**Supernatural does not belong to me, nor do any of it's characters** After all that about trying to curb some of the dialect style dialogue, I bring in a French character, sorry I'm a douchebag- but I tried to make her easy to read so I didn't mess with ALL the words the way she'd say them but hope I'm giving you an idea of her accent- also to my French audience, I am so sorry if I offend anyone with my terrible American sterotypes but I actually watched some videos and reread Fleur Delacore's dialog some in Harry Potter to get an idea and especially THANK YOU to Waywarddaughter18 for reading through it a bit (she was nearly German French lol) Hope you all enjoy this addition!

The tiny, aged witch turned with a small smile, the man beside her simply raised a disinterested eyebrow at the Winchesters and sipped his wine. They were both well dressed, though their outfits were a bit outdated, the curtained booth they occupied was very secluded, but no one else was in the restaurant.

"Madam Petit," the host bowed a bit, "the rest of your party has arrived."

"Zank you, Geoffrey," Madam Petit said in a heavy French accent and the host returned to his post at the front of the restaurant, "Please," she gestured across the booth, every finger covered with ornate rings.

Sam slid in first and Dean gestured Morgan to follow before sandwiching her between them, both their expressions were stone and she did her best to match, despite the waves of nausea rolling inside.

"I am Sophie Petit," she settled her bright blue eyes on Morgan after a quick sweep of the Winchesters, "I would never 'ave guessed you were Ceralia's daughter by looks," with a curl in the corner of her wrinkled lips she continued, "but you 'old yourzelf ezactly az she deed, proud, but you don't 'ave much to be proud of anymore-"

"S'cuse me?" Dean snapped and Sophie smiled warmly at him.

"You must be Dean," she turned to him with an unaltered smile, "I've 'eard you're a leettle, protective, I mean no offense I promise."

"Sounded pretty offensive," he growled and the man next to Sophie sat forward a bit.

"Jean, le laisser seul," Sophie said quietly to the man next to her and he widened his eyes at her, "Nous devons gagner leur confiance."

"You got a long way t'go," Morgan scoffed and Sophie and Jean turned to her slowly, she with happy surprise, him quite the opposite.

"You speak French?" Sophie inclined her head with the same sweet smile, Morgan wanted to see malice in her face, but it wasn't there.

"Oui," she nodded curtly.

"Of course," Sophie sighed, "Ceralia would've taught you many languages. She was not, uh, a very maternal woman, was she?" Morgan shook her head slightly, but offered nothing else, "She became very cold when we 'ad to ezcape perzecution and found peace een America, she was not always zee woman you knew."

"Did you know about her?" Dean glared at Sophie and jerked his head at his sister.

"I did not," she assured him, "until our mutual friend, Mr. Crowley, eenformed me of zee circumstances from a few months ago. May I ask, which of you two killed the Devil?" Sam couldn't help a small smirk, good enough for Sophie and she beamed at him, "My boy, you a true hero, zank you."

Sam nodded awkwardly, but Dean leaned forward on his elbows and spoke in the same hard tone, "How d'you know Crowley?"

The old witch giggled, "I've known Crowley since 'ee was Fergus McLeod, briefly albeit, we've gotten to know each other better since 'is demonic transition. I was 'is Mother's first teacher, I believe you all know Rowena as well," none of the Winchesters made a move to agree or disagree with this and Sophie continued, "'ee told me about you, Morgan, as 'er mentor, I knew of course of Ceralia's idea, 'er plan to create a being of unparalleled power, but when we came 'ere she spoke of it no more. Zere were years I didn't see 'er and when she returned to zee Coven she said nozing, no one knew."

Dean nodded slowly and leaned back, but his face remained hard. Morgan wasn't sure what to think of this witch, her kindness didn't seem false, but she wasn't ready to trust that instinct.

"Why'd you wanna meet me?" Morgan asked bluntly.

"Why wouldn't I?" Sophie giggled gently, "Zee living proof my best student accomplished an unbelievable feat."

"I don't have my powers anymore," Morgan bit the words out.

"I 'eard," Sophie nodded sadly, "Zough looking in your eyes would 'ave told me," Morgan couldn't help inclining her head at the French witch, "You're empty."

"A'right, lady-" Dean snapped, leaning aggressively forward on the table but words stopped escaping his gaping mouth and he clutched his throat.

"Stop!" Morgan screamed at Sophie but seeing the older woman glaring at Jean with a hand raised, she realized it was the man's spell attacking her brother, but before she could lunge at him, Sam slammed his head on the table and Dean gasped for air.

