John turned the heat up, glancing in the rearview mirror. Gracie and Sam were leaning against each other, both asleep as he drove through the Nebraska state line. Dean was drifting in and out next to him, the map in his hands starting to slip from his grip. He reached for a sip of coffee, long cold, and sat it down with a sigh.
It'd be nice if the kids were old enough to drive. He wouldn't mind switching out with them on long trips like this one. Nine hours on the road, and he'd managed to keep going without stopping, mainly with the aid of some black coffee and determination to get to the next hunt. Dean grumbled, officially asleep. It was hard to believe, but in a month he'd have a thirteen-year old son. A teenager…
Maybe he could give Dean a chance behind the wheel. That was about all he could offer him for a birthday present. John was perfectly aware of how unconventional his parenting would look to most people, but he was a hunter, not a PTA dad. Any hopes of that had died in the fire. Now he raised his kids on the road and didn't look back.
They had to know what was out there, and they had to know how to stop it. That was the only way to make sure they didn't end up like some of the poor saps he'd encountered who had their lives wrecked by the supernatural. And he damn sure wasn't going to let them end up like Mary.
The car hit a bump in the road, and Dean's head knocked against the window. He stirred, slowly picking up his head and looking around. "Dad?" he yawned, "We here already?"
John's eyes squinted in the darkness of the wee hours of the morning. "Yeah, Dean. We're here."
Dean didn't say anything else, just settled back in his seat, head leaned to the side. That was the good thing about having a kid old enough to really understand what he did. Sam…Sam asked too many questions. The older he got, the harder it was to brush him off. Gracie wasn't as persistent, but she gave him her fair share of curious stares now too. Sometimes he swore she tried to read over his shoulder when she walked up on him while he wrote in his journal.
Despite that, he was confident that Sam and Gracie were in the dark about the supernatural. They wouldn't be for too much longer though. Kids were just too damn smart and too damn curious for their own goods. Either he'd sit them down and give it to them straight, like he had with Dean, or they'd grow up to find out the ugly way. There were two ways it would go. They'd settle into it and adapt, like their brother, or fight it, and maybe even hate him one day. But it didn't matter. It was the best thing he could do for them. To prepare them.
Gracie stepped out of the car with a yawn, stretching as she got her first glance at their new temporary home. A motel. Nondescript and not much different than any of the others they frequented. The real question was what it looked like on the inside.
She had learned in her short life that since she spent most of the time stuck inside the room, it was the interior that mattered most. The Winchesters had stayed everywhere from ratty hole-in-the-walls that made her sleep with one eye open—or she tried, but would reluctantly end up shutting both eyes in fear that her face would stick that way—to relatively clean, decent rooms that smelled like the maids at least cleaned the carpets sometimes.
When her dad unlocked the door she took her bags and shuffled inside along with her brothers. Someone turned the light switch on and she blinked, her eyes adjusting slowly. It was hard to say but the room looked decent enough. It didn't matter, because all she really wanted to do was get back to sleep. "Go ahead and change," John told them.
Sam and Dean gave each other looks, nonverbally communicating who would get in the bathroom first. Sam took off like a shot, slamming the door in Dean's face and leaving him cursing a blue streak under his breath. Gracie didn't even bother to join in. She was too tired and sprawled across one of the beds, leaning on her pack.
John didn't look like he'd be getting ready for bed yet either. He had already taken up residence at the other bed, setting his bag down beside him and looking pensively down at his journal. Shyly, she got up to join him, and he glared up at her, snapping it shut. Gracie didn't mind. She was use to her father's secretiveness. "Daddy?"
"What Gracie?"
"It's…it's almost Christmas."
"Yeah?"
Working up her courage, she latched onto his arm, leaning her head on him. "Are we gonna all be together this time?" she asked. John stiffened, looking down at her cautiously.
Dean leaned against the bathroom door, silently watching.
John sighed deeply. When the large hand came down and patted her head a few times, Gracie had to hide a frown. That wasn't the answer she wanted. "We'll see." Her lip found its way between her teeth. "You just worry about being good, alright?"
Dejected yet again, it was all she could do to nod. "Okay…"
"Good girl." John patted her leg and stood. The motel door opened and closed, signaling his exit.
Dean slowly came over and Gracie felt the mattress shift as he sat beside her… "He'll be here."
