Author's Notes

Hello everyone, and welcome to this next installment of Salt and Ashes! If you're just starting out on this one, don't worry! While reading the last fic, Salt Water Ashes, first is best, it's not necessary to read this one. All you need to know is that this is a Genderswap AU, where Dean and Sam were born as girls, and that the POV will switch between John and Bill Harvelle. If you don't know who he is...go back and watch season 2.

Lastly, this fic is already finished, so you don't need to worry about me abandoning it. Why not post it all at once? Because this series is huge, and this gives me time to write and edit the next fics in the series.

November 2, 1983

Deanna was crying for her mom. John could hear her from the next room. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in bed. Looking over at his wife, still fast asleep, he groaned silently to himself. He waited a moment to see if Deanna would go back to sleep. Squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, he felt Mary move beside him. He put a hand on her arm to keep her from getting up.

"I've got it, go back to sleep." He mumbled. Looking over at Mary, who smiled tiredly back at him, he brought her hand to his lips. Her skin was soft and smooth in his coarse hands. She hummed, closing her eyes. She was breathing evenly before John had his robe on.

The floorboards creaked under his weight, deafening in the hushed silence. No other sound, aside from Deanna calling for Mary. At least that meant Sammy hadn't woken up.

Deanna's door groaned as John slipped in. John tried not to laugh at his daughter. Wide eyes peeked over the edge of the blanket clutched up over her ears. In the soft illumination of her nightlight, shadows appeared to be monsters. John often wondered if the nightlight actually fed Deanna's imagination better than the dark. He walked slowly to the bed, sitting on its edge. John laid his hand on the thick quilt over Deanna's arm.

"What is it this time?" John asked patiently. Before Sammy came along, Deanna didn't wake up nearly as much as she did now. John suspected it was her way of adapting to the change, subconsciously trying to get more attention. It worked, simultaneously scaring Mary out of her wits whenever Deanna started yelling in the middle of the night. It was always typical kid stuff—there was something in her closet, under the bed. After the first few instances, it didn't alarm John to hear her calling out at night. It had taken Mary much longer to adjust.

Mary also changed after Sammy's birth. The first few months had been rough, on all of them, but her especially. Giving birth on the ten year anniversary of your parents' murder could do that to a woman. Suddenly every cry and scream was Defcon 1 for Mary Winchester. He'd had to stop Mary from barricading them all in their bedroom the first night Deanna said something was in her closet. John had never seen Mary so scared than the first few months of Sammy's life. She wouldn't talk to him about it, no matter how much he asked. He could understand being afraid of someone breaking in and hurting her family all over again. It didn't explain freaking out over non-existent monsters, but it explained enough. Somethings Mary had to keep for herself. He got that. He had his fair share of secrets, though he'd begun sharing those in an effort to let Mary know he'd be there when she was ready to talk. It had been a hard, rocky road, but they'd made it through finally.

Deanna shrunk deeper into her blankets. She whispered as if she were afraid of being heard. "Something's trying to get in the house!"

John frowned. Okay, give the kid points, that was a new one. She'd probably been woken up by something—a bird probably—hitting her window. The neighbors berries fermented this time of year, and birds smashing into windows were far too common. Their first month in this house- when Deanna was just over a year old-John laughed for a good twenty minutes when Mary told him tipsy birds were flying into their windows. It was kind of sad, but hilarious all the same.

Tipsy bird or not, John took her fear (if not the cause) seriously. He patted Deanna's arm soothingly. "Nothing is trying to get into the house, Princess." Deanna opened her mouth to protest but John shushed her gently. "Now, I'll tell you what. I'm gonna go downstairs and check all the windows and doors right now, just to be sure. How does that sound?"

Deanna latched onto his arm. "No, don't! It'll get you!"

"What'll get me?" John always tried—and failed— to get her to think about it logically. She was only four, but it seemed better than feeding her fears.

"The monster!"

John was glad Mary stayed in bed for this one. It had been weeks since Mary's last panic, and this definitely would break that streak.

Instead of insisting that monsters weren't real, he decided to play off a stronger belief of Deanna's. "You think I'd let a monster get me? Or you?"

Deanna frowned. "No…" She mumbled into her blankets.

