, piv, SEX IN FRONT OF A FIREPLACE ON A BEARSKIN RUGGGG oml

words: 9.7K

date posted: 10/12/24

The winter had been very forgiving, thank the gods. It had been remarkably short, just under eight years in total, meaning that it had come to a close with plenty of food still in storage and northerners who were more than willing and able to transition into the oncoming summer with ease.

Winterfell was left in a generally stable state, aside from the fact that there was a greater need for livestock now that they not only had an additional mouth to feed, but also a fully grown dragon who resided in a make-shift dragonpit only a few minutes ride beyond the walls of the castle–a wedding gift that the Lord of Winterfell had prepared in anticipation of his new wife’s arrival. Otherwise, the North seemed to be in greater shape upon the dawn of this new summer than it had in all of Cregan’s years.

The greatest of Cregan’s accomplishments, of course, was his new wife. At the beginning of the winter, he had not expected that he would be married by the end of it, but with the arrival of Prince Jaeaerys on his official tour of the realm also came his proposal of marriage between Lord Cregan and his own aunt, the youngest daughter of the late King Viserys I and his second wife, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower. He had been hesitant to consider this offer–he’d never met the woman, which was not uncommon for marriages of such high status, but he’d been fortunate enough to have been able to form some sort of friendship with his late wife prior to their union. Jace had brought along with him the terms offered by his mother, in her own hand, of course, as well as a portrait of the woman in question.

Cregan was not above admitting how taken he’d been with the sight of the princess, even if it were only a recreation of her beauty on canvas. He’d heard of her beauty before, it was rumoured around the realm, but seeing it was entirely different, a sort of beauty he could not have imagined on his own.

“Tell me, my prince,” Cregan asked him, hardly drawing his crystal blue gaze away from the portrait, “you are her blood and have grown up with the princess, is this painting to her likeness?”

Jacaerys smirked, “Of course, Lord Stark. My aunt is known to be one of the most beautiful women ever to live.”

Cregan pursed his lips. He was aware of the strange customs of the Targaryens, having married brother to sister and uncle to niece for generations. Jacaerys could be speaking the truth, for he himself could hold some sort of affection for his aunt, but Cregan did not suspect as such. Intead, his greater question was whether Jacaerys could be lying to him out of political gain; as his mother’s envoy, it would do him no good to suggest that the artist had not accurately painted her. Her looks were of no concern to him, but he valued honour and truth over all else. If they were attempting to attract him to the deal by portraying the princess as such a beauty over anything else, he would be personally insulted to discover that he’d been lied to, a snub from the royal family would not be taken kindly by House Stark.

“What say you?” Cregan turned to the group of men standing just to the left of the prince, all who seemed alarmed at Lord Stark’s attention being turned to them, “How do each of you vouch for the princess?”

The men, one at a time, attested to the princess’s beauty until he stood before the smallest and visibly youngest of the men.

“And you, lad?”

“I’m afraid the portrait fails to depict the princess, milord,” The boy grew rosy in the cheeks as he imagined the princess in his mind, eyes drawing towards the portrait, “That is her, yes, but only as close as the Master Holbein could have made it, for I do not think it possible to recreate such beauty. She is gifted by the gods, surely, milord, both in beauty and manner. She is kind, brings food and toys to orphans in Flea Bottom and ev’rything, milord.”

Cregan, taken aback by the answer from the youngest boy, turned back to Prince Jacaerys, who seemed equally as surprised as he did pleased with the answers of his men.

“This is true, milord,” Jace said, “the princess is known among the people for her generosity, among her other talents and traits. It cannot be denied that her mother, the Queen Dowager, was not fond of my family, nor us of her, but the princess was raised better than any of us, I would say. Take the night to think on it, I would hope to send word to the queen before I leave Winterfell at noon.”

Cregan did as instructed, thinking on it long and hard. Her beauty had been their main selling point, something that could not be denied from the portrait sent of her. Lord Stark had half a mind to hang it upon the mantle in his bedchambers whether he takes her to wife or not, but it was not her beauty that had truly swayed his decision. Instead, he thought over the young lad’s words; a southern lady scarcely thrives in the North, a nation nearly as large on its own as all of the remaining six kingdoms put together. The weather was harsh, and the people were harsher, something he could not imagine a Targaryen princess handling well. However, he’d heard of Alicent Hightower’s assertiveness and ability to lead while her husband was incapable and Rhaenyra was in Dragonstone. If what Jacaerys had told him was true, the princess would be dutiful and loyal, and according to the prince’s men, kind beyond words. Beauty may have factored into his decision on a personal level, but he also met the prince the next morning with his acceptance mostly on the basis that he believed that the princess would be wholly capable of helping him rule the North.

He wrote to her a week after Jacaerys departed from Winterfell, certain that the news would have already arrived in the capitol and she would already be aware of their arrangement. He would have little time between her arrival in the north and their wedding to meet with her in private, so this was his best hope. He was pleased to receive a raven in return only three days later, neat handwriting befitting a princess scrawled across the parchment. It was not much, but Cregan was able to learn some things about her through the letters, making it seem like he was less-so marrying a stranger and more as if she were a distant friend.

