Not dead yet :)

Special thanks to Jenmm31 for not giving up on me. She's got a new series out about Sam's daughter, Emily, and it's hands down one of the best things I've ever read. Go check it out!

In this story, Natalie is 18. Please see profile page for disclaimers.

Part 1

"I can't believe Dad missed that!"

Natalie's voice echoed in the nearly empty movie theater parking lot as she and Sam made their way back to the Impala, the overhead lights slicing yellow paths for them in the darkness. She was so wound up from the movie that, other than the pitch-black night surrounding them, no one would have guessed it was after 2am. "I mean, I know he loves Batman and all that, but Marvel has been dominating the genre for years, still puts out the best movies, and has the HOTTEST guys."

"I don't think that last one is a point in your favor for getting your dad to watch, Bug," Sam teased. Natalie chuckled and playfully punched his shoulder.

"C'mon, you know what I mean. DC can't hold a candle to Marvel, and it's honestly embarrassing the way Dad keeps holding on to Batman like he's the patron saint of superheroes or something. I mean, come on. Iron Man would kick Batman's ass in like point two seconds. He should have more self respect than to keep venerating one guy like that."

"Oh, you mean like the way you venerate Spider Man?"

"That is not fair! Tom Holland is always the exception to everything and he's perfect. There's literally no competition. End of discussion."

"You know you sound exactly like Dean defending Batman now, right?"

"Shut up."

"Hey, if you can't take the heat, stay out of the Bat Cave."

"That is the lamest turn of phrase you have ever uttered."

"Yet, somehow still effective on you."

"Dammit, how do you always know?"

"Because I'm smart. And don't swear."

"I'm eighteen, Uncle Sam. Don't you think it's time you gave up trying to get me to stop swearing?"

"Old habits die hard, kid," Sam answered cheerfully, opening the passenger door for her. Natalie slid in with a grin. Once Sam got in the driver's seat, she turned her thousand-watt smile on him.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight. I miss when we don't get to do stuff like this."

Sam grinned back at her as he started the car. "Me too. Is that why you deliberately picked the midnight showing, so your dad would tap out?"

"No!"

Sam just gave her the sideways glance.

"Well, it didn't HURT." When Sam chuckled in response, Natalie got playfully on the defensive. "I'm officially eighteen now. I'm supposed to do wild things like go to midnight movies and then stay up till two and get up at 6 to go to school, right?"

"There are just so many things wrong about that phrasing, I don't even know where to start on it." The two Winchesters playfully teased each other back and forth all the way back to the bunker. It was nearly three a.m. by the time Sam pulled into the garage, and he yawned so heavily he felt his ears pop. "Whoa," he muttered. "Maybe I'm too old to be pulling a midnight show, too."

"No way! You can't bail on me on midnight showings!" Natalie turned and made a very exaggerated pouting face at him. "It'll give me all sorts of childhood trauma and abandonment issues."

"The entire night you haven't gone two minutes without reminding me that you're now eighteen. You've kinda lost your credibility on playing the 'childhood trauma' card, Bug," Sam said, shaking his head and laughing at her dramatics as they made their way inside. "Besides, if we haven't corrupted you yet with the hunter's lifestyle, I don't think there's much more we can do to traumatize you."

Chuckling, Natalie took the stairs two at a time, making Sam's heart stop. Sure, she was eighteen, but she could still trip and kill herself on the stairs with the way she carelessly flung herself down them, no matter what age she was. "Bug, are you ever gonna stop running down stairs?" Sam asked, exasperated, as his exhaustion really grabbed ahold of him.

Natalie just turned, giving him a saucy look he had known since she was two. "Now you sound like Pops, old man," she sassed him delightedly. "Gonna wanna watch that. Maybe you are getting old." Before Sam could do much more than summon a bitch face, she spun around, heading for the kitchen. "I'm getting a snack, want anything?"

"No, I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up in the morning."

"No promises! Love you!"

Natalie dashed into the kitchen, secretly glad Sam wasn't accompanying her there. She loved going to the movies with him, but when it came to snack time, her dad far-and-away was much more fun that her uncle. Brushing right past the baby carrots to reach the French onion dip, Natalie went in search of the chips. Then she paused for half a second.

