Merry Christmas Eve, SPN Family! I hope you're having a lovely whatever-you-celebrate season! This was a special request from a lovely reader, Pie and the Winchesters. I hope you enjoy it and it's what you wanted. Thank you for the lovely inspiration, and remember you're not alone, ever :)

Special thanks to Jenmm31 for patience, guidance, and general kick-assery. Go check out her fabulous stories! Go do it, now. Did you see them? Did you see how awesome they are? (in Dean's voice) Yeah. You're welcome.

Seasons Greetings to you, my Family. Thank you for being there.

A/N- in this story, Natalie is 15. Please see profile page for disclaimers.

Natalie was closer to pulling a move that she had only seen in movies than she'd ever been before. The fifteen-year-old leaned forward and gripped the edge of her desk to keep herself from sweeping her books, papers, and homework- everything- off it and into a heap on the floor. She resisted, but barely. The only thing keeping her from it was the very clear and present fact that she'd probably get the crap kicked out of her for pulling something like that when she was supposed to be doing her homework.

She hesitated to look at the clock again. The last time she did that, she had been convinced that at least three hours had passed, when in reality it had only been about twenty minutes. UGH this was torture. She held off as long as she could, but then she looked at the clock again, hopefully. Only ten minutes this time. Way to pour salt in the wound, she thought angrily to herself.

She rubbed her eyes in vain, trying to physically force her pupils to focus. She had been staring at her algebra for so long, all the stupid numbers and symbols and crap were swirling together. And that made her think of the Enochian runes she had recently been translating. They were SO much more fun than this nonsense. Who even needed algebra anyways? But no, Sam had put his big fat foot down, telling Dean that she couldn't be spending all her time on lore and hunting things. Never mind the fact that she'd be using lore every day when she became a full time hunter. Forget that it was something that could keep her from being killed by the monsters they hunted on a daily basis. No, no, algebra was SURE to be an integral part of her life.

She had pointed this out to both of them. It hadn't gone well for her.

Sam launched into a lecture about the importance of a good, well rounded, formal education, and Dean had followed it up with a lecture about respecting her elders but especially her uncle and himself. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes at the both of them, because God only knows what hell that would have rained down on her. She bit her tongue, literally, while they both scolded and yelled, choosing to replay the irony of it all in her head. Dean normally didn't give a shit about her "formal" schooling as long as she kept up with the lore, but because she had dared to say something to Sam about it, well THAT was the breaking point. And the fact that Sam hadn't been able to come up with a single instance that he had ever used algebra in real life hadn't even fazed him. He chose to conveniently skip that fact and continue harping on the fact that apparently, she needed it in order to keep breathing.

She knew she had to finish this stupid math; otherwise she was never going to escape this prison that her bedroom seemed to be turning into. She looked at the cold, unyielding, beige-and-grey cinder block wall that the entire bunker seemed to be made out of. For a terrifying second, the walls actually seemed to be closing in, getting closer and suffocating her. She was trapped with no way out save a couple stupid algebra problems. Her eyes wide, she shook her head violently. There. That seemed to settle the walls back into place.

Natalie leaned back in her chair with a loud groan, hoping that either one of them would hear it and feel guilty. She listened carefully. She heard nothing. Rolling her eyes and groaning abnormally loud this time, she snatched her book from the desktop and started pacing around the room. Maybe that would get her blood flowing enough to come back from this death-by-homework bullshit. Just as she rounded the first corner of the room, she heard loud footsteps outside her door.

"Natalie, cut the drama and finish your homework. Now," came her uncle's voice, loud and clear through the door. Completely silently, she turned and stuck her tongue out at the door, making an exaggerated face to go with it. Even though it did nothing to reinforce her alleged maturity, it certainly made her feel better for a hot second. She listened to his heavy footfalls get quieter as he walked away. Sure. He could wander around the bunker, yelling at people to do stuff and walk away whistling Dixie. Life was so unfair.