The month following, the princess would depart from King’s Landing in a procession he was told seemed a mile long. He waited with anticipation, Winterfell in a flurry of servants and guards to prepare the castle to house the royal family and their household, as well as for the wedding itself, and only one more month would pass before his bride had arrived within the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan had bowed respectfully to the Queen Dowager as she stepped out of her wheelhouse, then to the two silver-haired princes who arrived on their steeds. His eyes scanned the growing crowd for any sight of his betrothed, finally catching sight of her as she took the hand of a Dornish white cloak to balance herself as she exited the wheelhouse, a pretty white fur-lined cloak wrapped around her shoulders, almost blending into the pale blonde of her hair. She was, indeed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had traditional Valyrian looks, but also held an aura of softness.

She was nervous as she curtsied before her, but seemed happy enough with his appearance and manners as he greeted her with a kiss to her leather-gloved knuckle. The moment was broken apart by her mother’s level tone, requesting to be brought to her chambers for some rest before supper. That evening Cregan found the portrait of the princess that he’d received months earlier and personally hung it above the mantle in his bedchambers. He thought it was safe to say he was smitten.

The princess appeared bashful in his presence, though he was partially certain that her discomfort was brought on by her ever-present family, each looming nearby as if waiting to intercept his attempts of conversation with his betrothed. He could not decide who he had grown to loathe the most; Aegon had already drank a generous portion of Winterfell’s wine cellars even before the wedding, and often joined the conversation with the goal to tease his sister and see her shrink in embarrassment; Aemond was constantly looking to best anyone in his path, and seemed almost possessive over his sister’s attention; her mother had hardly allowed them a moment alone, constantly insisting on supervising any time that he would invite her for any sort of activity, or set one of her brothers after them instead. Alicent had a habit of speaking for her daughter, meaning that Cregan had no opportunity to truly know her while her mother was present, while her brothers made it impossible to even speak to one another at all.

He was finally glad on their wedding night, when he’d arranged the head table to be broken into three, leaving the happy couple to sit above the rest and finally receive some alone time. She had been radiant in her gown of white furs and fleeces, meeting him beneath the weirwood tree with her eldest brother at her side to give her away. He’d been glad to tear away the cloak of red and black, intricately interwoven into a field of green and gold at the bottom–it would be unlike Alicent Hightower to allow her children to wear the Rhaenyra’s colours without her own as well. It would be hard to tell whether she looked prettier in the harsh colours of her maiden cloak or in the dull ones of his own, but he couldn’t help but note how greys and blues suited her better than he could have imagined.

He could tell her family was less than pleased with this arrangement, making an effort to step in for every miniscule matter that caught their attention. Cregan watched her from the corner of her eye as she shakily took a long drink from her cup. He finally found time to chat with his wife, slowly watching in awe as her walls slowly began to come down as she found herself giggling along with him and whispering into his ear.

“What of the leftovers?” She’d asked, breaking their previous conversation topic.

“Leftovers?” Cregan repeated.

She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes expectantly, “The food. There will be plenty of leftovers–they should be brought to the nearest towns.”

“Is that a command, princess?”

She appeared bashful at his response, walls slowly building back up around her, “I-I- My apologies, Lord Stark, I–”

He grinned at her playfully, his large palm cupping her cheek affectionately, “If you wish it, you shall have it. I intend to make you very happy, my love.”

She smiled, her beauty shining through even stronger as she became more and more comfortable around him, “Thank you, husband.”

Cregan pushed himself to stand, the sound of his chair pushing back cutting through the chatter and music and laughter filling his hall, all eyes turning to him expectantly.

“My lady wife has made her first official command as Lady of Winterfell,” his voice carried through the hall with stern ease, and the attention of the crows quickly turned to her, “Lady Stark has decided that all leftovers from our wedding feast will be donated to the people of Winterstown.”

The crowd had been quick to applaud, deafening cheers throughout the great hall, northerners seemingly pleased with her decision or, at the very least, just excited to have another reason to be celebrating. He caught the glance she sent to her mother, and the happy grin that covered her face as the Dowager Queen sent her a sign of approval. His lady wife was kind, and sweet, and he was certain that, once she gained her footing in the North, would serve as a strong and dutiful Lady of Winterfell, all of which he muttered into her ear as he had her for the very first time that night.

Three years would pass, he’d been right to assume such things of his wife. He’d quickly discovered that she was able to thrive without the looming shadow of her mother and brothers. She had been slow to find her footing in the beginning, some of his bannermen even questioning his choice in wife, but she was determined to prove them wrong, and in doing so, warmed Cregan’s heart even more.

They’d discussed children in the past, and both had decided that they were happy enough with Cregan’s son from his previous marriage for the time being. They were not trying, but they were also not not trying, which is how she found herself swelling with her first child just as winter came to an end. Her husband had been insatiable in their first year of marriage, but once he knew that she carried his child in her belly, there was scarcely anything that could stop him from having her each and every night.

