Author's Note:I have a Beta!

Spoilers: Up to and including Swan Song.

Rated: T for now. I have a later chapter that may inspire a higher rating due to some implied violence, etc. Also, swearing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Well, the character Frank...but so far she hasn't made me any money, so you are welcome to her.

Footprints On Our Hearts

Prologue

Monique Houdin was too young for Woodstock, but that didn't stop her from jumping into a 1965 VW split window van with a group of young people from Montreal in 1983 and driving through the American Midwest for a 7 month road trip.

She met him when the van passed through South Dakota in August and needed a new transmission. She jumped out of the back of the van, looking for all the world like a half-stoned hippie version of Kelly LeBrock, her wild long brown hair tousled, and her paisley skirt floating easily in the heavy late afternoon breeze. She was barefoot and wore braided hemp around her left ankle.

At the age of 23 she was all woman, petite, curvaceous and emanating a raw sensuality.

He was nearly twice her age

The transmission was ready for nightfall, but they were miles from a motel and no one felt like driving. It wasn't like they had a schedule to keep, an itinerary for their jaunt across the States. They bid him goodnight and crawled into the back of the van that sat in the middle of the scrap yard.

He turned in for the night.

Moonbeams filtered through the window in his room, casting eerie pools of light on the ground.

He blinked and sat up in bed. Ears alert to the padding of bare feet through his house, he reached under his pillow and pulled out his revolver.

There was a pause and his bedroom door creaked open.

The woman, Monique, from the van, stepped into his room, eyes dark with desire.

He quickly decided that he was still a few years away from the day that he'd simply have to pass on opportunities like this and settle for wishing he was 20 years younger.

She lay there beside him for a few brief minutes afterward before rolling over, placing a kiss on his chest, and then sliding out of the bed. She slipped her clothes back on and wordlessly padded back out of the room.

He watched her leave before sighing in contentment and rolling back over and falling asleep.

XXX

They were gone by the time he woke up in the morning.

Never one to be accused of being a fool, he did a cursory inventory of his belongings...you never could tell with those hippie wannabes, but nothing was missing, or even out of place.

Satisfied, he shook his head and headed back into yard.

Maybe it was like that quote about some people coming into your life and leaving and making the sky more beautiful to look at, and leaving footprints on your soul, or something.

The sky actually was kinda pretty this morning, he mused.

Chapter 1

Twenty Six Years Later, August.

A petite form sat in the pew of First Lutheran Church and gazed up at the purple stained glass windows around her. God, please place Your hand on me and fill me with Your peace. Her prayer was heartfelt and almost instantly calming. She knew her heavenly Father had been with her on this journey to locate her earthly father. It had taken months and finally a 2 hour flight from Pearson Airport in Toronto, Ontario to Winnipeg, Manitoba before renting a car and making the 7-and-a-half-hour drive due south to Sioux Falls, South Dakota to get to this point. It had taken years of longing and a missing piece in her heart to get to this point. I just hope he'll be as excited and happy to know about me. She'd done her research. The time-line fit, and she'd eliminated all other possibilities. Robert Singer was her father. And tomorrow she would finally meet him.

XXX

Dr. Frank Nicole Houdin had rented a 2010 XF Premium Luxury Jaguar for her road trip south. If she was going to travel through such random states as North and South Dakota, she damn well was going to do it in style. She even liked the paint color name: Cashmere Gold. It was nice to indulge herself like this after six months in Haiti. If Hell existed on earth, and if Frank was a gambling woman, she'd put money that it was located in Haiti. And yet, she considered, she'd witnessed some of the most beautiful acts of kindness there. What is it about disaster and tragedy that brings people together like that? It certainly renewed her hope for mankind.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as Tom Cochrane rocked out on the radio.

"Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long!"she sang along happily, laughing at herself and her incredibly good mood.

She tucked a strand of thick wavy brown hair behind her ear, turned the car onto South Carolyn Avenue as the GPS instructed and pulled into the parking lot of the Staybridge Suites, another small indulgence. She had no interest in staying in some grungy motel.

She parked her car and checked in. Bringing her bags to her room, she carded the door open and deposited everything onto the table just inside the door.