"Alright, Winchester, enough of this," she growled at herself, over her own pity party. "Just finish the damn thing already." She deliberately stomped back to her desk, slammed her book down, and threw herself into the chair. She wasn't giving herself permission to get back up until the freaking assignment was done. She stared at the formula. In theory, it made sense. She KNEW where everything was supposed to go, but….overall, she just couldn't seem to reconcile it. Taking a brave stab at it and following what she was pretty sure was the proper formula, she plowed through the last two problems. Then she got to the final one.

The reason Sam was being such a hard-ass about this particular assignment was that she had been attempting to do it all week. This was her third pass at it. According to Sam, she wasn't applying herself. Well, she didn't feel like applying herself for something that was a complete and total waste of time, but that was beside the point. She had blown through it the first time, getting most of the answers wrong. Normally, that would have really upset her, but not with this crap. Algebra was clearly the work of a sadistic demon determined to make human teenagers as miserable as possible. This allegation had gone over about as well as pointing out that algebra was useless. Sam made her redo the entire thing, and then redo it AGAIN when she got 6 out of the 20 problems wrong on her second pass. That was just cruel. But she wasn't allowed to say anything about that, according to her father, so here she sat, staring down the very last problem. The number swirled in her brain as she prepared to duel with it. It was almost like she could hear a whistle from a spaghetti western in the background.

*SPN SPN SPN*

Ten agonizing minutes later, Natalie came flying into the library of the bunker. She still wasn't entirely used to the layout of this place, and was thrilled with the fact that she'd finally found the stupid room that Sam liked best. Indeed, he was sitting up, ramrod straight at one of the tables, a giant, dusty tome open in front of him. That made her pause for a moment, then feel a bit guilty. She knew that Sam was only sitting that straight because he was agitated, and he was agitated because of her. Dammit.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to push down the anger and resentment she felt at having to redo the assignment three times. She quietly made her way over to him, holding out the completed papers that showed all her work. Only Sam's eyes flicked up to her face; the rest of him stayed frozen as a statue. He slowly inhaled through his nose and took the papers out of her hand, making her feel even guiltier at his obvious attempt to keep his cool with her. No matter how pissed she was at him, she still felt like shit when he was pissed at her. He put the work on top of his book and began grading it. She stood there, her hands clasped behind her back, both out of agitation and frustration herself, feeling more and more like a jerk by the second.

After a couple silent and tense minutes, Sam looked up. Natalie quickly examined his face and felt a tiny rush of horror when his expression didn't change. Did she screw it up again?! If she had to redo it a fourth time she was gonna lose it. But much to her immense relief, Sam's face relaxed into a small smile. "Much better," he said quietly. His smile widened when he saw the overwhelming relief on her face. "Do you see what happens when you apply yourself, Bug?" he asked.

Although in reality it was a simple question, her teenage insides suddenly boiled. She'd just slogged through twenty algebra problems after getting lectured by both him and her father, been trapped in her room for the last two hours trying to make sense of this shit, and all he could do was give her a old adage that implied she was still a child who had to be taught to try her hardest? Swallowing down the mixed feelings of rage and extreme guilt, Natalie forced her lips to smile.

"Yes, sir," she said. Apparently, it came out more forced and sarcastic than intended, because Sam gave her a bitch face for the ages. She let out a small sigh. She knew what was coming next, as if she'd already read the book. Which she had. Many times.

"Natalie, you know that this stuff is important, even if you don't like it," Sam said, not realizing how patronizing he was sounding. "I know that all you think you need to know is how to hunt."

"That's not all I think-"

"Don't interrupt me when I'm talking, young lady. But what you don't realize is that this is going to come up a lot more often than you think," Sam scolded loudly as he stood up and faced her. Natalie clasped her hands tighter behind her, sending up a silent prayer that Sam wouldn't get any louder and attract the attention of Dean, otherwise she'd be in for ANOTHER lecture. Because Sam definitely wasn't done.

"Do you realize that algebra gets used in every day calculations, like groceries, filling up your gas tank, even the distance you'll need to outrun something that's chasing you?" he persisted. Natalie, with a massive effort, bit back the retort that someone had clearly consulted Google about applicable uses of algebra since their last 'discussion'. She gritted her teeth and waited while Sam kept berating her. "Algebra is important, and you need to know what you're doing, not just blow through it because you don't like it."