"Jean!" Sophie pulled his bleeding face roughly from the table and slapped his cheek hard, "Vous ne nous aident pas! Aller! Maintenant!"

Morgan watched as the man bowed his injured head apologetically and simply dissolved into thin air.

"Je suis désolé," Sophie shook her head, but giggled at Sam and Dean's blank expressions, "I'm sorry, very sorry, Jean eez a beet protective of me. Are you alright my boy?"

"I've had worse," Dean retorted, rubbing his neck.

"What'd you mean?" Sam suddenly broke his silence with a low, harsh question directed at the old witch, "You said she's empty."

"I apologize for my English," she bowed her head, "I don't always pick zee right words and you Americans are surprisingly senseetive," she held up a defensive hand at Dean's nostril flare, "I will try to choose my words more carefully," turning her attention back to Morgan, Sophie continued, "You look lost, my dear, a piece of you eez missing."

Morgan dipped her head, staring at her hands twisting in her lap, unable to stop the tightness in her throat or the hot tears filling her eyes and simply tried to hide her broken expression. She had been relieved at first of the burden, but as the days and weeks passed, Morgan had felt less and less herself, trying to ignore the void inside. But since Crowley had said it was possible to regain her magic, she'd hardly thought of anything else.

"I can 'elp," Sophie told her quietly and Morgan lifted her head slowly, staring hard at the woman, trying to see dishonesty in her eyes, but it wasn't there.

"Why?" she forced the question without a break in her voice.

"A favor," she shrugged.

"Why?" Dean growled.

"Ceralia was my best student, but she suffered much, zee Men of Letters killed 'er friends and zee only man she ever loved," Morgan scoffed at the idea, "It's true, but she never came back from zat loss. I could not save 'er from zee darkness she dove into. I can't eemagine zee woman you knew as a mother and if we had known she'd succeeded, zat you were alive, we would have trained you, but I zink she was too far gone in 'er world of anger, revenge and 'ate. I'm sorry for what you dealt with, I wish I could've 'elped then, but I can now."

"How?" Morgan shook her head at the information echoing in her ears.

"I'm dying," Sophie smiled, "Eez about time, I'm nearly nine 'undred, eet will be soon, so we must do zees now."

"Do what?" all three Winchesters asked together.

"Geev you my magic," she said as if that had been obvious.

"Give, magic, what?" Morgan stammered, "You can't, that's not possible."

"Eet eez for you," Sophie smiled, "Deed you bring zee bok Gungnir?" Morgan's face didn't change, but she inconspicuously squeezed her backpack between her calves, "Good, we will need eet."

"Back up," Dean shook his head, "She's fine, she doesn't need anything from you."

Morgan felt her throat tighten again, but a large hand on hers made her slowly look at Sam, peering at her with his understanding, hazel eyes as he whispered, "What do you want?"

"I don't understand," Morgan said pleadingly to the old witch.

"You are a descendant of Odin," Sophie smiled, "and you were born a witch, eet eez your natural state. Zere eez a spell een zat beautiful book you 'ave zat will transfer my powers to you, perhaps not zee same level you would 'ave reached before, but, what eez eet you Americans say, better zan nozing."

"Why would you do this?" Morgan breathed in shock.

"What will I do wiz magic when I am dead?" the French woman chuckled, "Zis way I can 'elp you and return my best student's greatest creation wiz my powers living on een you."

Morgan gasped quietly, realizing she'd stopped breathing. Could it be possible? Her hands were clammy and shaking, she slowly stared at the smiling little witch across the large table and nodded.

"What's the catch?" she asked quietly.

"Morgan, are you-" Dean began angrily, but Sam stopped him firmly.

"Dean, it's not y'r'call."

"Sam, she's not-"

"Ask her," the younger brother challenged, jerking his head at their sister, "Ask her what she wants."

Dean's eyes were hard at Sam, but they softened as he met the matching set staring up at him pleadingly, he sighed heavily, "You miss it that bad?" she nodded earnestly at him and he turned his attention to the old witch, "A'right so what's the catch?"

"Zere eez no catch," Sophie assured them and despite trying to find something about the woman that was untrustworthy, Morgan could not.

With a glance at Sam, Morgan caught his encouraging nod, silently promising he stood behind whatever decision she made. She was afraid to look at Dean, but finally turned to him, peering through her long eyelashes. He was not happy, but his smirk said it wasn't her he was upset with, and with a small nod she knew he too would still love her magic or not.