Shower and bed, she decided, too tired to even contemplate food. She'd stopped briefly at a highway diner for a bite to eat, but aside from the occasional stop at a gas station to refuel her rental, she had been driving since she'd left Winnipeg. Maybe I'll forgo the shower, she thought, massaging her shoulders in exhaustion. She felt a little...stale...from the car ride. But I'll probably fall asleep in the shower if I don't go to bed right now.

She took a vote in her head and bed won over shower.

She didn't even bother changing into her pyjamas. She just toed off her shoes, shucked off her jacket and blouse, dropped her slacks to the floor and crawled under the covers.

She was asleep in a matter of a minute.

XXX

Bobby Singer replaced the receiver of his phone on the cradle. The Winchesters were going to be the death of him...again.

He looked out the window at the mid-morning sky and sighed. He felt older than ever.

He was pulled from his maudlin thoughts at the sound of tires rolling to a stop in front of his house. He frowned, he wasn't expecting anyone.

He went over to the door and pulled it open, just in time to see a petite woman emerging from a beige-colored Jag. She wore a pair of sunglasses that she reached up and pulled off, tossing them back onto the driver's seat of her car. She smoothed her hand over her hair, which was brown and secured at the base of her neck in a complicated knot. She straightened her clothes; the lavender blouse beneath the light grey suede jacket, smoothing the front of her slightly darker grey pants. Classy dresser. A lawyer, maybe?

She exhaled a breath, almost as though she was nervous. Demons only got nervous when you were threatening to exorcise them...so, not a demon, then.

"Hey!" Bobby called gruffly from his doorway.

She gave a little jump, clutching a hand to her chest, startled. She let out a little giggle. "Hello! I'm looking for Mr. Robert Singer. I understand he owns this property."

"Who wants to know?"

She smiled sunnily at him."I'm Dr. Frank Houdin." She closed the door of the car, and started up the steps."I believe Mr. Singer, uh, knew my mother."

A doctor. But the last name did not ring any bells. At all.

His lack of response prompted her to speak again. "I just made it into town yesterday. I'm from Montréal. You know, in Quebec? ...In Canada?" She looked uncertainly at him.

Montreal. Something in the back of his mind felt familiar.

She shifted her weight. Still nervous. What is this girl's problem?

She stuck her hand out. "Sorry, I am so rude, I didn't ask you your name."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. He could deal with the fallout later."Bobby."

He could practically hear the cogs in her head whirring as she processed that little bit of information. She let out a little laugh. Quick, this one is.

"Ok, this is going to sound...crazy." She pursed her lips. "But I don't know how else to say it."

"Lady, I'm familiar with crazy. I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever you're here for."

She gave him a look that clearly said, I doubt you'll be ready for this, but sighed and said, "1983. August. A van of...people, came through this way. Stayed the night. Left early the next morning. My mother was with them."

Bobby waited patiently. This girl was looking for her mother...how the hell was he supposed to remember what he'd been doing over 25 years ago?

"Right, so...I'm just going to..." She took another breath, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, said, "I'm looking for my father. I think you might be him."

She was right. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that was not one of them.

She clasped her hands together, looking stricken at his total lack of reaction.

"H-how did you come to this conclusion?" he managed.

"You want the Reader's Digest version?"

"For now." He gave a nod.

"Lots of research. I tracked my mother's road trip in 1983. I eliminated all other sexual partners as possibilities. I allowed for two months on either side of the likely month of conception. You fit."

Too much information. Not enough. He needed a drink.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he asked,"Do you want to come in for a drink?"

"Tea would be wonderful." She gave a small relieved smile.

He turned and she followed him into the house.

He put the kettle on for tea and gestured for her to sit down at the kitchen table. They were both silent as they waited for the water to boil. Once it did, Bobby prepared the tea, found a clean mug and poured. Then he poured himself some Jack Daniels.

She raised her mug to his glass, "Cheers."

"Cheers," he replied, and downed his drink.

He caught her eyebrows meeting her hairline."Was my revelation really that traumatic?"

He could not deal with cheekiness right now."So, your mother...what was her name?"