Suddenly, something didn't feel right in the bunker's kitchen. She couldn't tell what it was, but something was…off. Like the air current in the room shifted, there was an almost indiscernible sound that was wrong, or…something. Knowing better than to panic, she casually placed the tub of dip on the counter and opened the cabinet where there were not only chips, but also a knife hidden at the top. She had just enough time to subtly extract it when there was the slightest soft sound of a footfall behind her.

With the precision of a cat, Natalie ducked under the hands she only vaguely saw reaching for her in the darkness. A whiff of the scent that had made her stop only a second ago reached her again, but this time it was stronger. It was familiar but something still screamed 'dangerous' in her mind. Maybe it was the whole attacking-in-the-dark thing.

As she tried to sidestep to get a better position and see what the hell she was fighting, the thing spun right with her, as if anticipating her movements. Natalie felt arms slide effortless under her own, and the huge hands suddenly gripped her forehead and chin. One small twist and her neck would be snapped. Her throat closed in fear as if an iron fist was crushing her windpipe, and her insides turned to ice as she waited for the fatal blow.

Then everything stopped.

A warm breath and low chuckle hit her ear. "Are you ever NOT gonna fall for that?" said an annoyingly familiar voice.

Air returned to her lungs as her brain registered who it was, but pushed its way back out in shock. "Taron?!" she said, gasping as her body remembered how to breathe again.

"Cheers, love," Taron replied cheekily, then planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. That made her see red. Suddenly using a move she had the last time they fought, she threw her arms in the air, sliding straight out of his grip. Using her smaller frame to get lower leverage on him, she planted her feet, yanked his arm over her shoulder, and flipped him over her back. He hit the ground with a solid thud, knocking all the wind out of him. To add insult to injury, she placed one foot solidly in the center of his chest and deliberately leaned all her weight on it. He groaned as he tried to refill his lungs, but Natalie only held the point of her knife to his lips, causing him to freeze.

"I'm so sorry, you were saying something about falling for old moves or….?" She asked politely, tilting her head at him. Then she grinned.

"There's my girl," Taron wheezed, grinning back.

*SPN SPN SPN*

"How the hell did you get in?!"

Dean Winchester stormed around the war room, way too keyed up to think about going back to sleep now. Sam was seated at one end of the table, trying to hide his laughter. Natalie was standing at the side of the table, her hands on her hips, looking at her father exasperatedly as he paced. Dean turned his furious glare on the little shit now seated at the other end of the table, casually sipping a beer.

"Dad," Natalie said in a calm voice that only mad Dean more ticked. "They're Men of Letters, remember? They have the universal keys too."

"I had all the keys and the locks redone after the last time," Dean snarled back at her. She stepped back in complete shock.

"You…what?" she asked, stunned. "You're not serious."

"As a heart attack."

"You never gave me a new key!"

"I switched them on your key ring when you weren't looking. Ain't my fault you didn't notice."

"You…you freaking….how did you do that?!"

"I'm Dean fucking Winchester, that's how," he growled, before spinning on his heel to face the boy-devil again. Natalie threw up her hands, wanting to continue the verbal sparring match, but Sam caught her eye and shook his head. She dropped her hands but continued to glare when she saw that Sam was still having trouble controlling his laughter at the whole situation. He shrugged playfully at her as if to say 'you know it won't do you any good'. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms so tightly she wasn't sure if she'd get them uncrossed.

"So how'd you do it?" Dean ground out. "How the hell did you get in?" With a nonchalance that made Dean see red, Taron sat up straight.

"Well, sir, been training as a hunter most my life, same as you. Reckon there's not a lot you can't get into, right?" When Dean didn't answer, Taron leaned back a bit, a satisfied look on his face. "I just did what I've been trained to do."

"Yeah, not buying it," Dean hissed. "There ain't no way to get into this Bunker without a key. I know. I've worked damn hard to make sure of that."