The younger Winchester lifted her head, peeking up at him through her bangs. "How do you know?"
To her surprise, Dean wrapped her in a gentle hug. "Because he knows we're all waiting for him."
Gracie thought about it. Her last teacher had a poster on the wall that said "Home is where someone is thinking of you." If she and Dean and Sam all thought hard enough, would John make sure he was with them on Christmas day? It left some doubts in her head, but for the moment, she wanted to believe that was enough.
Loud knocking sounded on the bathroom door. "Gracie, what happened? You fall in? Get outta there!" The girl in question sat on the closed toilet seat, busily trying to wrap the small trinkets in her lap. The bathroom felt like the only place she could get any privacy sometimes. It was definitely the only place she could wrap her family's Christmas gifts. All she had was newspaper and tape, but thanks to Bobby slipping her money here and there every time she went to his house and did chores, she could afford presents this year. They could have a semi-normal Christmas.
"Gracie, seriously, get out!" Eying the door, Gracie sighed and stood up. The wrapping wasn't perfect, but with Dean banging on the door for the last ten minutes it was sort of hard to concentrate. Figuring she'd tested her brother's patience enough, the redhead gathered the presents in her arms and carefully unlocked the door.
Dean was waiting with his arms crossed, glaring down at her. "Move!" he barked.
Gracie stepped aside, a little glad he was so impatient to get in the bathroom he didn't notice the packages. As the door slammed, she wandered back into the main room to see Sam sitting in a ratty chair in front oof the TV, watching Christmas specials. Quickly moving to her bag and stowing away the wrapped things, she joined him, soundlessly sitting down in the same chair.
"What was that about?" he asked distractedly.
"Nothing," she countered with a nervous laugh. "What's that by your foot?" she pointed down to a mess of newspaper.
"Nothing." Sam said just as quickly.
They reached a mutual understanding not to pry too much into what the other was doing.
The more absorbed Gracie was in the TV, the less she paid attention to Sam quietly picking up the newspaper and wrapping again. The adventures of the characters on the screen were more exciting, even if she saw the same specials every year.
"What is that?"
She jumped as Dean came back from the bathroom. Sam didn't look too concerned. "A present for Dad."
"Yeah right," Dean threw himself down on the couch. "Where'd you get the money? Steal it?"
Sam stopped wrapping, making a face. "No. Uncle Bobby gave it to me to give to him. Said it's real special."
That piqued Gracie's interest some. Uncle Bobby thought of everything. Even made sure Daddy would have a good gift to open on Christmas day. That made her feel good. Nobody would get left out.
"Well what is it?" Dean leaned forward to try to see what Sam was wrapping.
"A pony," Sam quipped.
"Very funny," Dean scoffed. "Don't tell me then," he added under his breath. "Not like I care…" He started to thumb through a magazine idly.
A few minutes passed with Sam's wrapping and the TV being the only noise in the room. Unable to stand the silence any more, Gracie picked her head up from where it was resting on her drawn knees, and looked over at Dean. "Daddy's gonna make it in time, won't he?" Because a Christmas wouldn't really be Christmas without him.
Dean looked over the edge of his magazine. "He'll be here," he reassured.
"It's Christmas," Sam reminded.
"He knows that and he'll be here. Promise."
Lately, it seemed like Daddy was around less and less. When he came back he was either grumpy or tired. He'd stay for a while and then be gone again. But, Gracie could never remember him missing a Christmas. He always made it back. Even if he was tired and bruised, he was there. That alone was enough to make her feel a little better. The idea she had in her head of cooking for her whole family and opening presents made her heart lighter and warmer.
"Where is he anyway?" Sam asked.
Gracie knew what Dean would say, because it was the same thing he always said. But, she was still curious to know.
"On business," her big brother answered. The same answer. Always.
"What kind of business?" Sam pressed, the present in his lap almost forgotten.
"You know that," Dean sighed. "He sells stuff."
"What kind of stuff?" Sam continued. In her head, Gracie thought it was a good question. Kids in her class had parents who 'sold stuff' too, but it was always specific stuff. Not just stuff-stuff.
"Stuff." Dean ground out.
Apparently, her daddy was the only person in the universe to sell stuff-stuff.