Summer brought a homier feeling to Winterfell. People were not quite so afraid or negative as the desolate conditions faded away. Summer in the North was nothing compared to the many summers she had spent in King’s Landing, where she had once enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, exposed beneath her more revealing gowns than those she was able to wear in the North; the lords of the North had criticised her choice in dresses early on in her marriage, and she had no doubt that their wives spoke harshly about her in her absence. She was by far the youngest of them, and was also the only one who could afford to wear such fine silks layered over her thick fleece and fur underdresses. Cregan knew better than to try and argue against his wife’s will–Lady Stark or not, she was a Targaryen princess through and through, and now that he had helped her build up her confidence, there was no way he was about to take that away from her (especially when she looked so so beautiful). She was thankful that she was able to cut down on the layers she needed now that the weather had transitioned from inhospitable to frigid, though she knew it was coming time to transition her wardrobe as well now that her breasts and belly were beginning to swell.

The change in season also brought a wave of new duties. Winter was undoubtedly the most difficult and busy season for the lord and lady of Winterfell, but the transition to summer also brought the beginning of the agricultural season. Farmers and fishermen alike flocked to Winterfell to speak their needs and wants to their liege lord and lady, and Cregan found himself busy with attending to the replenishment of all of the North’s resources for Winterfell, all of his bannermen, the Wall, and all of the towns in the North. He’d made his wife agree to take a lesser load of duties now that she was expecting, dealing with issues within their own household so he could instead focus on bearing the burdens of the North all on his own, though this meant there was less and less time that they were able to spend together.

Each morning, Lady Stark was awake and on the move early enough to meet with the maester and stewards and advisors, sharing no more than a few sweet words and touches with her husband as he watched her dress before she was out the door. They would see each other in passing throughout the day, sharing loving glances across the courtyard as they attended their duties and occasionally catching each other in the corridors, and she was normally in a deep slumber by the time he came to her chambers every night. Both of them were growing restless in their time apart, especially with her ladyship’s heightened emotions and hormones.

She had just finished speaking with the mistress of the orphanage in Winterstown when the maester came to her, a neatly folded piece of parchment in hand that bore her mother’s seal. She smiled to herself as she brushed her thumb over the thick spot of green wax, glad to have a response for her most recent letter to her mother to deliver the news of her pregnancy, along with a request for some new silks to be sent in order to accommodate her changing body. Breaking the seal, she scanned over the letter with her eyes, a small gasp leaving her mouth as she read over her mother’s words.

“My lady?” Maester Elryn asked, concern evident on his wrinkled features, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she smiled tightly at him, “My apologies for my reaction. Could you ask Lord Stark to come to me when he is free?”

“Of course, my lady. Anything else?”

“That is all, thank you, Maester Elryn.”

Cregan came to her two hours later, finding her seated at the small desk in the corner of her chambers. He paused to drink in the way she looked, having scarcely seen his wife for more than a moment all day. Her body was changing in the most glorious ways possible, and the bodices of her gowns were growing even tighter than before, her breasts threatening to spill over the neckline with every breath, and her belly growing firmer and rounder to accommodate his child. His smile widened as she turned to glance over her shoulder, her eyes softening as she finally took note of her husband’s figure in the doorway.

“You called, wife?”

“My love,” she greeted, pushing herself to stand with a gentle hand cradling her barely-there bump, “It seems it has been forever.”

His heart thumped against his ribcage at her action, chest growing warm at the sight of her maternal instincts already kicking in before she had even passed through her first few months

He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to meet her before she was able to move too far. His palm cupped her cheek, the other finding its place over her own against her belly, “Longer than forever to me.”

She grinned, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, giggling to herself as he chased after her and grunted as she pulled away. He pressed small kisses to her cheeks, across the curve of her jaw, and down the column of her neck, leaving small nips in his wake. His wife pushed at his chest helplessly as she continued to laugh, the soft growth of hair along his own jaw tickling her with every brush of his lips on her skin.

“I called you up here because I needed to speak with you,” she whispered to him, body slowly relaxing against him as she sank into his embrace.

“Speak, then,” he ordered, thick fingers tugging at the laces of her dress.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at his antics, “I wrote to my mother a few nights ago, I need silk for new dresses. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my own are growing rather…tight.”

His mouth dropped to nip at the bulging flesh of her breast peeking over the neckline of her gown, “I certainly have.”

Her head tilted back, letting both a laugh and a breathy moan at her husband’s attack on her chest as he quickly laid her back on the bed, “She has written back to me. She says I shall have as much silk in as many colours as I wish.”

Cregan hummed in response, quickly peeling the layers of her gown away until she was left in only her thin white shift, her words going ignored as he tugged and pulled at her clothing until she was bare before him. He stared down at her, running his hand over his jaw as his eyes trailed over her breasts, heaving and swelling with milk, then down over her small bump, and finally to the place where her thighs clenched together.

She pushed herself up to sit before him, her own hands reaching out to tug at his clothing. He was quick to help her, shucking off his layers and boots until he stood before her in only his heavy leather breeches. His wife grinned up at him, pressing a gentle kiss against his own belly, a layer of soft flesh over his firm, almost inconspicuous muscle.

He pushed at her shoulder, chuckling as the mattress bounced beneath her as she was laid back again. He crawled over her, returning to mouthing over her neck, over her shoulders, and finally coming across her breasts.

“She says she will deliver them personally,” she uttered, whining in protest as he paused, pulling back to focus directly at her face.

“Personally,” He repeated, more for his own sake than a question of clarification, “your mother intends to come to Winterfell.”