Sam was really on a roll this time, she thought to herself. She stared down at her shoes, resisting the urge to kick the ground like she used to when she was little and in trouble. "This applies to so many areas of life, including hunting." Despite her intentions to remain stoic during the lecture, she couldn't help it- her eyes flicked up of their own accord upon hearing the word 'hunting'. Dammit. "I use algebra in spells all the time, and sometimes don't even realize it. Even this," Sam said, his long fingertips resting on the page of the open book he had been looking at. "This book is all about opening portals into another dimension."

"Is that even possible?" Natalie asked suddenly, her eyes wide with wonder. She'd never heard of that in all of her fifteen years.

"Yes, it's possible, according to this," Sam said, his eyebrows hitting his hairline as he drove his point home. "But we're going to need to do some calculations in order to figure out where we'd go and how to get back, and THAT'S where algebra comes in."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Natalie said in a rush, eager to get the bad feelings behind her, and discuss this new development. "I know that this is important stuff. I'll pay more attention."

Sam wasn't satisfied. "What if you somehow got stuck somewhere else? In another plane of existence?" he pressed, taking a step towards her. "Natalie, you know that crazy shit happens all the time to us. This isn't out of the realm of possibility. What if you couldn't get back, or couldn't get us back, all because you refused to take this stuff seriously?"

Well that was a low blow- but effective, nonetheless. Natalie suddenly squirmed with humiliation. He had a point. He had been right. Which just made her feel even more like shit. "Bug," he said, his tone gentle this time. That made her stomach turn. When Sam went to the 'nice' voice after yelling at her, he was about to deliver the sucker punch and they both knew it. "I don't want anything to happen to you, okay? I already freak out that you're so involved in hunting. If you got hurt or lost on a hunt and I hadn't given you the skills you needed to make your way back home to safety, how do you think I'd feel?"

As if she couldn't feel any worse already.

*SPN SPN SPN*

After she had apologized several times to her uncle, they hugged and made up. But Natalie still felt enough like crap to be restless. She wanted to shoot something. She made her way back to the bedroom, getting lost twice in the process. Gritting her teeth and refusing to acknowledge the small bubble of emotion inside her about the bunker, she finally managed to snatch her pearl handled .45 and her phone from her dresser, then made her way outside. She had to go through the garage in order to get there. She eyed the silver motorcycle, just itching to get on it and try it. But Dean would tear her a new one, and she was still smarting from Sam's recent 'tearing'. So not worth it right now.

She finally made her way into the small stretch of woods surrounding the bunker. She tried to take a deep breath, to let the guilt and bad feelings go, but it was like her lungs just wouldn't expand. And she knew why. They had just discovered the bunker not too long ago. And it was cool, there was no denying that. It was wild that they had a place all their own. But she couldn't help but feel a bit guilty, because it wasn't HOME. Home was in Sioux Falls, with her Pops. She hated the fact that he was all alone, even though she secretly suspected that he enjoyed it at times. She couldn't reconcile the stone and metal bunker with the warm feelings of the only other home she'd ever really known.

Finally, cursing under her breath and shoving the disturbing feelings aside, she brought her gun in front of her, teacup-and-saucer style, and took aim at a tree about twenty feet away. The woods gave a satisfying echo of the blast of her favorite gun, and she managed to lodge a bullet right into the center of the trunk. Sighing in pleasure, she aimed again. And her gun jammed.

"Son of a BITCH!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, mostly because no one was out there to hear her. "Come on, you fucker," she muttered in a rage, trying to dislodge the clip. Nothing doing. She roared in frustration. Great. Now she had to go BACK into the bunker and work on cleaning her gun. The cleaning supplies were… that's right, in the armory down the hall to the left- and she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to have 100 salt rounds done by tomorrow. SHIT.

As much as she really didn't want to, she turned and bolted back for the garage. Not even the silver motorcycle could tempt her in her fear of Dean finding out she had barely begun on her assigned rounds. How had she lost track of them? It was that stupid algebra, she thought crankily to herself. It had distracted her from her salt rounds since both Sam and Dean had been harping on her about it. And they'd been harping on her because she hadn't taken it seriously and she brought this on herself and without realizing it she was right back in the black hole she had been trying to get out of just a few minutes ago. Dammit.

