So this originally started out as a birthday fic for my roommate but got turned into a multi-chapter story by the plot bunnies. Hope you enjoy it!. Happy birthday Kristen!

"Mr. Winchester, this is Arcadia High School calling regarding your daughter."

Immediately Dean Winchester regretted picking up the phone. He set the wrench in his hand down on the nearest empty surface in the garage before wiping his forehead, subsequently smearing oil across his face.

"What happened?" he asked. "Has Bridget done something?"

"She hasn't shown up for her first two classes. We were wondering if she was sick and had forgotten to call in."

A small frown crossed Dean's face. His daughter had skipped her first two classes? He had seen her leaving the house to go to school…

"Yes, she's sick. I had a busy morning and it slipped my mind," he lied smoothly. "She'll be back tomorrow hopefully."

"Thank you for your time," the woman on the other end of the phone said. "We'll mark her absence down."

Dean clicked the end button on his cellphone without saying goodbye and promptly dialed in the number for his daughter's cellphone. He was frowning as he listened to the phone ring and go to voicemail.

"As soon as you get home, Bridget, we're going to have a talk about you skipping school," he said sharply. "There's no excuse. You know your Uncle Sam will get on my case if you turn this into a habit. And if I find out a boy is behind this, I'll pull out my shotgun and believe me, you really don't want that."

Dean knew he was probably being harsher than he should be, considering this was the first time that his sixteen-year-old daughter, Bridget Winchester, had skipped classes—as far as he knew. However, he was well aware that there were still demons in the world that would go after him and his brother without a second thought. He wanted her to be safe. That was why he had stopped hunting in the first place.

After the phone call, the day passed slowly for Dean. The retired hunter couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. While it gave him a chance to cool down and wonder about Bridget's reasons for skipping school, it also allowed time for his imagination to run wild. What if Bridget hadn't skipped? What if she had gotten into trouble on her way to school?

Dean's hunter instincts were quiet but that didn't prevent him from taking an early lunch break and tracing Bridget's path from their home to the high school. It also didn't stop him from calling Bridget every few hours in hopes that she would answer for once.

She didn't. By three-thirty, Dean didn't know to be worried out of his mind and to start searching for his daughter or to be furious that she had ignored him for the better part of the day.

Then Bridget's car rolled into the driveway and the hunter-turned-mechanic felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

Bridget Winchester groaned quietly as she pulled into the driveway of her and her father's tiny house. Her father was waiting on the porch, arms crossed and a disappointed look on his face.

Flipping down the sun visor, Bridget examined her face in the mirror. She could still feel the burn on the face from fifteen minutes earlier. The sixteen-year-old cringed as she spotted the apparent red mark. There was no way her father was going to miss that. Bridget tried to adjust her light brown hair to cover the mark but it was futile. The mark was too wide and her hair was too short.

Turning off the ignition, Bridget grabbed her backpack, which had sat untouched in the passenger seat all day. She plastered a smile on her face and got out of the small car. She wasn't even to the porch when her father began lecturing her.

"Skipping school, Bridget? Really?"

"I had a reason," Bridget said immediately. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Let's hear it then. Otherwise you get to explain to your Uncle Sam when he comes over on Friday for dinner why you skipped."

Bridget hesitated and brushed her hair out of her face. She realized her mistake when Dean's face clouded with fury.

"Who did that to you?" Dean demanded. "What happened?"

"Umm…" Bridget wasn't sure how to respond. She looked around for an escape route but found none. There was no place to hide.

"What the hell happened, Bridget?" Dean demanded again. The teenage girl fidgeted nervously under her father's furious look. She tugged down her sleeves awkwardly to hide the bruises on her wrists from where she had been grabbed. Dean had already seen the red mark on her face from where she had been slapped. He didn't need to see the marks on her wrists as well. Bridget muttered something indiscernible under her breath, shuffling her feet.

"What was that?" Dean asked. Bridget took a deep breath and brought her eyes up to meet the retired hunter's. Dean was struck by how similar the color of her eyes were to his.

"I went to Planned Parenthood," Bridget said in a clear voice.