She pouted at him, fingers carding through his long hair as she attempted to soften him to the news, “She wishes to be here for the birth. I know she can be…difficult, but it would bring me comfort to have her with me as I bring our firstborn into the world.”

He sighed, his head falling into her shoulder, “If this is what you wish, then this is what you shall have.

She smiled, remembering when he spoke the same words to her on their wedding night. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, winding her legs around his hips and hugging her tightly to her chest.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him as he finally pushed himself up to gaze down at her once again, “my mother can be difficult, as I said, but I wish for her to know her grandchildren, as she does my niece and nephews. I promise you, she will be on her best behaviour.”

“I believe you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, mumbling against her, “but I must ask that we do not speak any more of your mother at the present. I do not think she would appreciate what I plan to do to you.”

Cregan did not allow her another moment of peace before his kisses grew in intensity, tongue intertwining with her own while his meaty palms pulled her legs further apart and began to rock his hips into hers. He smirked at the whine that escaped her throat, pressing himself further into her.

“Cregan–”

“I have missed you, my love,” he moaned against her lips, “you cannot possibly believe how much I have been longing for you.”

She chuckled, “I think I can. The maester told me pregnancy can bring on many side effects; discomfort, fatigue, desire…”

Cregan pulled back for a moment, “Should I be concerned about these conversations you have been having with Maester Elryn?”

She scoffed, “You are far too jealous for your own good, my love.”

“You might be too, if you were married to the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms–nay, the world.”

“Flatterer.”

“Can it be called flattery if it is the truth?” Cregan pushed himself to kneel between her legs, palms continuing to push her thighs upward to bare her completely to him. He let out a desperate groan as his eyes settled on her core, barely hidden beneath a neat patch of silver hair, “gods, have you ever been this wet?”

She snorted, raising her leg to press her foot flat to his chest, “It is the pregnancy, as I said.”

His long fingers wrapped around her foot, tugging it up to press his lips against the slope of her ankle, “Then perhaps I should keep you like this, eh? Would you like for your lord husband to fill you with his child, again and again?”

“I am already with child, my love,” she smiled at him, drawing a deep breath from his throat, “I’m afraid you will have to wait a few moons longer.”

“And I will spend every second I have with you perfecting the craft then.”

She sighed in relief as he finally reached between her thighs, fingers catching against her slick hole.

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, “do something, anything.”

“Anything?” He asked, breathlessly, his own chest heaving in anticipation as she nodded excitedly.

A loud gasp tore from her lips as he finally sunk his fingers into her, her wetness audible to them both as he began moving with slow but purposeful thrusts. His thumb settled on her sensitive bud, making slow, tight circles over the swollen bud, his free hand gliding up from her thigh to tug at her breasts. Her hips rocked in sync with his every movement of his thick fingers, stilling as another one easily slipped inside.

“My love,” she panted, “e-enough, I need you.”

He quirked one of his thick brows at her words, “Should I not prepare you, my heart?”

“I am pregnant with your child, and as we can both tell, I am more than prepared.”

Cregan snorted out a laugh, withdrawing his fingers with a small whine from his wife, “How should you have me then, wife?”

Lady Stark smirked to herself, legs wrapping around his back and forcing him to fold over her, “Take me as you did on our wedding night, only you do not need to be so gentle with me.”

He slipped inside of her easily, a strained hiss sliding between his teeth while her own teeth sunk into his shoulder. Cregan did indeed take her like he had on their wedding night, but against her wishes, was almost as gentle as he had been, out of respect for his child’s personal space, as he had muttered to her. In truth, he simply wanted to take his time with her as he pulled her apart bit by bit, not wanting to rush their first time lying together in the few weeks since summer had come.

When they were finished, he remained inside of her for as long as he could, but the warmth of her and the air around them was far too much. His wife, despite the progress she’d made in the years of their marriage, was a southern woman and despised how frigid the castle could be, earning herself the warmest room in Winterfell and a required constant upkeep of her hearth. Cregan did not mind coming to his wife’s chamber when she needed him throughout the day or early evening, but there was a reason that they’d made a habit of sleeping in his personal chambers each night, where the air was cooler but he was able to keep her warm at night. He carefully pulled away, meeting her for a final kiss before he peeled himself off of the bed, slowly strutting across the room to haul the window open and feel the cool summer air against his burning flesh.

She watched him through hooded eyes, gaze raking down his muscular back, over his plump ass, and down his thick legs. She pursed her lips, pulling one of the heavy furs around her shoulders as she padded across the stone floor to wrap herself around him from behind, fingers hooking together around his belly as her bare chest pressed to his back. After a moment, one of his hands came over to cover her own as she pressed her lips to his shoulder blade.

“My mother wrote that she expects to be here in two moons,” she murmured against his warm skin, “I should begin preparations for them on the morrow.”

Cregan hummed, eyes scanning over the horizon for a moment before he comprehended her words, “Them. How many attendants does she plan to bring with her?”

He felt his wife tense behind him, “About that…”

Two moons later Cregan found himself standing tall in his own courtyard, jaw set as a procession of horses and wheelhouses began to file through the front gate of his ancestral home. He’d been a touch angry with his wife when she had finally revealed to him that it was not only her mother coming, but rather the entire royal family; the queen, her king consort, and all of their children; the dowager queen, the remaining four of her children, as well as Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena’s three children. Winterfell was about to be overrun with heads of silver hair, something Cregan had hoped would only happen as a result of his wife’s genes overcoming his own among their children.