"Nobody ever tells me anything," Sam frowned.
"It's not like I get told anything either," Gracie added quietly.
"Then quit asking." Dean marched off, moving food wrappers and sitting on the bed he shared with Sam, further away than he was on the couch. John insisted Gracie should have the other one to herself. It was really his bed, but since he was never around to use it, Gracie could sprawl out without any problems.
"…Is Dad a spy?"
The little redhead perked up. "Is he, Dean?" she asked. "Is that why we move so much? So the bad guys can't find us?"
Dean thought about it. "Yeah…yeah he's like James Bond."
Before she could get too excited, Sam burst her bubble. "He's just messing with us, you know…"
She frowned. Daddy being away all the time because he had to spy, was a good enough reason that she'd been ready to accept.
"But how come we do move around so much?" Sam questioned. "None of my friends ever move the way we do…some of them have been living in one place their whole lives! But I don't even remember what the first placed we lived was like…"
"Sam," Dean dropped his magazine in frustration. "We move 'cause we do, and you just gotta get use to that."
"But—"
"No," Dean groaned, laying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.
"We're old enough now," Gracie said quietly. "Can't you tell us the truth?"
"You don't wanna know the truth, Grace…believe me." There was something so defeated in her brother's tone, Gracie was momentarily taken aback.
Sam, unable to feel what she felt, stared at their brother expectantly. When Dean didn't say anything else, he tilted his head, whispering, "Is that why we never talk about…Mom?"
"I told you as much as you need to know about Mom. She was great." He laughed a little, turning on his side.
"How come…how come she's not here with us?" Sam pleaded.
Dean sat straight up. "Sam, drop it. I told you already…we're not gonna talk about that?"
"How come, Dean? It's not fair! You know and Dad knows so why can't me and Gracie?"
Sam was shaking so she grabbed his hand. It wasn't like she didn't feel the same. The anguish flowing into her could have just as easily been her own.
All she had was a faceless image of a woman in her head. One who supposedly loved them more than anything, but who wasn't around. Since she was old enough to understand what a mommy was, she wondered why they didn't have one. But as much as Dean talked about what he remembered her being like, he refused to tell them just what had happened. Only that she died.
"Where are you going?" Sam demanded as Dean started to put his shoes back on.
"Out," he replied, lacing them up and storming toward the door.
"Dean, wait!" Gracie released Sam's hand and stood.
"Just stay here. I need time by myself." He ordered, and she shrunk back as he slammed the door.
Quiet descended over the room. Gracie fidgeted in place while Sam stared at the door. Plastering on a weak smile, Gracie turned to her remaining brother, "I-It's okay…he won't be gone a lo—what're you doing?" she watched in disbelief as Sam made his way over to the bed she'd been sleeping in, crouching on the floor.
"Dad keeps some of his stuff under here, right?"
"Y-Yeah?" Gracie walked over, wringing her hands. "Sammy, don't touch that!"
Sam paused, furrowing his brow. "Why not? Don'tcha think it's unfair? Dean knows and Dad knows…but when do we get to know? We're not babies!"
"I wanna know too…about Mama. About where Daddy goes…but if we look in his stuff we'll be in a lot of trouble!"
"Then I'll just put it back where I found it…" Sam reached under the bed once again, grabbing the strap of one of John's extra duffle bags. Pulling it out from under the bed, Sam immediately reached for the zipper. In a final attempt to protect her brother from whatever was inside, Gracie dropped to her knees beside him and grabbed his wrist.
"Sammy, please!" she bit her lip.
It looked like Sam was considering dropping it, leaving it all alone. But then he gave her a sad smile and shrugged her hand away. "Sorry," He quickly unzipped the bag and rummaged through the extra shirts their dad had packed. Though her heart was hammering, Gracie was beginning to feel a small spark of hope that he wouldn't find anything other than John Winchester's spare flannels.
That was, until she heard his soft gasp, and he pulled out something that made her mouth go dry. "Hey," Sam said excitedly, "It's Dad's book!"
The blood in her veins felt cold like snow, her eyes alight in worry. "Sammy, put it back!"
"I just wanna take a look inside…" He started to open the cover, and without thinking, she pounced, terror spurning her to wrestle her brother for the book.
"Hey!" Sam squawked from underneath her, jerking it back towards his chest. "Stop it!"
