Mature suggestions, you can find this story on Archive Of Our Own because it will be heavy in the mature range, from sexual content to uh. . .well, just go over there and see for yourself when its up.
Her daughter could never know where she came from.
She could never know what started it, how this whole thing started, who her father was, or even who she was. She had to be her mother, the liar, not the mother that was an open book.
Sure, she could tell her daughter about the battles, the fights, the monsters that roam all around them. She could tell her daughter of the Devil, the demon that saved them, the angel that meant the world to them all, the grand-mother she would never know, the grand-father that didn't give a damn. She could know about the world that they fought for, tooth and nail, but she could never know who she really was.
Pansy just watches her daughter play with Dean, ride on Sam's shoulders, call him a Moose like he really was; Pansy took a short draw off of her cigarette and put it out into the ashtray in front of her.
She looked over at the empty lawn chair in front of her, watch it tilt slightly in the breeze that swept through the valley. She looked over to the mountains, the clouds casting shadows across the snow-caps, the green against the bright blue of the sky. She liked it here, in this quiet valley, where nothing but the monsters could touch them, and they knew how to handle whatever came their way.
"Momma, look!"
Pansy looked over, watched Dean toss her into the air, the shrill giggles that followed her down into his arms. He looked over at her just as she smiles, and hers grows larger when he smiles right back.
No, her daughter could never know where she came from, but Pansy could know, and she would never want to forget the terrible struggle of their survival.