At his side, his wife nervously chewed her bottom lip–a nasty habit he’d grown to detest after she’d drawn blood one night. He knew exactly how her family could be from their short stay during their wedding festivities, and the way that her mother and two older brothers alone were able to affect her, let alone the entire living Targaryen dynasty.

On her other side stood young Rickon, gripping her hand tightly as he struggled to compose himself. The boy was only six years old, but he already seemed to understand the importance of his role as the heir to Winterfell. He’d taken to his stepmother rather quickly, having been an infant when the fever took his own mother. He’d been in need of a maternal figure in his life, and her presence in Winterfell had done nothing but draw father and son closer together with every family supper and breakfast she had insisted on over the years. Seeing her welcome his son into her heart so openly only further pressed Cregan’s instincts to bring their own children into the world, wishing for nothing more than to give his boy dozens of siblings for him to play with.

The procession finally came to a halt just as two large, intricately carved wheelhouses entered the gates, flanked by the king consort and all of the elder princes on their horses. Lady Stark’s nerves only heightened at the sight of the silver-haired men, particularly her elder brothers who almost immediately turned their gaze her way. The queen soon climbed out of her wheelhouse, followed by her own litter of children, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya. The second wheelhouse opened, producing Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena and her own children Jahaera, Jahaerys, and Maegor.

The queen came before them, regal as ever in her red cloak lined with black fur. She watched stoically as the three bowed before her.

“The North is yours, Your Grace,” Cregan spoke loud and true, “my family and I are honoured to host you and your family in Winterfell.”

“Many thanks, Lord Stark. I commend you on leading the North through yet another winter,” a smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes turned to his wife, who lowered into another curtsy under her stare, “I hear that Lady Stark has taken to her role quite well. I believe motherhood suits you, sister.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Stark nodded in thanks.

The next line of Targaryens filtered through the short lineup of Starks, first Daemon, who scarcely offered any of them a second glance (aside from his niece, who he stared at for a moment too long in Cregan’s opinion). Prince Jacaerys greeted Cregan like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder heartily while he offered his aunt a polite hug, his younger brothers following, though with less familiarity.

Then came her mother, who hardly offered Lord Stark a moment of her time before she began fawning over her daughter, hugging her tightly before pulling away and pawing at her swollen belly through her layers of fur. A tear escaped the red-haired woman’s eye as she pressed a sweet kiss to Lady Stark’s cheek, then offered a greeting to sweet Rickon, who had shuffled closer to his stepmother in his nervousness. Aegon skipped over Lord Stark altogether, though he certainly was not complaining as he could smell the stench of wine radiating from the eldest prince even before noon, throwing himself onto his sister. She’d stumbled in her attempt to catch him, sending her husband a warning glance as he moved to rip him away from her. Aemond, at least, was more courteous, offering Cregan a polite greeting and kissing his sister gently on the forehead. Helaena was soon to follow, her greeting to Cregan leaving him with a puzzled look as she moved on to place her palm to her sister’s cheek.

“I am so happy to see you, sister,” Lady Stark’s eyes welled with tears. Cregan had been aware of how disappointed his wife had been when her sister had not been able to travel with her for their wedding, but she had not blamed her for choosing to stay behind while she was in her sixth moon of pregnancy, not to mention the poor state of her mind.

Daeron was the most reserved of his good-siblings, showing both Lord and Lady Stark his respect, though he had no personal relation with either. He’d spent most of his childhood in Oldtown under the care of his grandsire’s brother, the Lord of Oldtown, and his own uncle Gwayne. He’d been rather hesitant to even return to King’s Landing after being away for so long; his own mother was a mere stranger, and his siblings had gone on to marry and produce their own children without even a second thought of their youngest brother.

Winterfell’s hall was overflowing with Targaryens and those who served them. Cregan could hardly recognize any of the faces at the tables nearest to his own, his men being pushed farther back into the hall to accommodate the royal family. He, himself, had even been pushed one seat to the right to offer the queen the highest seat in the hall. He was not pleased to be doing this, far too used to southerners coming to the North with such entitlement, but he would take the treatment silently for the sake of his dear wife, who had been so excited for the arrival of her family and had been overtaken by anxiety of ensuring the visit went well.

She sat next to him, dressed in a fine silk gown (new, a design brought by her mother), a deep emerald with golden stitching across the bodice and around the cuffs. Cregan hissed through his teeth when his wife entered the hall, a happy grin on her lips as she cradled her round belly over the dress of her mother’s house rather than her own, though he was eager to greet her and accept her gleeful kiss on the cheek, and he was glad enough to see that her hair had been braided among the stems of various flowers, all of which being indigenous only to the North. Her mother could try with all of her might to try and hold tight to her daughter’s familial tether to the South, but Cregan knew his wife had transformed into a woman of the North–she was no longer simply a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider, she was also his wife, Lady of Winterfell, and mother of his children.

It never escaped Cregan’s watchful stare everytime the Dowager Queen gripped her daughter’s arm when her attention was not focused solely on her, or how she forced a smile each time he joined their conversation at all. If the woman had not been his wife’s mother, he would have gladly warded her away from his wife’s personal space. He understood well enough that his wife was bound to miss her family, especially her mother and sister, but he was afraid to see her begin to slip back into her shell, which had taken him a considerable amount of effort and care to bring her out from in the first place.