"No, you stop it!" Of all the reasons to fight with Sam, she had never guessed it'd be over Dad's book. The one he always had with him. Fleetingly, she wondered why he left it in the first place, but getting it away from Sam was her current priority, and so she continued to tug, even as they rolled across the carpet and she felt Sam's short nails starting to dig into the sensitive underside of her wrist.
"Why are you trying to keep it from me like they do?" Sam cried. "You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I am!" Gracie screamed back.
"No you're not!" Sam shoved her away, and she fell onto the carpet, stunned.
It hurt more than she thought it would, falling on the thin carpet. Sometimes Gracie forgot Sam was way stronger than he looked. He glared down at her, red faced and panting, but holding onto the book. The betrayed look in his eyes was worse than the small bump on her head.
Gracie could feel unshed tears prickling her eyes as Sam ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.
His hands shook as he stared at the moleskin cover. Ever since he could remember, going through Dad's stuff was a sure fire way to get punished. No one went through Dad's bags…but Dad. And his journal was the ultimate, off-limits thing he owned. The longer Sam sat on the toilet seat, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, the more doubt ran through him. Gracie was desperate to stop him. Just like Dad and Dean kept dismissing him. Something was up with the journal…and no one in his family trusted him enough to let him know what it was.
Well, Gracie just wanted to stop him from getting in trouble. Maybe she thought Dad would blame her too if she didn't at least try to stop him. But that probably wasn't it. His sister didn't do a whole lot of thinking of herself. When she was worried, it was always more for someone else's sake. His. Dean's. Dad's…
Gulping nervously, Sam tried to think of what he might find inside the book. He was almost tempted to put the book back. But if he did that, there might not be another chance again. If Gracie told Dean, Dean might tell Dad… He'd be in trouble either way. And if he was bound to get in trouble, he wanted it to be because he actually did something. Dad would never tell him. Dean would keep avoiding him and getting angry when he asked.
As if by magic, the journal opened to the first page, and he was staring at an entry with a date marked for close to nine years ago. It was in Dad's writing, of course, and the beginning sounded like something from a monster movie.
"It's been three days since the fire. I've made all the arrangements, and told Dean that Mary's not coming back. But I see her every night screaming, burning. Something's not right. Everyone thinks I'm just out of my head with grief, and maybe I am. Still doesn't change what I saw. How the hell does someone end up burning to death, pinned to a ceiling? I've started looking around on my own…"
Sam paused to absorb what he just read. The date said it was from November 6, 1983. That meant that his mom had died on November 3rd. Suddenly, Sam remembered how distant Dad was around that time every year. Dean was quieter then too. He didn't crack as many jokes and he got upset easier. Gracie read the mood and made herself scarce. She'd always listen when he complained about Dad and Dean being mean for no reason. Now he knew why. That was the day his mom died. His mom that Dean and Dad loved so much.
Flipping to another page, Sam picked up reading on another entry. This one detailed that Dad had been at the library for weeks, searching through stuff about the occult. Unfamiliar as he was with exactly what that meant, he started to get an understanding that Dad was so upset he couldn't let it go. He was frustrated every time he got more questions than answers, but he kept saying he was determined to get to the bottom of it all.
Then one page featured a name Sam recognized very well… Bobby Singer.
'Uncle Bobby!'
Uncle Bobby told Dad more about what he was looking into. John Winchester finally had his answers, and that only encouraged him. The pages afterwards said that he had concluded Mary was killed by a monster. Sam quietly shut the book. He had seen enough. The bathroom was suddenly too small, too quiet. Dean made their mom sound like she loved them a lot. When he was little, he had wondered if she really did.
Sam sometimes fell asleep making wishes on shooting stars that she'd come back to them. Just turn up at the door and hug them like she'd never let them go. Shed make cookies when they got good grades, never miss or forget a birthday like Dad, tuck them in every night, take them swimming or bowling or…or any of the places Dad never had time to take them. She'd be perfect, just like Dean confirmed she was. That was what he'd hoped. Before he knew better. Before he even knew she was dead, and not just gone.
