She had a thick grey cardigan wrapped around herself, keeping it closed with crossed arms, hunching slightly as the harsh wind tore through the fabric and her hair. "You're gonna stay a little longer, right?" She tilted her head as the brothers stood in front of the impala. Aiden had told her to see their guests out once they were ready to leave after their 'dinner'. With how late her father worked it made sense he slept at odd times, hell, usually the Winchesters did too. Both of them frowned at her questions, her big hopeful eyes looking from one to the other and back.
"Yeah, a week or so." Sam nodded comfortingly.
She smiled faintly. "Dad likes you, y'know. I know he's a little… cold. You wanted to know about my mom, right?" She attempted to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, the sleeves of her jacket over half of her hand, but the wind blew it away when her hand left it, her other arm still wrapped around herself.
"She got sick, like… real sick." She looked up at the skies, the word 'real' coming out as merely a breath of disbelief. "Just before dad got deployed. She died about… seven months later. Doctors couldn't do anything. And dad wasn't gonna come back, but he somehow… made it to her funeral. I'm not allowed to talk about her, or mention her…." she shook her head, her eyes shining with tears like the stars above.
Sam and Dean were giving her pitiful, sad looks until Sam thought of what she said. "What do you mean 'somehow'?" he asked suspiciously, though respectfully.
"I don't know. I don't know." she repeated shaking her head quickly. "If he was kicked out, or I don't know. I mean I was eighteen… do they just let people go because of funerals?" she frowned at them, stumbling over her words. It was clear Sam kicked loose a stone that was going to start an avalanche. It was as if she never questioned it before.
"Sometimes they do, yeah." Dean answered with a nod.
"Hey, how often does your dad do those… fights though? What are they even?" he frowned suddenly, shaking his head. Sure, when he sat at a table with him, and saw the way he looked at his daughter, he seemed like a great dad. But if he really thought about it, he was a terrible father.
"I don't know… like once a week, maybe. Depends on his condition." she shrugged uncomfortably. "They're just underground MMA fights and shit like that. Parking lots, basements, they're like rodeos 'round here, y'know." she muttered with a pitiful smile.
"He could get a real job. He really was a mechanic when I was a kid but he just… doesn't. I think he's just letting out some… anger. I don't think he really accepted mom's gone." Finally a tear slipped down her cheek, falling from her chin into the grass.
