Hey Hey Hey Beautiful! Yup, talking to you. How's your day going?

Surprise! Another chapter! Hee hee. This one is pretty special to me. It was inspired by a question from the wonderful delacre (who, by the way, is a phenomenal writer herself), about the moment where Dean decided to let Natalie hunt. It was such an intense question for me that I begged for longer than usual to come up with the answer, and I selfishly took that time. So thank you, delacre, for making me look this in the face and finding an even deeper understanding of Dean and Natalie's relationship than I had before. I am in your debt.

Truth be told, I'm in debt to all of you for your likes, reviews, follows- everything. Love you all so much. Love and thanks to Jenmm31, who keeps pushing me to be better and better. Have a wonderful weekend, you wonderful people!

A/N- in this story, Natalie is 14. Please see profile page for disclaimer.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean pressed, looking deep into his daughter's eyes. The eyes that were the bright emerald green of his own. The eyes that he knew he couldn't live without. The eyes that were currently rolling at him.

"Yes, Dad, for the millionth time, I'm fine," Natalie said, the irritation plain in her voice. Dean sat back as she adjusted herself on the pillows. He pursed his lips together. He wasn't particularly happy with her answer, but he knew that if he asked her again, she'd probably punch him in the arm, and he didn't want her exerting herself.

The three of them had been on a hunt, tracking down a shape shifter who had developed a nasty habit of luring young women to their deaths by pretending to be a rich executive just looking for love at a bar. Dean hadn't wanted to take his fourteen year old daughter on the mission specifically because of this, but between her determination and Sam's quiet guidance, he had begrudgingly relented- mostly because he didn't want to deal with a furious Natalie.

When they finally cornered the shape shifter in the bowels of the sewer underneath the bar it frequented, it was hopelessly outnumbered. But it went down swinging. Sam had bruised ribs and a sprained ankle, Dean had dislocated a shoulder, and Natalie had gotten a deep cut on the right side of her thigh. They had finally taken the monster down and headed back to the motel around 1 a.m. Natalie had never gotten such a deep cut before, so Dean wanted to do them himself to help keep her from panicking. He knew his kid- she was putting up the tough guy front, but she hated needles. Didn't matter what they were for- she flat out hated them. The more stitches she had to have, the more anxiety ridden she was going to be. And this one was going to be a doozy.

Dean made her lay down on his bed the moment they got back to the run-down motel. Sam quickly popped Dean's shoulder back into place, and after he was done cursing someone's mother, he threaded the needle to take care of his daughter. He had made her talk to him while he worked, trying to keep her focused on her words and thoughts instead of the fact that he was sewing her leg back together. He started quizzing her on lore, on her favorite movies, anything to keep her distracted. He had gotten about three quarters of the way through, when she suddenly slumped back on the bed, completely unconscious. Both Dean and Sam panicked for a moment until they realized that she had just passed out from the anxiety rather than blood loss or something else. Sam had sponged her forehead with a wet towel, while Dean took advantage of her loss of consciousness and quickly finished the job. The second he had clipped the string of the stitch, he reached up and gently started patting her cheek to bring her back around.

The fluttering of her eyelids caused him to sigh in relief as she groggily came to. They both helped her to sit up against the headboard. Sam insisted on making her sip water while he checked her pupils and her pulse. After about two solid minutes of them fussing over her, she finally pushed them both away, irritated with her personal space being so invaded.

"Geez, if I wanted someone to be this awkwardly close to me, I'da called Cass," she grumbled. Sam just snickered, taking the now empty cup from her hands. If she could be that sarcastic, she was definitely feeling better. Dean, however, continued to hover, checking her bandage unnecessarily, trying to look into her eyes to see for himself if she had a concussion or not. Natalie turned her head to the side, embarrassed by the scrutiny.

"Dad, c'mon man," she muttered.

"Kiddo, you just passed out. I know it was just because you're scared of needles…"

"I am NOT scared of them."

"So you wanna tell me why you just pulled a film noir worthy fainting act then?"

She rewarded him with a typical teenaged scoff and eye roll. He then had to hold in a chuckle while she struggled to come up with a witty retort. After a few moments of stammering, she finally spoke with a clear pout in her voice. "Shut up."

"Great comeback, kiddo. We'll put that one up on the refrigerator." Before she could get all worked up over his teasing, though, he patted her good leg and stood up, gathering the med kit. "Alright. Now you're staying down for the rest of the night."