Heavy-hearted, he realized all that was impossible. Dean had said she'd died, and even then, Sam thought it was funny they never even went to her grave. Not even once. Didn't you bring flowers to graves? Who was bringing his mom her flowers? He had the answer to that too. No one. Anger surged through him when he thought how long John had been keeping them in the dark. It was their mom and he never even bothered to tell them what had happened to her!
It didn't matter anymore though. Sam still found out. Gracie was the only one left in the dark. "I…I have to tell her." he whispered aloud. The thought made his heart feel like it had melted to slush and sank to his feet.
Shuffling to the door, he unlocked it and peeked out, the journal tucked under his arm. The room was quiet except the background noise of the TV, still flashing from in front of the couch. Sam slipped out of the bathroom, looking for his sister.
"Gracie?" he asked, unsure if he really wanted a response. It would be better if she got mad and left like Dean did. But that wasn't like Gracie at all.
She was still sitting curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed when he found her. Her chin was resting on her knees, red hair curtaining her face. Feeling guilty, he sat next to her. "Hey…"
"Hi…" she returned, looking at him with sad gray eyes.
"Um, I read this…I mean some of it." Sam explained, showing her the book.
Her eyes brightened, but not with anger or happiness or even disappointment. With fear. For him. "Are you okay?" she took ahold of his arm, staring into his face. The guilt gnawing away inside just grew.
"I'm…I'm really sorry." His gut twisted. "I shouldn't have pushed you…"
Gracie leaned back, blinking. "Yeah…" she finally said. "But s'kay. It doesn't hurt that much," Sam knew that even if it did, she would downplay it. She always downplayed hurting.
"I'm still sorry I did it." Sam pecked her cheek apologetically. "You were right. Goin' in Dad's stuff was bad." Turning and getting on his hands and knees, Sam dragged John's duffle back out and put the journal back wear it belonged, zipping it shut and then shoving it back under the bed. "There,"
"I promise I won't tell." Gracie said after a beat.
"Huh?"
"I'm not gonna tell on you, Sammy. I mean, I get it. I wanted to know too…but I was too scared." She sighed, long and loud.
"Maybe that's smarter…being scared I mean."
Brows pinching together in confusion, Gracie canted her head. "How come?"
Nibbling his bottom lip, Sam took her hand, squeezing her fingers. "In…in the journal, it said what happened to our mom…"
Sitting there, staring off into space, Gracie made no sign she'd even heard. "What happened?"
"The journal says…the journal says a monster got her."
A silent tear leaked from one downcast eye, and Sam wished more than ever he'd never looked into the book.
Dean came back a while later, carrying bags from a convenience mart. "Thought you went out," Sam mumbled, hardly looking up from his comic book.
"Yeah," Dean rummaged around in the bags he'd brought. "To bring you guys back some dinner." That was it. There wasn't going to be any awkward mentioning of what had happened an hour or two ago. Dean had come back…with food. That was about as much of an apology as the eldest sibling would give his younger brother. Gracie came over from her place sitting and reading her cooking magazine—or trying to—as Dean tossed them junk food. "Don't forget your vegetables," he joked, throwing a bag of Funyuns that hit Sam in the face.
Sam didn't protest, opening the bag and quietly munching on the contents.
Gracie made a face at the junk, wishing silently for a hot meal. But, that meant that she'd be the one doing the cooking, more than likely, and she didn't feel up to it.
Dean took his jacket and shoes off, moving to the bed he was sharing with Sam and opening a can of soda, taking a long sip.
Gracie had resigned herself to Cheetos for dinner and was starting to take a bite.
"I know why you keep a gun under your pillow." Sam's sudden declaration made her miss the cheese puff entirely and bite down on her own tongue, while Dean began sputtering on his soda.
Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, she watched her older brother lift his pillow, revealing a shiny silver pistol, before he put it back again. Gracie didn't remember exactly when Dean had gotten from hiding a switchblade under his pillow, to a real gun, but seeing it made her heart speed up. Even when it was covered up again, the anxiety crawling its way up her throat didn't go away.
"No, you don't." Dean snapped, "Stay out of my stuff."
"And I know why we lay salt down everywhere we go…" Sam continued steadily.
Gracie could feel the tension in the room rising, but Sam seemed oblivious, or maybe he just couldn't go back.
"No, you don't," Dean insisted more forcefully. "Shut up!" He tossed a pillow but Sam managed to duck in time.