He was quickly tiring from the responsibility of hosting an entire flock of Targaryen princes, all of whom considered themselves above the northerners and their laws, customs, and expectations. They most often gathered in the training yards, each more eager to prove themselves over the northerners and each other than the last, except for Aegon, of course, who would rather spend the mornings in his chambers before he would disappear into Wintertown, most likely gone to spend the rest of the afternoon in the only brothel within twenty miles of Winterfell.

Throughout the two weeks to follow, they had barely found a moment to themselves that was not in the early hours of the morn or when the castle is alight with only the light emitted from torches and the moon itself, where Lady Stark was usually so worn out that she had barely enough energy to cuddle into her husband’s side and share a handful of words before her snoring would reach his ears. He made an effort to seek her out when he was granted a brief moment away from his duties, but there was hardly a moment when she could be found without at least one member of her kin at her side; in the nursery with her mother and sister, discussing her duties with the queen, reading with Aemond in the library, or comforting Aegon amidst another bout of alcohol-induced sickness.

The one moment he did find her alone in her personal study, not wasting a single moment before he was hoisting her into his arms and kissing her breathless. He’d been pleased to find that she had no fight in her, easily melting into his embrace and winding her arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as small mewls of pleasure vibrated against his mouth. He’d almost forgotten that the door to the study had been left ajar, making his good-mother’s entrance even more silent, though he likely wouldn’t have noticed even if she had knocked, fully taken with his wife’s affection.

“Ehem.”

“Mother,” Lady Stark pushed away from her husband, face still with shock and, quite evidently, embarrassment, “I, we did not hear you come in.”

“Yes, as I could see.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Cregan nodded to the woman, though his tone was laced with his annoyance, “I’m afraid you’ve been subjected to a moment of weakness.”

“Nonsense,” Alicent’s lips tightened into a strained smile, a touch of tenderness on her face, “it comforts me to know that my daughter is cherished and loved, even so far away. We are not all so lucky to find love in these circumstances.”

His wife rounded the desk, meeting her mother with a tight embrace. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the red haired woman–it was true, most marriages of such caliber did not afford the couple any form of affection, and he was more than aware of the fortune that had fallen into his lap that day that Prince Jacaerys landed at his gate. The moment came to a crashing end all-too-soon as his good-mother once again dragged his wife away from him, not to be seen again until she was deep asleep in their shared bed.

He’d arranged for a hunt during the visit of the royal family, where he was forced to play the peacekeeper between the queen’s sons and their uncles, all while keeping his eyes peeled for the prize he’d been hoping for; his wife had mentioned more than once that she wanted to find the perfect blanket to gift to their first child, one that can be used again and again with each babe they brought into the world, so it seemed only fitting to him that he be the one to bring her the pelt.

It would be weeks before the warmth in his chest subsided after witnessing her grin and laughter as he presented it to her, two rabbits of a similar white and brown pattern, drawing her away from the large elk that had been brought in for their supper that night. It was a brief moment of privacy amongst the crowd, where she curled her fingers beneath the neckline of his leather doublet and dragged him down to her height, pushing a soft kiss to his wind-bitten cheek, though he was thankful for every moment of it. Her mother stepped in a moment later, grasping her daughter’s hand and willing her to join her in the nursery, where she could continue to preach her wisdom and advice for the soon-to-be mother, though Cregan hoped his wife was smart enough to take it with a grain of salt.

He’d spent the rest of the day both tending to his duties, which have seemingly doubled since the arrival of his wife’s kin, and also offering a hand in preparing the elk when he had a chance; his cooks could do wonders with elk meat, but the kitchen maids often made a fuss when such large animals were brought to whole or at least without being skinned first. He had barely even spared a moment to clean himself and change clothes before supper.

When he arrived in the dining hall, a smaller yet more formal area where he hoped he, his wife, and their many children would all dine together whenever they could. He was, however, miffed to discover the dining hall filled with princes and princesses and queens alike, only two seats left empty–his own, and his wife’s.

His immediate thought was that perhaps she was still readying herself, perhaps she had gotten carried away in the nursery with her mother, and she would be there soon enough. Then, his eyes fell upon the red-haired woman a few seats from his own.

He cleared his throat, drawing silence across his hall, “My apologies, I expect Lady Stark in only a moment.”

Alicent furrowed her brow, directing her words to the rest of the royal family rather than to Lord Stark, “I’m afraid she will not be joining us tonight.”

Cregan raised his own brow, “Why not?”

Alicent’s gaze flickered to his own, “She was unwell this evening–a pain many women know while carrying their children, all she needs is rest.”

“And why was I not made aware of this at once?” Lord Stark felt his blood beginning to boil.

She looked somewhat taken aback, “These pains are normal, they are expected for how far along she is. My daughter–”

Cregan’s heavy palm landed flat on the wooden tabletop, “My wife is my main concern. Any news concerning her or my children should and will be brought to me at once.”