"I'm fi-"

"And before you even finish that sentence, I'm not takin' no for an answer. What's the rule on the field?"

"The Commanding Officer is God," she said grumpily. He nodded once.

"Damn straight. So follow your commanding officer and stay down."

"Yes, sir," she said, the fight going out of her. It wasn't that she was wanting to fight against Dean per se- she was just embarrassed about fainting, so she was trying to put up her tough exterior. It actually felt nice to just relax after such a grueling fight. She kicked her shoes off the edge of the bed. "Can I at least move over to my bed?" she asked.

Dean shook his head. "You stay there tonight. I'll sleep on the couch." He watched as the argument against that crossed her face, but then she thought better of it. Wise choice, kiddo, he thought, turning back towards the gear to toss the med kit inside. He washed his hands at the sink, removing all traces of grime and gore from them. However, something clicked this time- something that had never clicked before. From stitching her up, Natalie's blood was mixed in with all the dirt and muck on his hands. Natalie's blood. His baby's blood was literally on his hands.

When he looked down and realized that he was washing his daughter's blood off, mixed in with the suds that were going down the drain, he froze. The faucet continued to run, clearing away all traces of anything, but he continued to stare at the swirling water as if his life depended on it.

"Hey, Dean. You okay?" Sam said suddenly. That snapped Dean back to life. He shook his head once, trying to rip his gaze away from the sink.

"Y-yeah. Yeah. I'm fine," he stammered out. He shook himself and snatched a hand towel off the bar next to the sink, forcing himself to turn away under the pretense of drying his hands. "How are the ribs?" he asked his brother in his gruff tone, eager to fill his mind with anything but the image currently running amok in his head.

Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "Hurts like hell, but they'll be better come morning. You want something for that shoulder?"

"Wouldn't mind some liquid libation, but I'm pretty sure we're dry right now and I'm not leaving her to go restock," Dean said stubbornly, jutting his chin in the direction of his kid. Sam smiled gently.

"Dean," he said. Dean met his gaze, then Sam tilted his head back towards Dean's bed. Dean looked over. Natalie was fast asleep, sprawled out on top of the bed, just like she used to do when she was a little kid. Dean's mouth dropped open in shock as Sam chuckled.

"Looks like the piss and vinegar ran out," he commented with a grin.

Dean shook his head- a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "That kid. She grinds until she's sharp as a sword, but then it takes its toll once the adrenaline wears out." He turned a joking smile to Sam. "Should've taken her on hunts much earlier. We wouldn't have had to endure all the bedtime tantrums as a baby."

Sam snorted a laugh before speaking again. "Look, man. Why don't you go out and grab a cold one? I'll keep an eye on her."

Dean rolled his shoulders back on reflex, before remembering his injury and hissing in pain. Once the wave of agony passed, he turned his face to Sam. "What makes you think I'm that I'm that desperate for a drink?"

Sam smirked. He didn't think that Dean would appreciate being called a borderline alcoholic, so he used different phrasing. "Dude- I know you. I know that look. Just run out, blow off some steam, toss a couple back, and get whatever it is off your mind." Before Dean could even inhale to say it, Sam interrupted. "I'll keep an eye on her. She'll be fine. She's not getting up anytime soon." Dean knew that was the truth. Once Natalie was actually in dreamland, she didn't wake up for nothing until her body woke her up. He wondered if he was really that transparent, or if Sam just knew him even better than Dean gave him credit for.

Reaching up to rub his aching shoulder joint, Dean hemmed and hawed, but finally relented. "Okay, fine. But if she gets up at all, and I mean for anything, you call me. Got it?"

"Got it."

"I mean if she sneezes in her sleep, I wanna know about it, you hear me?"

"Dean. Just go."