Sam stood, walking to the edge of Gracie's bed and going under it. Her heart sank. She knew what it was leading to…something that couldn't be taken back. Just like the night she saw a monster sucking breath from Sam's mouth couldn't be taken back.
Sam put the journal down between the two beds.
Dean rose, incredulous. "Where'd you get that?" he demanded. "Dad's gonna kick your ass for reading that," his voice held a tremor that made Gracie push the Cheetos aside, her appetite gone, as if it hadn't been already.
"Are monsters real?" Sam asked baldly.
"What?" Dean scoffed, "You're crazy!"
'No, he's not…' Gracie thought. 'You know he's not…' Gone were the days where she had thought Dean truly didn't know about the supernatural. He knew about it as much as Dad knew…more than her, and more than Sam.
"Dean…Tell us." Dean looked to her, a pained look in his green eyes. Gracie nodded slowly, sitting beside him.
"Alright, neither one of you can tell Dad I told you anything. Sam, especially you."
"Promise!" Sam climbed onto the bed, sitting on Dean's other side.
Dean took a deep breath, his eyes straying to the journal, sitting innocently on the nightstand where Sam placed it. "First things first…we have the universe's coolest dad. Like, superhero cool."
"We do?" Gracie asked.
"Yup. Monsters are real. Dad fights 'em. Well, kills 'em actually. He's off doing that right now. To keep us all safe."
Gracie had known for over two years that her dad kept getting injured, and that it was because of the monsters out there. The things he kept running into. It never occurred to her, for one reason or another, that he was purposely chasing them, trying to get them before they got his family.
"Dad…Dad told me there weren't any under my bed," Sam frowned, pausing to glance at Dean.
"Yeah, 'cause he already checked there. Duh, Sammy," he ruffled his little brother's hair. "But yeah…monsters are real. Pretty much everything is."
"Santa too?" Gracie asked hopefully. Sam's eyes mirrored the same excited expression, and Dean sighed.
"Yeah, last time I checked."
His siblings expelled twin sighs of relief.
"But is Dad really okay out there? The journal said the monsters got Mom! W-What if they get Dad, o-or us—" Sam began to panic, and Gracie quickly took his hand and began to concentrate, thinking of the most relaxing things possible to calm her own mind. Sam's tight grip loosened, his body slumping into hers. Dean didn't seem to notice, but Gracie was starting to think that she could control it if she wanted to. Control other people's feelings…She'd have to ask Mr. Joshua.
"Dad'll be fine out there, Sam. He knows what he's doing. He's the best. …Hey, you both okay so far?"
Gracie slowly nodded, because really, what else could she do? But Sam didn't look too good. Her trick didn't work long. He was back to worrying again; she could tell.
"Dean…" Sam glanced down, avoiding making eye contact. "I…I just wanna go to bed."
Dean and Gracie both looked at him with concern, but gave him space as he laid prostate on top of the sheets. "Yeah, okay… Night then."
"Night…" Sam whispered.
"Dad'll be here in time for Christmas, so cheer up okay?"
Sam didn't respond, but Gracie was aware that he was quietly crying into the pillow. Every urge wanted to lay down next to him, to hug him…but she was tired to her bones, so she silently walked around the side of the bed, smiling sheepishly at Dean and then crawling into her own bed, not bothering to change her clothes.
She snuggled down into the sheets and tried to block out Sam's crying. When her brothers hurt, she hurt. And Sam was hurting so much…but so was she. Touching might make it worse, might make him feel what she was feeling.
"It'll all be better when you wake up," she heard Dean say, "Promise."
Gracie wasn't surprised when Christmas came and went, and John was a no show. It broke her heart, and Sam's…but more than that, it broke something in their faith. Parents couldn't always be relied on. But Dean was there. He had gifts for them, even if they were ones he stole…he still tried to give them the Christmas that Daddy didn't. She loved him for that.
Instead, they all unwrapped presents. She was proud that she'd saved up the money to get them two presents each. Dean loved his model Impala, despite blushing and telling her he was too old for toy cars. And the single shark tooth she'd been lucky to find when she went beach-combing with her class in Maine was now dangling from a bracelet she made herself. Dean slipped it onto his wrist and told her he'd keep it as a good luck charm. It went well with the necklace Sam gave him.