Alicent pursed her lips, appearing to have a few words of choice for her daughter’s husband, though he turned his attention to the queen opposite him on the other end of the long table and looked equally as surprised and amused at the altercation as she sipped her wine.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he pushed himself up to his full height, “forgive my absence this evening, but if my wife is unwell I would prefer to be at her side.”

Rhaenyra smirked at him, nodding her head at him, “But of course, Lord Stark. I am honoured that you take such care of my sister. After all, family is everything, is it not?”

He ignored the way that her words seemed to have been aimed at the red-haired woman, who had slouched back into her own seat as a soft pink tinged at the apples of her cheeks, instead nodding at the queen and fleeing the room at once, his hurried and heavy footfalls carrying him through the castle and up to his wife’s personal chambers. He was disgruntled to find that they were empty, save for a servant girl who had been tending to the hearth and directed him to his own chambers.

The hinges creaked as he pushed his way inside, finding two handmaidens hovering worriedly over his wife as she hunched over on her hands and knees atop the plush bear-skin rug, back arched upwards like he’d only seen done by a cat. The two servants froze at the sight of the broad figure crossing the threshold.

“Lord Stark,” one of them rushed to him, “Lady Stark, she is alright, but–”

“Alright?” He scoffed, “She is on the floor in pain, she does not look alright.”

“Cregan,” Lady Stark glared up at him, voice strained with discomfort, “do not speak to my ladies like that.”

He let out a deep sigh, offering the servant a quiet but genuine apology, “Now please, just tell me what is wrong with her, and what I can do to help. Should I call a maester?”

The servant fought a soft smile, touched at the lord’s concern for his wife and child, “Lady Stark is experiencing little more than body aches. Normal for women carrying a child, especially their first. I’m afraid all the maester could do is offer milk of the poppy for discomfort, which could potentially do more harm to the child than good to the mother,” Cregan swallowed at the thought, “We’ve allowed the princess to soak in warm water, and the stretching helps while we prepare a hot pack over the fire.”

His gaze flickered to the small grate across the embers of the fireplace, holding three large black stones over them. He nodded, turning back to his wife, who had turned her face back into the rug while the other servant girl carefully massaged gentle circles into her lower back.

“What can I do?”

“The hot pack should help with the aches, but I’m afraid the best thing may be to keep Lady Stark as comfortable as possible, anything to keep her mind away from the pains.”

He nodded, “Leave us, I should care for my wife on my own.”

The door closed behind the two women as they hesitantly left their mistress’s side, loyal to the very end. Cregan wasted little time in removing his leather doublet and abandoning it on the plush bed, leaving him in only his breeches and thin linen shirt. He crossed the room, kneeling beside his wife and carefully laying his palm flat to her lower back, a small smirk appearing on his lips as she sighed from the relief brought by his large, warm hand.

“If you were not so obviously in pain, I would guess that you were enjoying this, my love,” he chuckled as his hand copied the same circular pattern that the servant girl had applied.

“Shut up,” she turned her head to the side so she could glance up at him, “this is your fault.”

“My fault?” He scoffed, “As I recall, your current condition is the result of your uncontrollable desires.”

She pushed herself up onto her hands, “My what? It was you who was gone to the Wall for more than a moon!”

“And it was you who kept me from my duties until midday on the day after I returned.”

She pursed her lips, “Alright, next time I will allow you to go about your duties without a word. Then we will see which one of us is so insatiable.”

“Be that the case, I’m afraid you may be with child for the next decade or more, my love.”

“Just get the hot pack,” Lady Stark rolled her eyes, lowering her head back down to the plush rug, muttering to herself with a small grin, “a decade or more…”

He obliged, wrapping the stones in a thick woolen cloth before pressing them against the small of her back, a dusting of pink coating his cheeks at the sound she released, back curving inwards as relief overtook her body.

They remained there for a long while, one of his hands holding the hot pack while the other smoothed over her silver hair, braided and still damp from her bath. The stones began to cool against his palm until they were no warmer than her own body heat, finally being tossed to the side.

“How do you feel?” He asked her, hands cradling her head and hip as he helped her roll onto her side.

“Better. Still plagued with discomfort, but better nonetheless,” She smiled softly at him, “I only wish someone may have warned me of the unpleasantness of pregnancy before I agreed to it.”

He barked out a laugh, remembering the many times she had pointed out the many ways pregnancy could ruin any romance in their marriage before it even began, hence their decision to wait before finally trying to conceive.

“If only, eh?” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A twinkle appeared in her eye, “Well Maryssa did say that you should be doing anything to keep me comfortable…”

Lord Stark raised his brow at her words, “And what was it you only just said about me being insatiable? How have you gone from crippling pain to reaching for my breeches in such a hurry?”

She gasped, faux offense in her eyes, “I am not reaching for you breeches! What do you take me for?”

He quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, leaning down to press a slow yet meaningful kiss to her lips, “My very pregnant, very beautiful, and very impatient wife.”

She whined against his mouth, “I think impatience is quite appropriate given the circumstances. Your child has brought me the greatest joy and greatest pain of my life, and yet I constantly yearn for you, my love.”

“Constant?” He laughed.

“The maester warned me of it,” she kissed him again, “all a part of my hysteria, he called it.”

He hummed, “Which brings me to wonder why I was not made aware of this. I could have…relieved you of this suffering.”