John played his advantage. "That's right. Remember, anything that wants to get at you has to pick a fight with me first." He jostled her back and forth playfully. Stubbornly, she pouted, but couldn't stop herself from laughing. John tucked her back in, placing a kiss on her forehead.

As he stood to leave, Deanna lifted her head off the pillow. "Daddy?"

John stifled a sigh, yawning as a result. He stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, peanut?"

"…could you make a sweep?"

John closed his eyes, trying not to get annoyed. 'Making a sweep' became a nightly ritual since Sammy was born. Every night, he and Mary would check Deanna's closet and under her bed for 'monsters'. Aside from a few aggressive dust bunnies making him sneeze, nothing was ever there. If Mary had remained calm the first few times instead of acting like something might actually be there, Deanna wouldn't need it. They'd fought about it—probably the first real, serious fight they'd ever had. (Aside from the carrots thing, but that was a whole 'nother story.)

He tousled her head. "Yeah, sure thing, kiddo." She was only four, after all.

Under the bed dust bunnies: check.

More clothes, dress-ups, and toys than you could shake a stick at in the closet: check.

Honestly, John would be impressed if something found enough room to hide in Deanna's closet.

He closed the closet doors firmly but quietly. He had two other girls sleeping in the house. John turned back to Deanna, spreading his hands wide. "See? No monsters."

"…And you're gonna check downstairs?" Deanna whispered. Drowsiness beat out fear; her eyes were beginning to droop.

John nodded. Crossing back to the bed, he brushed her hair out of her face, kissing her forehead again. "Of course. Night pumpkin."

"G'night daddy."

"Love you." He tweaked her nose.

"Love you more."

"Love you most."

"Love you times one million billion!"

John laughed at her enthusiasm. "Okay, you win."

Deanna smiled sleepily back, snuggling into her pillow. "Mmm-hmm, cause I'm a Winchester."

It took John's tired mind a few moments to get that. Then he chuckled.

Flicking on the hall light, John frowned as it flickered every few seconds. Turning the light off, he checked the bulb, making sure it screwed in all the way. Once on, it continued to flicker. He grumbled under his breath. He'd just changed the bulb this afternoon. Maybe a faulty breaker or...something. He was a mechanic, not an electrician.

It was quiet downstairs. John checked the doors first. Locked and bolted, just like he'd left them. Then came the few windows that hadn't been opened or unlocked since the middle of October. Not a layer of dust out of place. Next came the basement, still unfinished and crammed with junk they'd accumulated over the years, mostly his. Mary kept her old things in the attic, hardly ever touching them. The hanging light bulb flickered. John glared at it until it stopped. The tiny half windows were intact and locked. Nothing looked out of place.

The main floor looked just as he left it. He yawned. Everything was fine, and it was time to go back to bed.

As John mounted the steps, a waft of cooler air swept over him. Odd. Hand on the banister, he turned around, examining the room. The front window, to the left of the door-one of the windows that didn't open-had spiderweb cracks like it'd been struck. John swore. Damn birds.

Pulling the curtain aside to better assess the damage, John swore again. Not only had the window cracked, the iron framing at its base snapped, leaving a good inch or two gap. John caught a whiff of rotten egg and changed his earlier statement. Damn teenagers. He looked hard at the cracked window, but couldn't see any smashed eggs. What the hell had they thrown? If he got his hands on whoever did this…they wouldn't think it was funny anymore. Feeding two kids on just his income wasn't easy. He'd have to pay to fix the window, the frame. On top of that, they'd manage to scare the hell out of his daughter.

At the end of the day that pissed him off the most.

John grumbled angrily, too wired now to go back to bed. Mary was sure to wake up, ask if everything was alright. She'd hear the hesitation in his voice, and even though everything was technically alright, she might panic. God, he hated seeing her so scared. He sat heavily on the creaky couch, sighing. Oh well. He couldn't do anything about the window now, and he might as well wait and tell Mary in the morning. He flipped the TV on, channel surfing until he found some war movie. He settled in, eyelids drooping. He'd thought he was too wired to sleep, but he was out within five minutes.

Nearly two hours later, he woke to Mary screaming.

And on that depressing note, I'll see you all next week.

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