"Monique Houdin." She opened her purse. "I have a picture of her back then..." She handed him a worn photograph.

In the picture was an old VW van, a group of people standing in front of it. Bobby's eyes zeroed in on the woman who was obviously Frank's mother. His breath caught. He remembered her alright. How could he possibly forget this woman? Beautiful women did not crawl into Bobby's bed uninvited all the time. No, he definitely remembered her.

He had a daughter?

XXX

Sam and Dean had been meandering from Arizona, over to New Mexico and up to Colorado, finding jobs along the way. Their eventual destination was Bobby's. Dean wanted a bit of a break but Sam wanted to get as many hunts in before they got there.

The last time they'd talked to him was at the end of May, just after Michael had yanked Sam back out of the Pit. Sam wasn't sure how many times he'd shot off a quick prayer of thanks that Lucifer's cage wasn't a one-size-fits-all deal, but rather, custom-made by Michael to hold Lucifer, and Lucifer only. This made Michael's escape from Hell much easier, especially since he was dragging both Adam and Sam out along with him, bodies and souls.

Michael had taken Adam back to Heaven, as he'd been promised, to be with his mother. Sam, he'd left on earth, much to Sam's amazement.

Sam told Dean that they should let Bobby know they were on their way, but probably wouldn't be there for a couple more weeks. Maybe three. Dean decided that calling Bobby was a good idea, because maybe Dean might be able to get Bobby to convince Sam to get there sooner.

Dean tossed the keys to Sam and slid into the passenger side. Sam quirked an eyebrow, but quickly got in and within minutes they were on the I-76 to Nebraska.

"Bobby Singer's residence, Frank speaking." A very female voice answered after the third ring.

"Uh...is Bobby around?"

Sam shot Dean a curious look. Dean shrugged, clueless as his brother was.

"May I ask who is calling?" she asked pleasantly.

"It's Dean."

"Just a moment, Dean, I'll go get him."

Dean covered the mouthpiece of his cell. "Some chick answered the phone."

"Bobby's phone? Are you sure you called Bobby?"

Dean scowled, "Of course I did. She's going to get him right now."

"Dean?" He heard the woman's voice again.

"Yeah, still here."

"Great, Bobby's here."

"Dean?"Bobby spoke into the phone.

"Bobby, are you ok?"

"Yeah. Are you boys ok?"

"Yeah...who's the chick?"

"Long story..."

"You dog, you!"

"Dean, why are you calling?"

"Right, well, Sammy and I are headed your way. We need to crash for a bit. Sam doesn't think we need a break, but I need a break so you can expect us in about a week." Dean ignored the look Sam gave him.

"This really isn't the best time for..." Bobby's voice trailed off as a muffled female voice said something indistinct in the background. Dean strained his ears to catch what was being said, but it sounded like Bobby had covered the receiver with his hand. Seconds passed.

"Dean? We'll see you in a week."

"We? Frank and you?"

"Yes." But Bobby didn't say anything else. He just hung up.

"Oh, ho ho! Bobby's got a girlfriend!" Dean crowed with amusement.

"What?"Sam laughed in disbelief.

"Some chick named Frank. Sounded hot. Hot and young."Dean grinned.

"We're talking about Bobby, right?" Sam was skeptical.

"You think Frank is a nickname?" Dean pondered. "Like short for Francine...yeah, you can't be hot with a name like Francine, makes sense that she'd want people to call her Frank. Wonder what she looks like...bet she has tattoos and short spiky green hair."

"Green hair?" Sam was amused at the thought of Bobby dating a punk rocker chick with green hair.

"And she wears a studded collar."Dean decided. "And paints her nails black."

"I really don't think..."

"Oh yeah...you so know Bobby is doing some alternative chick," Dean interrupted, really getting into his fantasy of Frank."Think she's a hunter?"

"I think we'd have heard about a green haired woman named Frank with tattoos and a studded collar," Sam said patiently.

"You never know, it's not like we're exactly in on the latest hunter gossip," Dean pointed out. "I bet she's a hunter."

"Whatever you say, Dean."

The landscape blew past them as they crossed the state line into Nebraska.