She snorted a laugh, a sound he knew he could never grow tired of, “Cregan, if you do not take my clothes off now I would like to go to bed.”

“And what was it I said about your impatience?”

She pushed at his shoulder playfully, gasping as he grasped her wrist in his large hand and pulled her to sit up, moving to lift her and carry her to the bed when she pushed at his shoulder, shaking her head with a sly grin.

“Here,” she insisted, “it is so warm, and this fur is so soft.”

He shook his head at her, rolling his eyes. Only his wife would be demanding enough as to where he had his way with her and choose anywhere except their marital bed. Only he would be so foolishly in love as to oblige her every whim and allow her to make such demands.

Growing impatient, she began tugging at her own shift, struggling to lift her hips just enough to slide it over her hips and off completely, leaving her bare before her husband while the firelight flickered off of her soft, freshly oiled skin. His eyes fell from her own to her breasts, which had seemingly doubled in size through her pregnancy, then to her rounded belly; only a few moons would pass before she brought their first child into the world, and he could not be any more in love with her. He knew how excited she’d been over the last few weeks as her body developed with their growing child, spending much of her time with little Rickon, who was just as excited to become an older brother as she was to become a mother.

“I am not simply here for decoration,” she growled, reaching up to begin tearing the linen shirt from her husband’s body, ignoring his laughter as she struggling to pull the fabric over his wide shoulders and causing his head to get stuck for a moment, “As I said, fuck me or let me sleep.”

His booming laugh echoed through the chamber, scarcely hearing his wife, a Targaryen princess and Lady of Winterfell, use such coarse language. It was the northerner growing within her, he decided as he obliged, kissing her with every ounce of desire he’d been forced to swallow throughout the duration of her family’s stay, pressing her back to lay flat against the dark brown fur.

Cregan made quick work of kissing down her body, taking a few moments to kiss and suckle and squeeze at her swollen breasts, encouraged by her response to his touch on her sensitive skin as he continued further down. He pressed several playful kisses over her belly, whispering to their child to go to sleep so he could take care of his wife guilt-free. She giggled at this, causing a flood of heat to spread across his chest as he finally crested over the underside of her belly, coming face-to-face with the silver curls safeguarding her womanhood.

Her legs fell apart easily, and he found no resistance as he eagerly began to feast upon her most intimate place. Her fingers curled into the fur beneath her as her whines and whimpers filled the room, unable to reach for his long dark hair with her belly in the way. He was pleasantly surprised to discover how much of her arousal had pooled between her thighs, two of his thick fingers easily slipping into her heat with practiced precision while his tongue massaged her sensitive pearl.

Her body seemed more responsive than ever, thighs quivering against his shoulders as her peak crashed over her once, and then moments later, once more.

He pulled away, noting how her hips had begun to pull away from him, her womanhood more sensitive than ever. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching through lustful eyes as his wife grabbed hold of his other wrist, taking the fingers that had brought her to bliss twice only moments before between her lips and sucking them clean. She stared up at him through her lashes, leaning up on her elbow to reach down and paw at the tent that had formed in his breeches, tugging at the laces until they fell open and allowed her to reach inside.

He let out a low growl at the sensation of her hand taking hold of his member, head falling back in relief. Cregan was quick to pull her hand away, shedding his trousers and boots as efficiently as possible so he could lay her flat on her back once more and finally press himself inside of her.

They both let out long, breathy sounds at the stretch; no matter how many times they would lay together, she never quit got used to the intrusion of his thick cock inside of her, He remained still for a moment, regaining his wits as he willed himself not to finish far too early, though he could not guarantee that he would be able to fight his peak for very long after weeks without his wife’s intimate touch.

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, nails scratching down his arm as she planted his fist next to her head, bracing himself as he began to work slow, deep thrusts into her warmth, his own grunts and gasps of pleasure falling from his lips while her lips fell open to allow wails of her enjoyment fall from them with every punch of his tip against her most sensitive place deep within her.

“My love,” he panted, “For-forgive me…I do not think–”

“Give yourself to me, my love,” she whined, “I need to feel you.”

He nodded, eyes tightening shut as he quickened his pace, chasing his release with grunts and growls and groans until his hips began to stutter, his release pumping deep inside of her until he was shaking. His release triggered her own, pleasure crashing over her for the third time that evening, soaking his length in both of their releases as she clung to his broad frame for dear life.

She whined when he pulled out of her, sensitive from her three climaxes. He took a moment to stare down at her, stormy gaze trailing from her cunt, where their mix juices had begun seeping from her warmth, to her belly, where their child grew. His eyes then moved to her breasts, which heaved with every deep breath the escaped her parted lips, and finally to her face, which shone with a layer of perspiration as she pulled him down to lay next to her on the fur, turning to press her back against his chest and settling into his embrace as he trailed sweet kisses over her cheek, jaw, and neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered, sleep threatening to overtake her at any moment.

“Thank you,” Cregan responded. “I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.”

Silence overtook the room for a moment, only the sound of their slowing breaths and the crackling fire in the hearth could be heard before he finally shared his final thoughts of the night.

“I cannot bear to not have you all to myself for even a moment ever again,” he mumbled into her flesh, “we are never hosting your family again.”

A small chuckle vibrated through her chest.

“I could not agree more.”

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