She skidded to a stop once she got into the actual bunker. The damn place echoed like nobody's business, and unless you were really careful about your tread, you could hear anyone coming a mile away. Just another thing she wasn't entirely sold on with this place. She carefully crept down the hallway towards the armory- at least she thought this was the hallway, when suddenly Dean appeared, popping out of a door and right in front of her. Both of them gave simultaneous gasps of shock upon seeing the other one.

"Geez," he said, jumping back. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her just as much as she hadn't been expecting him. "You scared the crap outta me, kid."

"Sorry," she gasped back, trying to regulate her heartbeat. He chuckled, seeing she was just as taken aback as he was.

"That'll wake you up in the morning," he joked. She let out a whoosh of agreement, set her jaw and gave a small headshake. Dean eyed her response curiously.

"You okay?" he asked. Not realizing that her gestures had been so forthright, she shrugged dismissively.

"Just thinking about the irony of this place," she answered. "Like I was literally just thinking that you couldn't sneak around anywhere here since everything echoes everywhere, and then we scare the shit outta each other because we didn't hear each other coming." She gave an over-hearty laugh, trying to disguise the bubble of emotion again.

Dean just nodded slowly and chuckled back, then bobbed his eyebrows once and got back down to business. "You finish off those salt rounds yet?"

Of COURSE that was going to be the first thing he asked. Natalie's insides twisted again. She felt herself deflate as she stared at the floor. "No, sir," she mumbled.

"No?" Dean asked, more surprised than pissed. She made herself look him in the eye, even though the last thing she needed right now was to see disappointment on his face.

"No, sir. I'm sorry. I just…" she trailed off. After a moment of awkward silence, Dean prompted her again.

"You-"

"I…I got caught up in that stu- in my algebra," she finished quickly, knowing that Dean would be less than pleased if she started slamming her homework assignments then. She looked nervously into his face, expecting to see a rebuke. There was no way he hadn't caught that near-slip. But he was just looking at her quizzically. "I'm really sorry, Dad," she said, feeling her voice start to quiver. Oh hell no. She wasn't crying over something this dumb. What the fuck was she even feeling tears for anyways?

She steeled her vocal chords, straightened her back, and took a soldier's stance- something that Dean didn't miss either. "I'll get going on them right away. I'll finish them tonight." She kept her sigh to herself. She had about twenty of them done, and doing the other eighty meant that she was in for a good couple hours at least, when all she really wanted to do was eat some junk food and go to bed.

She expected another reading of the Riot Act, but Dean was still just staring at her, looking as if he was trying to figure something out. Right as it was about to get super awkward, he shook his head. "Alright, kid," he said carefully, watching her face. "Hop to it." He looked at her again, wondering at her frozen form, then stepped around her, heading down the hallway behind her.

Once his steps had stopped echoing, she finally let herself relax. Why she had stood in the hallway as if she was in front of a drill sergeant all this time was beyond her, but she hadn't been able to move. What was that look about? Was he pitying her? Did he think she wasn't capable of handling something stupid like salt rounds, which she'd always loved doing? Was he doubting her ability to be a part of Team Free Will? The black hole in her chest expanded. And she felt like giving up.

Natalie made her way slowly into the armory, withdrawing her jammed .45 from her waistband as she went. At least she hadn't had to own up about not cleaning her gun again. That would have majorly sucked. She dropped heavily into a chair at the table where she had left the empty shells and salt bags a couple days ago. It felt like she had lead beams for limbs instead of arms and legs. All she could do was stare at the gear on the table. With great effort, she slowly put her gun on the tabletop as well, adding it to the pile of things she had screwed up this week.

What was going on? What was up with these wild mood swings? She had been so angry, so ticked off at the world in general just a few hours ago, and now something like…depression… maybe… was slugging its way through her blood. Was this what depression felt like? She was having trouble breathing, as it felt like all of her body was being crushed under the weight of a lead elephant. All that kept replaying in her mind was screwing up her homework, forgetting her salt rounds, and jamming her gun. She felt stupid and worthless. She knew in her heart of hearts that Sam hadn't meant for her to feel like this when he had been talking about her schoolwork. It was only her own stubbornness and pig-headed side that made Sam harp on her the way he did. Maybe he saw something in her that she didn't- maybe he saw her failure. Maybe he was right.