"You're not yourself wizout magic," Sophie said quietly, looking at Morgan as if they were they only two there, "I wish I could've 'elped you learn, 'elped your Mother release 'er anger, but at least I can geev you zees."

There was nothing but honesty in her wrinkled face, her clear blue eyes reflected the truth in her words and Morgan slowly nodded, without thinking, simply her natural response allowed to finally answer.

Sophie beamed at her and turned to Dean, "Could you get zat curtain, darling?"

"No," he answered and didn't move from his cross-armed position.

Sophie didn't seem fazed or surprised by his response, nor did her expression falter as she flicked two small, very wrinkled fingers and the curtain swung shut. Morgan gasped in delight, it had been so long since she'd seen even the tiniest bit of magic, her insides swirled with excitement, anger, confusion and the longing to feel power pump through her veins again. The old witch waved her hand in a circular motion over the table and the three of them grabbed the edge as the entire booth began spinning madly. Sophie sat perfectly still but continued moving her hand in a circle over the white linen. After a few moments they slowed briefly to an abrupt halt.

"What the Hell was that?" Dean barked, putting a fist in front of his mouth like he was about to vomit.

"Dear," Sophie smiled kindly at him, "we are een my 'ome now, zee language, eef you please," and before Dean could do more than offer an equally nauseated and apologetic grimace, the old witch flicked her fingers slightly again and the curtains pulled themselves neatly, back into position.

The apartment before them was beautiful with expensive, wooden furniture placed perfectly in the large space, two sets of massive, white double doors led off the open room in both directions and one entire wall was windows, leading to a concrete balcony. Sophie slid out of the booth effortlessly, gesturing them to follow her. On the other side of a grand piano in the middle of the room was a long bar where Jean sat, nursing another glass of red wine and refusing to look in the Winchesters' direction as he forced a smile at the old witch, his face restored.

Sophie led them to a square, sunken section of the room, bordered by a long red couch surrounding a white marble fire pit in the middle.

"May I see zee bok Gungnir, please?" she politely requested, but Morgan's stomach still squirmed, the book suddenly feeling heavier in the bag over her shoulders.

"Are you gonna keep it?" Morgan couldn't help the question as it blurted passed her tongue.

Sophie giggled, "My Heavens why? I'm dying sweet girl, what would an old woman do een 'er last five minutes wiz a spell book and no magic?"

Relief washed over her like a cool wave, the bok Gungnir would remain hers and she could actually use it, this woman, this wonderful, tiny woman was offering her everything. But as she pulled the violet text from her backpack, a thought, suddenly more important that anything came to mind and again she couldn't help the request that burst out.

"My brother's, our friend, he's here, somewhere, we need to find him," she approached Sophie with the book and a pleading look, "Can you scry him?"

"What do you 'ave of 'is?" she asked, peering at all of them and no one made a move, "Unfortunately, even I, after 'undreds of years, cannot scry a stranger wizout somzing of zeirs. But you know 'im," Morgan shrugged in agreement, "Zen let us 'urry."

"Madam Petit," Morgan said quietly as she handed over the bok Gungnir, "Why, really, I mean why are you doing this for me?"

"I 'ave not been perfect, Morgan," she admitted in a whisper, "I 'ope 'elping you will 'elp me, my life after zees one eez much longer."

She wasn't sure why, but Morgan appreciated the confession and trusted her more for the admittance, releasing the precious book to her wrinkled hands.

"Thank you," the young woman whispered.

"Zank you," the old witch grinned and took a deep breath, focusing again on the bok Gungnir, "Of course, you know zee story," Sophie smiled when Morgan nodded, "You will 'ave to add your own magic soon."

"There's only one page left," Morgan shook her head.

"But of course," the old witch giggled, "Zere eez always one page left."

Morgan thought on these words as Sophie opened the binding carefully and turned the pages, smiling as she assessed the magic inside.

"Your Mother was very proud of zees book," she told Morgan, "of 'er ancestry, but she should 'ave been proud of you," Morgan furrowed her brow at the mild acquaintance speaking as if she knew her, "Eef you 'ad been a failure she would 'ave killed you, zere eez no doubt in my mind, so clearly you were not. I do not know why she chose not to share you wiz zee rest of us, I can only assume she wanted to make sure you would impress zee Coven. From what I've 'eard about you and seen wiz my own eyes, even wizout magic you are an impressive girl. She may 'ave chosen a Winchester for revenge, but zeir blood eez not weak," Sophie paused and smiled at Sam and Dean before returning her attention to Morgan, "Vos frères, t'aime beaucoup."

