1988 - Lawrence, Kansas
"Hi, I'm Gracie." The little girl smiled, holding out a handful of crayons. She swung her legs as she talked, not able to reach the ground in her chair. She and the boy next to her were in the back of the class, randomly landing them together on his first day of kindergarten. She'd been the last one in the row, at least until he showed up.
The boy was quiet, dressed in hand-me-down clothes that fit as well as they could have been expected to. He started school a week late, back from a trip with his dad and his brother. He didn't know anyone in the class, but this girl seemed nice enough. "Do you want to color?" she asked, patiently holding out some of her crayons. "We're doing alphabet animals, letter F. You can use pink for your flamingo." she stumbled over the last word, the boy finally accepting the crayons she was offering. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Sammy," he answered quietly. "Thanks."
1999 - Lawrence, Kansas
The Winchesters had been out of town for five, nearly six years. Grace understood. People's parents got new jobs sometimes, and they moved away. But Sammy had just left one day, disappearing without a trace. Their teacher had told them that his dad had been transferred in the Marines, before she went on to talk about the military. Grace hadn't paid attention, staring out the window instead. His dad wasn't a Marine. Not any more.
She'd grown up, gone to middle school, and was halfway through her sophomore year of high school when everything changed again. There was a tiny diner in town, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place, that she and her friend Heather got jobs at as soon as they were old enough to work. It was something to do, and in Lawrence, Kansas, that was hard to come by, especially if you weren't working at the local bowling alley or the scrap yard outside town.
Most Friday and Saturday nights the place was busy, but today it was raining, so with an hour until closing time, the girls were glad to see the bright headlights of a beat-up truck pull into the parking lot, followed by the lower lights of a, "Chevy Impala. Haven't seen one of the '67s in years," the cook commented. He was Heather's uncle and the diner's owner. "That's a mighty pretty one, too."
Heather was busy pouring coffee for their only other customer when the man walked in. "Well you certainly grew up," he smiled, Grace stopping in the middle of setting up a booth for them. "If I didn't remember that hair, I'd have said you were a whole different person."
"Mr. Winchester, I… it's good to see you again."
A tall, lanky boy followed him in, wiping off his shoes as he came out of the rain. "Hey, dad, we -"
"Hi, Sam," Grace smiled, coming over to hug him, ignoring the fact that he was drenched. "Long time, no see, huh? You got taller."
"Gracie?" came a voice from the door. "No way..."
"It's Grace. I'm not ten years old anymore," she answered, turning to see that the awkward fourteen-year old who had left town with his brother had changed completely. "Uh, hi, Dean."
The four of them sat around talking while Heather saw the other customer out and helped her uncle with prep work for the morning. "What brought you back?" Grace asked, lowering her voice. "I know what you do. I know what you've been doing."
"You still a crack shot, young lady?" John Winchester had been the one to teach her to shoot, back when he was teaching Sam. Sure, they'd been eight years old, but that was pretty standard fare for rural Kansas.
"Of course," she smiled, glancing next to her. "I'm probably not as good as the boys anymore, but still pretty darn good."
"You know what a wendigo is?" John finished the last of his coffee, telling her not to bother getting another.
Grace nodded. "I've been reading up while you were gone. Where is it?"
"Near an old farmhouse outside of town," Dean answered through bites of his food. "Want to come with? You're off in what, half an hour?"
"Dean, let the poor girl alone. I'm sure she's got other things to worry about." He turned back to Grace, adding, "We're back because of the wendigo, but we're also back so Sam can finish his last few years of school in one place. This boy's been to more schools than he's had birthdays by now."
"You're staying?"
"Mostly. Dean and I'll be in and out of town, but for the next two years, we'll have a place here."
Grace ended up closing as the Winchesters set out for the night. She followed behind them, intent on locking the front door of the diner as soon as they were outside. Sam and his dad clambered into the old truck, but Dean stopped at the door. "That's a sweet car," Grace commented, nodding towards the Impala.
"Thanks," Dean smiled. "Hey, are you coming hunting with us?"
"If you give me ten minutes to get the register counted and let me take this stupid apron off, I'm there."
2001 - Lawrence, Kansas
The car pulling into the driveway was more impressive than Mr. and Mrs. Bishop had thought. It shined new, but that was impossible. The '67 had been out of production for decades. Mrs. Bishop crossed her arms, watching from the front window as the man behind the wheel got out, dusting off his suit and straightening his tie in the reflection of the car window. "Well, at least that cleans up nicely."
"Kim, I know that tone. She's eighteen. Let her make her own choices." Her husband came to join her at the window, watching as the man outside fished a bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat of the car. "I remember when I was that young. I was that nervous coming to see you too. And your mother didn't like me at first either. I think she told me my teeth made me look like a squirrel."
"He's twenty-two, Roger. And she's… not a child anymore, but still."
"They've known each other since they were kids. At least don't let her see you frowning about him tonight. Here we go."
