Disclaimer: I know you were wondering about it: nay, the Winchesters are still not mine. I've put them in my letter to Santa, but last year he said something about them belonging to a certain Mr. Krypke. I honestly think he should share his toys with me.

Wise men say there is no such thing as a universal truth. Well, they think that because they don't know the Winchesters. They are the kings of universal truths. They have a freaking MBA in universal truths. They can be distrustful, they might be considered incredulous, but when the Winchester men came to have a certain belief, there was no way in hell you could make them reconsider it. They had built their lives around things that had always been and will always be true for them. I think they like that. When you know what is out there, how much unknown evil there is in this world, you enjoy having some stable, unchangeable things that make you feel safe. I guess that's why us the Harvelles have often got carried away by them.

The Winchesters, for example, strongly believe Sam is the clever son and Dean is the great fighter. They have thought that as long as I've known them. Then, you know that by the time Dean was fifteen, he had such knowledge of classical and contemporary mythology he could be a lecturer at university. And Sam, he was impressive during trainings, even if he was still a teenager and John and Dean - his sparrings - were older and much more experienced.

And that was another universal truth in the roadhouse: you had to train to be able to defend yourself. I was ok with that, I had always said I wanted to be a hunter. But if I had refused, if I had said I didn't want to learn a thing about fighting supernatural things, John would have dragged my sorry ass from my room to the training sessions. In them, he was as hard to me as to his boys, which sometimes drove me mad.

"I'm a girl, John, in case you haven't noticed it," I said once, completely exasperated for being pinned, once more, to the floor.

"Good point, Harvelle, because demons always fight with less strength against girls. It wouldn't be fair if they didn't, huh? Now, get up. Once more from the beginning."

There was a third common belief: Dean liked women, women liked Dean. I (even if I was not yet considered a grown up woman) had always carried an enormous torch for Dean and I would always do.

Plus, they had a very concrete idea of what was exactly a man. John was a man. Dean was a man. Sam was still a boy who amused himself with computers, books and films. But there was no doubt he would soon mature, start dedicating his time to more relevant things and stop talking about universities far from home and his family. So, you sum up those things, and we get something promising: if I managed to get Sam interested in me, nobody would ever suspect about us. I'm sure they could find us playing tonsil hockey in our very own sofa and John and Mom would still honestly believe the little innocent boy was giving me the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Then again, on the negative side, I also had the honor of being the protagonist of one of the big rules for the Winchesters: I am eight. Always have, always will. When I was that age, a possessed hunter somehow managed to enter the Roadhouse. He did not get that far, but I could still see the slaughter from the doorway that communicated our place and the bar. The Winchesters had just moved in and I couldn't sleep after what I had seen. Mom was still working at the bar when I was in bed that night, eyes wide open with panic. There was some strange noise outside and I ran for my life to the corridor, where I found Sammy. He was terrified too, but took the role of wise, experienced person. He told me I could sleep with him if I was really afraid, though there was not a reason for it anymore, and he would take care of me.

He was ten.

"You still up, baby girl?" John's voice startled me.

"I was finishing cleaning the tables and remembering good old times, I guess..."

"Don't tell me you're getting nostalgic over turning fourteen", he ruffled my hair lovingly.

"No", I smiled, "I was remembering that night with the possessed hunter and all."

There was a short silence.

"Dean says you still do it"

"Do what?", I asked.

"Climbing into Sam's bed when you're scared or having nightmares."

I blushed. From head to toe. I didn't wanna be treated like a baby, and there I was, behaving like a baby. Now, that's coherent!

"Hey! Not big deal", he hugged me towards him. "Everybody needs a place to feel safe, you know? And I'm sure Sam doesn't mind your snoring"

"I don't snore! And I don't go there anymore. Well, hardly ever. Ok, every now and then if I'm really, really, really afraid and I can't control it," I gabbled.

John smiled one of those rare big smiles he gave me every now and then and took a beer from behind the counter.

"So tomorrow is the big 1 – 4. You've got anything to say about that?", he directed the neck of the bottle to me, as if it were a microphone. God, he was tipsy. You gotta love tipsy John handling a beer-microphone to you. "Any boyfriend we should know about?"

"I don't know John", I winked at him, "any girlfriend we should know about?"

"I don't know, Jo. Maybe I'm too much of an old dog for that."

"C'mon, I'm sure you've got plenty of women fainting everyday at how brave and manly you are", I teased him, hand on my forehead in my best drama-queen pose.

He tried hard not to laugh.

"Women don't look at this old man now I bring Dean-o along with me."

He got closer and I could see that look in his eyes. Tipsy, tipsy, tipsy. It made me smile, and he took that as a signal to go on with his speech.

"But I'll get over it, don't you worry. It's not like it's the first time a girl changes me for my son, is it, Jo?"

He winked at me again when he saw I was the color of the beetroot. When he mentioned his son, I couldn't stop thinking of Sam, of what had happened that day and how things now were... kinda different. At least for me.

I went to him and planted a big kiss on his cheek. My lips tickled but I didn't mind.

"You know I'd never change you for anyone in this world."

And it was true. I know the stupid things people say about all of us. From the harmless ones, like rumors that John and Mom are a couple now, to the most malicious, which, guess what, say in fact I'm John's daughter. Because, if I weren't, how on earth would he have such a soft spot for me.

Some time ago, in another one of those tipsy chitchats we have every other night, he told me how Mary and he had planned on trying to have a third kid, a girl, when Sammy grew up a bit. If she had lived enough, he said, they would have had a blond little thing like me.

But John knows I'm not his daughter. And I know he's not my father. He's just John and I don't need to put any label under his name to know why I love him. I don't feel he does, either. A quick hug, and I'm already half-way up the stairs. I stop for a second and go down a couple of steps.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"You know if you can't find anything better, my wedding proposal still stands."

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