"What do you mean, you've worked hard to-" Natalie cut in furiously, but Dean suddenly pointed his finger at her, making her instantly snap her mouth shut. Taron's eyes flickered over to her at that, and she felt her face heat up in embarrassment over being treated like a misbehaving child. Taron's gaze quickly flipped back to her father, feeling awkward about catching that moment.

Dean, however, didn't give two shits about any of it. "Why are you here? Where's Reginald?"

Taron chuckled. "Ay, he's gonna HATE that he missed hearing you use his full name. He still gets so mad every time he talks about you callin' him 'Reggie'." The lad took another sip of beer, the grin cracking over his face.

"Great. I'll tell him myself. Is he hiding somewhere in the bunker too?"

"Oh, god no. Not sure where exactly he is at the mo. S'pect he's on a plane right about now."

"Wait, you mean he's not here with you?" Sam interjected.

"Nope," Taron said, lifting the bottle to his lips again, clearly enjoying drawing his story out.

"So why are you here then?" Natalie asked, confused. His baby blue eyes slid over to her again, and this time, there was no teasing in them.

"To see you," he said with a wink. As Natalie's face once again flushed with color and Dean's flushed with rage, Taron continued, his gaze sliding to Sam this time. "To see all of you," he corrected with a saucy grin. "Been telling Dad for a fortnight now that we needed help. He refused to listen, so I decided to take matters into me own hands."

" 'Fortnight'?" Dean broke in. "What, like the video game?"

"Dad, fortnight is a British term meaning two weeks."

"…I know."

"So your Dad doesn't know you left?" Sam asked loudly, his eyes growing wide as he tried to get them all back on track. Taron shrugged lazily.

"Been gone nearly twelve hours now, he's probably figured it out and is on his way here now. And he's gonna lose the plot when he gets here."

" 'Lose the plot'? What the hell does that mean?" Natalie asked, confused about this particular turn of phrase. She could almost hear Sam pinching his lips at her additional swear word.

"Means he's gonna be PISSED."

"You don't seem to concerned about that," Dean hissed. Taron's lips suddenly twitched in consternation, before he slapped on his cocky grin again.

"He's always mad at me, day that ends in 'y' and all that," the young man said, lifting the bottle to his lips again. Natalie noticed the slight fidgeting when he said that, and she wondered what was behind it. "But we need answers, and we ain't gettin' 'em at home. Need you blokes to help us sort it out," he said, suddenly sounding much more mature that he ever had before.

"What's going on?" Sam asked curiously, before Dean broke in again.

"Hold up," he snarled. "It's nearly four in the morning, I've just had this little shit break into my home, and now we're talking about something so complicated that the freaking British Men of Letters can't figure it out. I'm going back to sleep and we'll sort this shit out in the morning. Everyone of you go to bed, now."

"Dean, you can't just order us to-"

"Watch me, Sam."

"Fine," Sam said saucily as the tiny streak of rebellion against authority suddenly rearing its head. He stood up, looking right at his brother. "Taron, why don't you take the room you were in last time?" Sam smiled smugly as Dean's face turned purple.

"That'd be great," Taron said quickly, before Dean could roar his next papal bull decree that banned the kid from the premises. "Really appreciate it, mate." He hopped up out of his seat and beelined it over to Natalie, extending his arm. "May I walk the lady to her door?" he said charmingly.

Before Natalie could even inhale, Dean spoke in his low, deadly tone. "Touch her and I will remove your arms."

"Fair enough," Taron said, the grin never leaving his face. "Night, all." He winked at her again before heading down the hallway. The moment he disappeared, Natalie turned towards Dean. It was her turn to point a finger in his face. However, the fact that she was a good foot shorter than him didn't exactly help her tough-guy persona.

"If you try to lock me in my room tonight, I swear I will never speak to you again," she hissed at her father, before stomping off towards her own room to try to not think about all the feels she'd just experienced in the last half hour.

"Fine," Dean growled under his breath. He'd just set an alarm so he'd wake up before her and she wouldn't see him guarding her door from the hallway. Simple.