*SPN SPN SPN*

Twenty minutes later, Dean was sitting at the end of a bar that had seen better days. The varnish was worn out, leaving more raw wood than shiny from years of people slamming beer bottles and glasses down on it. It had been scratched quite a few times, both on accident and on purpose. Dean ran his finger absentmindedly along the initials GG carved on top. He supposed he should wonder who GG was, or had been, but he didn't really feel like devoting his brainpower to that at the moment. The grimy mirror behind the bar reflected the rest of the dismal atmosphere. It was a place trying hard to be cool and relevant, but it was just kind of sad. Even the neon glow of the Michelob sign had faded to a tired red. From his vantage point at the end of the bar facing the door, Dean observed everyone in the mirror that bordered the backwall behind the bar. The typical table of younger guys, trying to get drunk to forget they were out alone on a Friday night, the grizzled older guys playing pool on a worn out table, the much-too-old-to-be-wearing-that-outfit chick with the cigarette dangling from her lips watching them play pool- classic. But Dean wasn't here to people watch. He needed to think.

As if the atmosphere itself knew that Dean was here to puzzle through what was bothering him and was bound and determined to prevent that from happening, a young buxom blonde sauntered her way over towards him, perching herself on a barstool two down from him. She rested her elbow on the bar and arched her back, not even trying to pretend to be coy. "Hey sweet cheeks," she purred in Dean's direction.

Normally, that would have made Dean's downstairs brain sit up and beg- literally. But he had more pressing things on his mind tonight- he didn't want to be distracted by anything or anyone. He didn't want to be outright rude, however. "Hi," he commented back dryly, turning his attention back to his whiskey.

Apparently, she didn't get the message. "So what's a tall drink of water like you doing out alone on a night like tonight?" she drawled, trying unsuccessfully to drunkenly wink at him.

Trying to keep away from lines like that, Dean thought. But once again, miraculously, his brain to mouth filter was actually working. "Just drinking. Got a lot on my mind tonight," he commented without any real inflection, hoping that she would take the hint.

She didn't. "Thinking is for people who don't know how to have a good time." She eyed him up and down. "I bet YOU know how to have a good time."

Dean smiled into his tumbler as he took another slug and looked down. Why didn't this ever happen to him when he WANTED it to? "Not tonight, I don't," he said, catching the barkeep's attention and pointing to his empty glass.

"Come on, sweetheart. You only live once."

Pausing for a moment to reflect on the irony of that statement, Dean chuckled low. "Guess I'll have to take my chances then. Have a good evening." The blonde huffed away without so much as a second glance. He didn't even want to watch her walk away. He just wanted to think.

As the barman was refilling Dean's rocks glass, he glanced over his shoulder at the retreating floozy. "She giving you problems, man?"

"Naw, she didn't mean any harm. Probably would've taken her up on her offer any other night, but not tonight."

"Fair enough," said the barman, walking back towards the register to put another round on Dean's tab. Dean rolled the glass back and forth in his hands for a moment before drinking. He hadn't been lying- he had a lot on his mind. And he wanted- finally- to deal with it.

The image of Natalie's blood going down the drain with the dirty water and the soap burst back into the forefront of his mind. Instead of pushing it away, he made himself remember it. He took a slow sip of his whiskey as he made himself really think about that image.

This is it. This is what you're in for. This is what's going to happen if you let her become a Hunter.

Since the moment she had understood what hunting was, Natalie's fondest dream and deepest desire had been to join the hunting world- to join the family business. She knew what angels were before she could properly talk. A freaking angel had been her favorite babysitter, for crap's sake. She had done an exorcism at the age of eight, after accidentally summoning the demon in the first place. She made her first kill at 12. She had been on countless salt and burns. She had helped them get rid of the Loa spirit when they were in New Orleans. She had cracked the case of the Bell of Osiris that had nearly gotten them all killed. She was invaluable to the team- just as much a part of Team Free Will as any of them. So what was different now?

She got hurt. That's what's different.

Ever since 7:47 am on April 24th, 2010, Dean's life revolved around one fact- don't let Natalie get hurt. Don't let bad things happen to her. Save her. Protect her. Whatever it took, he was going to do it. He had always known in the back of his mind that if she was going to become a hunter, she would get hurt. He had been able to keep it pushed into the deepest recesses of his mind, only dealing with it in small doses, and only when absolutely necessary. But seeing his daughter's blood on his own hands blew that dark box of deep and painful thoughts wide open and shoved its contents in his face.

She'd been through pain before. She'd gotten thrown against a wall in a shock wave, been tortured at the hands of the goddess Hera and her pathetic henchman, been chased by a werewolf, she'd been locked in a panic room. She'd been through the wringer before. She'd even had stitches. But not from hunting.

Dean took another swallow of whiskey. It burned its way down his throat, helping to calm his frazzled nerves. He hated thinking about stuff like this. But it had to be done. All part of being a father.