Sam got the new issue of a Marvel comic he'd been eyeing and a Transformers action figure and girl gifts from Dean that he happily traded with her for the paddle ball and jack set that ended up being in the boxes Dean swiped for her.
They played in the snow and built a fort, waging war on Dean together. Gracie made sure to change into dry clothes the minute they came inside, and then made them a late breakfast of pancakes while they watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special on TV. It wasn't the Christmas her classmates had, but it was hers. A memory she'd keep deep in her heart forever.
After that, everything changed. John came home and Dean had to tell him that they knew about the supernatural. He was angry, like Gracie was scared he might be. He yelled at them for what felt like hours. She was afraid he might hit Sam, but after he calmed down, he told them the next step; before he went on another job, they had to start training.
That was how it all happened…
~SPN~
Gracie shifted the position of her hands on the pistol as she aimed. The cool metal was heavy in her hands, and in the back of her mind she was afraid that her sweaty palms would cause it to slip right out of her grip. She tried to keep her arms held straight as she took aim. After all, she had an audience.
One glance over her shoulder, and she saw Daddy standing with his arms crossed, waiting. For the last few weeks, she and Sammy had to learn how to clean and take apart the guns, then put them back together. Daddy timed them, like they did in the Marines. He gave them pop quizzes on naming the different parts of the gun.
Sometimes after homework was finished, they couldn't watch TV or go to bed until they had both listed the names of at least five monsters that were weak to silver bullets. Hunter training was…well, Dean told her this was probably the easiest part. It would only be getting harder. John never stopped being demanding, so Gracie believed it. "Take it out," John urged, pointing to the empty beer cans he had stacked up about twelve feet away.
Nodding, she took a ready stance, centering her feet and squinting through one eye. Her heart was beating so hard, so fast…she just wanted it all to be over with. She squeezed the trigger…the recoil hit her the minute the bullet left the barrel and dinged against one of the cans, making it wobble, but not fall over. A failure.
"You're still hesitating way, and aiming too far to the right." John observed. "And fix your grip, you'll break your wrist like that."
"Sorry!" she frowned. "I…Want me to do it again?"
"No," John rubbed his face. His cheeks were darkening with stubble more every day, and he had bags under his eyes. Gracie's heart sinking, feeling like she was just a bigger burden on him, not pulling her own weight. "Give the gun to your brother."
Pouting, Gracie trudged toward Sam, making sure the safety was clicked on and pointing the muzzle away from him as she handed it over. He tried to give her a little smile to cheer her up, but she was too embarrassed to smile back, so she took her place next to Dean. Sam took the safety off the gun, squinting at the distance.
"Hey, Dad?" he turned to look at John.
"What is it son?"
"If I take out all the cans, am I gonna be ready to come with you on a hunt?"
Next to her, she could feel Dean's anxiety, so she latched onto his arm. She wasn't sure why Sam seemed so eager to go on hunts. When they were alone together, he complained constantly about the training, about not being able to play as much, about how monsters being real still scared him sometimes—most of the time.
But in front of John, he was always trying to impress, happily talking about hunting all the time, now that he knew what was going on. He'd ask where they were going next and what John would be hunting there. Gracie knew his true feelings. That he just wanted Daddy to be proud of him, because she felt the same. But she still felt left behind.
"You're just getting to the basics. It's way too soon to be talking about you coming on hunts. You'd both just be distractions right now,"
Sam's shoulders slumped forward. "Dean got to go on hunts at my age, right?"
"Dean was ready." John told him, "So go ahead and take your shot, Sam."
Sam took aim, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. He managed to knock over at least three cans, and a fourth wobbled precariously. "Hm. A little better than last time," John conceded. Sam was beaming as he flicked the safety back on and rejoined them. Gracie was happy for him. John Winchester didn't hand out praise but…if his honest assessment wasn't scolding, then it was the next best thing to receive.
Still, she knew she had a long, long way to go.
I understand that sometimes it's slow going but if you truly enjoy this story, consider leaving a comment, no matter how much or how little you have to say. As long as it's nothing totally rude or unrelated to the story, I'd like to hear it. Thanks to some of you who always come back to comment no matter how long or brief it's been between updates. I see and appreciate you greatly~
I look forward to writing the next chapter since we're now officially in little!hunter years.