Morgan smiled and nodded, "Je sais, ils sont merveilleux, mais dangereux."

Sophie grinned and her eyes flicked towards Jean at the bar briefly before nodding her understanding at Morgan. Pointing to an open page, Sophie brought Morgan's attention to one of the oldest, Norse spells. It didn't surprise the young woman she'd never seen it before, she often skipped over the Norse incantations to avoid the awful memories that went with the language. The spell she was looking at was nothing she'd ever encountered.

The words Dreyri Ginnregin were scrawled at the top of the page, only two short inscriptions were below it, but the remainder of the ancient paper was covered in an intricate red symbol.

"Zees," Sophie didn't touch the page as she traced the outline of the markings with her finger, "eez Odin's blood, 'ee put zees in 'imself, in case one of 'is descendants was born wizout magic, or in zees case, 'ad eet stolen from you," she said the last words bitterly, "After I transfer my power to zee book, it can only transfer to you, or another wiz zee blood of Odin, zough zere is no other."

Sophie ceased her explanation and stepped back from the book, laid on the marble edge of the fire pit, she smiled at the Winchesters and called Jean, "Eet eez time."

The old warlock grudgingly joined them in the sunken living room with his wine and chose a corner of the couch farthest from the rest.

Sophie ran a finger down her palm and blood began seeping from the precision cut she'd made, her face suddenly of determination, the old witch flattened her bleeding palm on the red symbol and spoke the first incantation. Morgan was astounded to hear her French accent replaced with a perfect Norse dialect.

"Taka ríki gera gumi smá-menn!" Sophie shouted the words as the book glowed, the red lines pulled themselves off the page and began twisting around her hand and up her arm.

Morgan stared in shock, unsure if this was what should happen, though doubted Sophie knew any better as her wrinkled face also looked surprised, but the veins snaking up her arm would not let go. With a final scream from the old woman, the lines retracted quickly, back on the page in their intricate pattern, the book pulsed on the ledge as if a heart had just started beating between the aged paper.

Sophie's expression quickly returned to her kind smile, though her color was much paler and she'd clearly been weakened by the ordeal, "Your turn, dear."

"Are you alright?" Morgan asked, approaching the old woman as she settled herself on the couch.

"Eez my time," she nodded, "please, finish eet."

Morgan nodded and turned back to the throbbing book, but Dean stepped between her and the powerful gift Sophie was offering.

"Morgan, I don't-"

"Elle est en train de mourir pour vous!" Jean jumped from the couch and before Dean could push Morgan out of the way she stepped forward on the warlock.

"Je suis désolé, plaire, il ne sera pas pour rien," Morgan put defensive hands up, pleading with him, knowing they were vulnerable to any spell he might cast and the dying old woman could do nothing to help, "Je vous promets."

Jean nodded curtly at her and pointed firmly at the bok Gungnir before turning to Sophie and kneeling beside her, his expression quickly changed from hate to love.

"Dean," Morgan turned back to her brother, "Can I have your knife?"

"Morgan," he sighed, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nodded, extending an open hand for his blade and after a few moments, he grudgingly set the handle in her palm, "Thank you."

She took the two steps to the pulsating pages, noticing there was no blood stain from Sophie, just the red symbol of Odin's, shimmering with power. Sam stepped a bit closer to the other side, it was comforting feeling them both nearby as she slid the sharp knife down her palm and took a deep breath before laying her hand flat on the symbol and reading the second incantation.

"Veita ríki gera rein máttugr ríkr!"

...

This chapter was a lot of fun but a pain to write with the translating, beyond French, those are all Old Norse words, though I doubt they really would've been spoken the way I shoved them together but they're real damn it- I don't know why but I feel authenticity is important, but nothing I translate is arbitrary, I've made sure it all means exactly what it's suppose to even if it's not vital or no one notices

Slightly Salty Late Added Note: I don't have a lot a free time and there's another project I started that has become my baby, I'm trying to devote equal time to Morgan's story, but truthfully, I'm starting to feel like I'm writing it for 5 people- though believe me, I LOVE those people, seriously the few reviews I've gotten lately have REALLY been the encouraging force behind the last couple chapters. So to the silent readers who are enjoying, you can thank the my habitual reviewers for the updates...