Well, no. No it's not. Most fathers don't have to figure out if they're going to let their daughters put themselves in positions that could kill them on a daily basis. Wonder if Dr. Phil wrote a book about that.

Tracing his finger around the rim of the glass, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He had been adamant that Natalie should be with him at all times since the moment she'd been born. He had always insisted that he would have never brought a child knowingly into this life, but the second the ramifications of NOT keeping her with him hit home, he was unwavering in his conviction to keep her at his side. Keeping her at his side meant keeping her safe, in his mind. Educating her about what really went bump in the night. God knows there were enough "bumps" that were gunning for Winchester blood- and the poor kid was full of it. If something ever happened to him- like it had to his father, his mother, Jo, Ellen, Ash, countless friends- he didn't want her unable to defend herself. He needed to know that she knew how to fight back- to keep herself alive. Because he couldn't live without her. And with that fact staring him in the face, a truth came to the forefront of his mind. A truth that he had never thought of before.

That's why Dad did what he did. It was to keep us safe. It started out as revenge, and it stayed revenge. But- instead of dumping us at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's forever, he kept us close. Well- sort of.

The undeniable fact that John Winchester had been somewhat of a neglectful father washed over Dean in an irrefutable way. Yes, he had taught both Sam and Dean everything he could about hunting, and taught them how to keep going in his absence. But he had left them alone for long periods of time, too. Poor Sam had been left for considerable lengths of time, completely alone. Dean had sworn to himself that he would never do that to his daughter.

But neither could he take her on every hunt- especially when she was younger. They had been careful to leave her with good babysitters- except for that one time. Dean still kicked himself over missing the signs that had been there, but now wasn't the time to deal with that. He HAD left her alone. But not like John had done to them. Dean came home every night. She had been close enough that he saw her every day.

The year that they spent apart while she tried public school had been devastating to them both. He had no idea how she made it through that year at the age of 6, when he, having been 38 at the time, had barely been able to function. She was such a part of him, his own mini-me, his own minion, literally the flesh of his flesh, that he had felt sawed in half for the entire year. He had had nightmares about what was happening to her; about monsters and creatures coming to get her that he was powerless to stop. He was distracted- nearly getting himself killed on a hunt one time while he was fuming about the fact that he hadn't been the one to teach her to tie her shoes. He felt empty- like someone had taken his essence.

But nothing had happened. She had been fine- until Crowley came to call. That bastard had waltzed in to Bobby's house, expecting to reap her soul. But she had one upped him, planting her Weeboks in his gonads. Dean grinned, remembering that sweet moment, before the memory turned sour. Crowley wouldn't have come for her if they hadn't been there with her at that moment.

Or would he have? Would Crowley still have attacked, knowing that Dean had been right there? Of course he would. He did.

Dean knew nothing was beneath the King of Hell. That weasel had every ace up his sleeve anyone could possibly imagine. Whether or not the boys had been there, Crowley would have come for her. It wasn't necessarily a happy thought, but one that let Dean release a bit of the guilt he was feeling. Natalie had handled Crowley like a boss. For being all of six at the time, she held herself better than most full grown hunters Dean knew. She had stayed calm, remembering her training, and not falling apart until it was all over- in true Winchester style. She was a born hunter.

But that also meant she was going to get hurt. This wound that she had received tonight was going to be the first of many, many stitches and contusions and breaks that she would have to endure if she stayed on this path. Having to really realize that and come to terms with it made Dean immediately throw the rest of his drink down his throat. He waved to the bartender for another.

Okay. So she was going to get hurt. All part of the job. She was going to have to endure needles again. He knew that she was playing tough- that she fainted because she hated needles, no matter how much she lied about it. But he also knew that if he were to bring that fact up to her- that tonight was going to be the first of many homemade stitches- she'd wave him off, determined that nothing was going to keep her from hunting.

She was stubborn. So stubborn, in fact, that she routinely surprised him with her antics. She was bound and determined to be the best hunter in the world, often outstripping him and Sam when it came to research. How she could make that computer sit up and beg for her, he didn't know. She was a walking encyclopedia of lore. She and Sam would wax poetic for hours about the origins of this particular species of monsters, but when he would break in with his gruff "Just tell me how you kill it", she always had the answer. She was smart. He didn't know where she got that from either. It was clear that she was the happiest when she was helping them with a hunt, whether that was research, or digging, or starting a fire- a particular favorite of hers- or whatever. She was in her element.