Tears threatened to course down her cheeks, but she stubbornly refused to let them escape. She had always hated the feeling of tears on her cheeks, though she never really knew where that feeling had come from. It was like there was a sense of loss, of needing something that wasn't there, every time she felt dampness on her face. Like a sense memory or something. And she felt, right now, like she was needing something that wasn't there. No sense in adding to that already too-large black hole.

Maybe if she started on these salt rounds, she could feel better. Feel like she was accomplishing something. But…she just couldn't. She stared at them as if expecting them to assemble themselves. She was getting more and more frustrated with herself by the second. She had taken out werewolves, vampires, a shape shifter, a tulpa, and more freaking monsters than she could remember, but for some reason, she couldn't pick up a damn shell and put salt in it? Literally forcing her hands to move, she picked up an empty shell. Robotically, she began the arduous process of filling it to the brim, crimping the tops and setting it in the too-small pile of finished shells. She forced herself to keep going. After about ten minutes, it became routine- a simple matter of completing one small project after another. There was a slight peace in that.

However, far before she was done, she heard the armory door open up behind her. Her eyes flickered to the pile. It was definitely fuller than before, but nowhere near a hundred. Her insides turned to ice again, hoping against hope that it wasn't Dean. She couldn't take his disappointment in her right now; not when she was so disappointed in herself.

But of course, it was Dean, because fuck her life. She leaned forward as he came into view, willing her face to adapt a look of pure concentration to try to avoid his wrath. He just stopped in her periphery. Convinced that he was checking on her to make sure she was taking this seriously too, she kept plowing on.

But he didn't move. He kept standing right there. Finally, Natalie looked up, unable to take not knowing what he was thinking a second longer. To her immense surprise, he had a smile on his face and two bowls in his hands.

Seeing as how he finally had her attention, Dean leaned forward and put one bowl down in front of her. It was a bowl of hot Spaghetti O's with Parmesan cheese on top. Her eyes widened in surprise, and flicked up to her father's face, questioning.

Seeing her expression, Dean grinned and pulled a chair around to sit next to her on her side of the table. "When you were little," he said as he sat down, putting his own bowl down in front of himself. "We'd been driving too long, or you refused to sleep even though you were exhausted, or had your diapers in a bunch for who knows why- basically, anytime you were being a cranky butt, this is what I'd make you." He gestured to the steaming bowl, the delicious smells curling under Natalie's nose. "Spaghetti O's with parmesan cheese on top. Your uncle thought it was disgusting, but you absolutely loved it," he said, stirring his own bowl. "It'd snap you right out of whatever was bothering you." He leaned back, eying her casually. "Thought it might still work."

That simple gesture, so easy and yet so meaningful, suddenly made the black hole not as poignant and sharp as it had been a moment ago. It didn't erase it- it just made it easier to take. Natalie felt herself smiling of her own accord. Suddenly realizing that she was hungry- she was actually really hungry- she dug in. As the sauce and cheese combo hit her mouth, she was flooded with another sense- of comfort. She DID love this combination. She couldn't believe that Dean remembered it; she thought she'd been the only one to know this magical flavor. Of course it had been her dad that came up with it in the first place.

As she continued to plow through her bowl, Dean couldn't keep the grin off his face. He knew something was bothering her. It wasn't like her to forget salt rounds- one of her favorite things to do in the world. Something was really upsetting her if she had forgotten, and that look on her face when he had asked about them earlier told him that she wasn't lying about forgetting. He wasn't good about emotions or touchy feely crap- so he brought was he knew best. Food. And a simple question.

"You wanna talk about what's bothering you?" he asked, spooning Spaghetti O's into his own mouth.

Natalie's smile widened. That was the great thing about her dad. Even though she knew that emotions scared the crap out of him, he was always going to reach out to her, even if it was in the only weird way he could handle. She twisted the smile off to the side and shrugged. It was almost a Pavlovian response of a Winchester to intense emotions.