*SPN SPN SPN*

The next morning, Natalie woke to the delicious smells of pancakes and bound out of bed with enthusiasm. She was nearly out of her door before she remembered that they had a guest. An almost primal urge to turn back around, brush her hair and her teeth and change her pajamas and maybe put on a little bit of lip gloss as if to say 'yeah I roll out of bed looking gorgeous, so what' hit her dead on. She turned around, but then turned back almost immediately, remembering that she didn't care what Taron thought of how she looked. She had almost taken that step but panicked if she was maybe being too casual by not even putting on socks and turned again.

"Oh for fuck's sake," she growled at herself. "I look like a damn dog chasing its tail." Already pre-annoyed, she stomped out of her room, deliberately reminding herself that Sam and Dean would notice in an instant if she'd glammed up instead of dragging her bed-head to the kitchen as usual. She could deal with Taron's being unimpressed with her morning look a lot better than she could with the teasing and the rage she'd get from the other two.

Sure enough, Taron was standing in the kitchen at their massive stove. He had managed to find an apron somewhere and was cheerfully whistling while he moved something around the pan. Upon hearing her, he turned and gave her that wink that made her feel both furious and intrigued.

"Morning, love," he said jauntily. "Crepes?"

"Crepes?" Natalie repeated dumbly. He grinned as she tilted her head adorably in confusion. "You're making crepes?"

"Naw, it's actually lasagna. Yes, I'm making crepes," he teased. Whoops, he thought. She scrunched her face up, irritated. Misstep there. "Sorry, love, just taking the mickey outta ya. Too early for that, I see." Natalie rolled her eyes and headed to the fridge. She extracted a mini can of Mountain Dew. It was Taron's turn to raise his eyebrows. "No coffee?" he asked.

"Can't stand the stuff," Natalie replied crisply, popping open the top and taking a sip.

"I thought all Americans lived and died by coffee."

"Naw, only the ones that can't appreciate the finer things in life," she said, holding up her can. "Cheers."

"What is that stuff?"

"Here, give it a try," she said, holding out the can to him. Taron stepped away from the stove for a moment to take a tentative sip. His face wrinkled in disgust.

"Ugh, that's revolting," he said, sticking his tongue out dramatically and reaching for the cup of tea next to the stove. When he looked back at Natalie, she was grinning smugly.

"Well, clearly you're unable to appreciate the finer things in life as well," she trilled, before shrugging and taking a huge gulp of the soda. Taron shook his head like a wet dog before getting back to the task at hand.

"THAT is clearly goat piss," he said, swinging around the hot skillet. "And THIS," he said grandly, sliding the crepe onto a waiting plate. "Is one of the finer things you really should learn to appreciate." When Natalie reached for the plate, he slapped her hand away with an "Ah ah ah."

Before she could rear back and punch him in the nose for treating her like a child reaching into the forbidden cookie jar, he carefully sprinkled a handful of berries over it, then dusted it with powdered sugar. He was concentrating so hard that Natalie felt the corners of her mouth turn up, her previous ire forgotten. He then handed the plate to her with a flourish and that damned wink again.

Bypassing the pageantry entirely, Natalie looked amazed at the ingredients. "We had all this already?" she asked doubtfully. Taron nodded. "Wow," she muttered to herself. "Maybe I should let Uncle Sam do the grocery shopping more often." She moved to the table, sat down, and, very conscious that Taron was watching her like an anxious mother, took a bite. The fresh berries burst in her mouth as the sugar and the warm pastry comingled into one of the most heavenly things she'd ever eaten before in her life. "Oh my god," she moaned, before digging in again. She only had time to catch the look of absolute triumph on Taron's face before they both jumped at the sudden loud banging noise coming from the war room. They locked eyes for a split second before going charging out of the kitchen.

By the time they skidded into the war room, Dean was already at the top of the stairs, opening the huge iron door. Reginald stood behind it, looking like he was about to murder someone. Dean just stepped aside with a low sigh. Reginald walked calmly towards the railing, gripping it tightly when he finally laid eyes on his wayward son.

"Ah, there you are Dad," Taron said cheekily. The three Winchesters looked at him as if he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. Clearly he felt no qualms about the fact that Reginald looked like he was about to take him apart limb by limb. "What took ya so long?"