He loved watching her eyes light up at each new bit of information she gleaned from all her research. He watched as she suffered right alongside their victims, her empathy stretching far beyond the limits of his and sometimes even Sam's. He watched her calculate and think far beyond her years. He watched her become a strong, independent woman. And that was what he wanted. Right? Wasn't that what all fathers were supposed to want for their daughters; for them to become strong, independent women?

If she does this, she can handle it. I know she can. She's the best damn thing in this world.

So can I let her go? Can I let her go to do this?

Ah. The question he had struggled with for years. When she was younger, he had been terrified that she was going to reject hunting and beg to live a normal life- away from him. When he saw that she wanted to embrace it, he became terrified that she was going to change her mind, want to track down her mother and go live her with. When Natalie dismissed that idea without a second thought, the only thing he had left to be terrified of was losing her to the lifestyle.

It would be years before she would leave him as an adult- well, four years anyway. And that was assuming that she'd want to leave. Dean had wrongly convinced himself that she was going to leave him the moment she could when she was younger, and, as he had just remembered, he had been wrong then. Maybe he was wrong about this now. Maybe she'd stay with him. But what if she didn't want to? Was he strong enough to let her go? He sat, staring into the honey colored liquid, watching the light refract through the crystal of the glass, as he struggled with the question. Finally the answer came forth.

Yes. Yes, if the day came where she wanted to leave, I could let her. I'm strong enough to do that. Because SHE makes me strong. If it makes her happy, that's all the strength I'll need.

The moment he accepted that, he felt as if his insides turned to jelly. The idea of living without her broke him. But if it was what she wanted, he was going to do that. He swore to her that he was going to be her hero. Sometimes heroes had to give up the thing that made them the most happy. That's what was required of heroes sometimes.

You know that won't happen.

Dean sat bolt upright. He had been having a conversation with his conscious all night. But that last statement was new. He had never thought that before. He had never given up the terror before- never consciously decided to let her do what made her happy, even if it meant breaking his own heart. Finally making that conscious choice had cracked the shell of something inside. A truth that he had never let himself believe.

She needs you. Just as much as you need her. Yes, she can do it all on her own. Yes, she's strong and independent. So are you. You could've hunted for your dad all on your own. But you didn't want to. You pulled Sam up from the bench- because you needed him. And do you really not remember just how alike you and your daughter are?

Dean sat, stunned by his own thoughts. He hadn't considered that. Getting Sam from Stanford seemed like a lifetime ago. Telling him that dad was on a hunting trip and hadn't been home in a couple days- it was like trying to remember a rerun. But it was true. Sam had even called him out on it, saying that Dean didn't need him, and he'd been honest that even though he could have, he just didn't want to do it alone.

Natalie was like him in so many ways. It was like they had copied his soul and dropped it into a five foot one girl- with an extra dose of sass and stubbornness, just to keep him on his toes. Now that he was being honest with himself, he realized that he always knew that she was never going to leave him. Because she didn't want to.

That realization made Dean's heart soar. He wasn't letting her go- he was letting her choose. He was just lucky that she would make the choice that wouldn't break him.

Abandoning the almost full third glass, he tossed some money down on the bar and practically vaulted off the barstool. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see her and his little brother. He wanted to really appreciate the family he had while he was in the midst of this newfound revelation.

He was barely buzzed, so he only felt a little guilty slipping behind Baby's wheel. His tolerance level was so high, he probably could have pounded that third one and been fine. But having a kid made you think of things like this. Not for the first time in the last fourteen years did Dean shake his head, chuckling that he was having these thoughts.

But it felt different this time. Something was at peace within him. Something that had never been at peace in fourteen years. And he was happy about it.

Upon getting back to the motel, he quietly opened the door. Sammy was fast asleep, an ice pack melting on his shirt where he'd been holding it against his bruised ribs. He must have fallen asleep before he could have discarded it. Natalie was still out cold in the exact same sprawled out position as before.

A wave of affection washed over Dean- so powerful, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He walked over and removed the melting pack from his baby brother's side, and gently smoothed the hair of his baby girl.

"Rest up, Team Free Will. Tomorrow, we've got some family business to take care of."