"Just a….bad day. Y'know," she said, her eyes shifting back to her bowl. She scooped up more Spaghetti O's and shoveled them in. She leaned back in her chair, a happy sigh escaping from her lips. After she swallowed, she looked over at Dean. "You really got the cheese-to-Spaghetti O ratio down pat," she complimented.

Dean smiled that smug smile of his. "That's because your old man is a freakin' genius," he said oh-so-humbly. "So. You having a bad day because you think I'm gonna rip you a new one for not getting these rounds done?" he asked blatantly. The happy feeling that had started to grow in her dissipated as quickly as cotton candy in the rain. She focused all her attention on the remaining food in her bowl and steeled herself for the lecture she was sure was coming.

Instead, Dean put his own bowl down on the table and leaned towards her. "Kid, you seem to be constantly laboring under the delusion that you're not human." Natalie's eyes darted to him in surprise, not sure where he was taking this line or even where it was coming from. Once Dean saw that he had her full attention again, he continued.

"You put these high expectations on yourself and then get so pissed when you don't reach that bar immediately." Instead of acknowledging the support, Natalie looked away again. She didn't think that actually learning how to do her assignments or make a few salt rounds was 'too high expectations'. Dean just rolled his eyes, knowing what was going on in her head.

"See?" he said, pointing to her. "Even now. You're beating yourself up internally, aren't you?"

"Since when did you become a mind reader?" Natalie said, a slight smirk pulling the corner of her lips up. Dean grinned to see it.

"Like I said earlier," he said, pointing to himself this time. "I'm your old man. I know everything." That made her chuckle. "Squirt, just because you occasionally- and I mean occasionally- have trouble with homework, or get so freakin' frustrated with everything that you forget to do salt rounds, that don't make you worthless. And don't try to give me that crap that 'you're not thinking that'," Dean said in a mocking voice. "Because I know you. That's exactly what you're thinking. Look. You've always been top at everything you've ever tried to do. You're so damn smart, that what you've forgotten about computers is more than I'll ever know- hell, probably even more than Sam will ever know. You've been studying lore since you could read- at the age of FOUR. You go so far above and beyond just what you're supposed to that it's become the norm in your mind. And you don't let yourself have 'bad days' then where you just can't quite rise to these insane limits you've set." Dean leaned in, right in her face, making sure that she was making legitimate eye contact and paying attention. "You. Are. Human. You are allowed to have bad days. You're allowed to screw up." He leaned back, eyeing her carefully. "Part of that is my fault, y'know."

"How do you figure that?" Natalie blurted out without meaning to, overcome by the internal tidal wave of emotion that she was feeling at Dean's proclamation.

Dean shrugged. "I got it from MY old man," he explained. "He was always pushing us to be the best, be better than the best. He would tear me and your uncle apart for the slightest thing." Dean ran his thumb along his lower lip, remembering. After a moment, he cleared his throat and looked down in his lap. "I'm…um…I'm sorry, uh, okay? I'm sorry if I ever did that…uh, if I ever made you feel….like you were worthless because you weren't the best."

Natalie's jaw dropped. She was so silent that Dean's eyes actually darted back to her face, trying to figure out what she was thinking. She wasn't sure herself in that moment. Was that what was going on? Her gut instincts were saying no….but…what was it then? Without meaning to, her lips began forming words. "No, Dad. You've never made me feel like that," she said, still searching around in her feelings while her brain and lips apparently took over. "I just never wanted to disappoint you. That's why I always want to be the best, so you'll THINK that I am." Ah. There it was.

Dean just stared at her. He finally reached one hand up and cupped her cheek, looking right into her green eyes- HIS green eyes in her beautiful face. "Then quit trying so hard. Quit putting all this pressure on yourself. Because Kid- I already KNOW you're the best." He watched as his daughter's eyes glowed with hope and relief. Before he knew it, she threw herself into his arms, burying her head in his chest and rubbing her cheek on his flannel shirt absentmindedly.

Dean wrapped his arms around her, taking in this moment of feeling like his daughter's hero. One of the few feelings he actually loved.