The knock on the door was swift, Mrs. Bishop whipping it open seconds later. "Good to see you again, Dean," she smiled flatly.
"Good evening, ma'am."
"Grace, he's here," she called into the house, allowing Dean to step inside. As the two of them exchanged pleasantries, Grace dashed downstairs, hoping to avoid an argument about Dean right before prom.
Dean was beaming, handing her flowers over as he took in her dress. "Here I was, thinking Princess Grace died in the 80's," he finally said, moving to give her a hug. "You look absolutely fantastic."
"Now you know the rules, Mr. Winchester," her father warned as he took out a camera.
"Yes, sir. Photos first, drive safe, and get the princess home by midnight," Dean smiled, putting his arm around Grace and smiling for the camera. "Of course."
Less than two weeks later, Grace would find him packing his things into the Impala. Prom and graduation had flown by, and Sam was off to school while Dean and his dad were off to hunt a new monster in North Carolina. Grace drove over, intent on seeing them all one last time. Sam was already on a bus for California, having had a huge argument with his dad after their graduation ceremony and deciding it was time to go. "You're leaving already?"
"Hey, I've been meaning to give this to you, but you, uh, left an earring in my car." Dean handed it over, Grace tucking the diamond into her pocket. He paused, reaching out for her hand. "Look, we both knew it was only a matter of time."
She sighed, fully aware of what his family business meant. It had been something that nagged at her every day for months now. They would all be leaving after graduation, but it hadn't seemed real at first. It hadn't seemed real the first time they'd broached the topic of being anything other than friends, sitting in the Impala one stormy night when Dean was meant to be driving her home from studying with Sam. It hadn't seemed real when they'd both snuck out to sit on the hood of the Impala to watch fireworks on New Year's Eve. It hadn't seemed real when they spent her spring break hunting a demon in Topeka. It hadn't seemed real at graduation, when Grace looked out in the audience to see Dean smiling while his father sulked over his series of heated arguments with Sam. It finally hit when Dean took them both out for dinner the day before and dropped Sam off at the bus station afterwards. Things were changing, and neither of them liked it.
"It… this has been wonderful, and I'm sorry I've got to leave."
"I know. This job, it's a lot. This is what it means to be a hunter." She squeezed his hand, thinking about all of the other hunters they'd met on the road, on the weekend trips John would let her tag along for. None of them were too tied down. Sure, their uncle Bobby had an auto salvage place, and there were a few others here and there, but most hunters never stayed in the same place for too long.
Dean looked down, refusing to meet her eye as he blurted out, "I love you."
"What?"
John's voice carried over to them as he threw the last of his things into the back of his truck. "Dean, are you ready? We should've been on the road fifteen minutes ago!"
"Grace, I love you."
"I love you too."
"Dean!" The truck's engine turned over, John starting to back out of the driveway.
Dean leaned down to kiss her, apologizing one last time before ducking into the Impala and following his father out. Grace watched them drive away until she couldn't make out the cars anymore. Unsure of what to do with herself, she did what she always did when things were too strange or chaotic. She went up the steps of the little old house, took the spare key from underneath a flower pot, and let herself inside.
The furniture was all still there, but nothing personal was left. All of the photos, all of John's books, everything had been packed into the truck or the Impala and hauled off. She moved towards the back of the house, opening the last bedroom door in the hall. The sheets and pillows were still on the bed, everything made up according to Marine regulations. The closet doors were open, though, everything packed away. The walls had been stripped of all of Dean's posters, all of the photos they'd taken together gone along with him.
She laid down on the bed, slowly coming to grips with the fact that that had been "goodbye". There was something tucked under the pillow. Grace pulled out a photo, smiling at the memory. She had her arms wrapped around Dean, the two of them sitting on top of the Impala and posing for a photo by a lake. They'd been on a weekend hunting trip at the time. Flipping the photo over, she realized the scrawling message on the back was for her.
Gracie - I figured you'd be snooping around after we left. I promise I'll find a way to see you again. In the meantime, stay safe and remember that there are monsters out there. I love you. - Dean
Halloween, 2013 - Stull, KS
Grace sat at her desk, casually glancing at the old photograph she kept balanced next to her computer. The images had faded with time, but the smiles were still bright as ever, Dean beaming as he draped his arms over her and Sam, pulling them close for one last picture before they had to hit the road again. She sighed, going back to her writing. Three hundred footnotes in and she was still lost in the details of shtriga lore. No way this was going to be published anytime soon. She'd have to call the journal in the morning and ask for an extension on her deadline.
The doorbell rang for the fiftieth time that night. It was perfectly clear out - great conditions for hunting down the best cache of candy in town. Throwing her witch hat back on, Grace grabbed a bowl of candy from beside the door. "Happy Hallo-"
Her voice caught in her throat as she took in the two men standing before her. They'd gotten older, but they hadn't changed much since the last time they left. Her best friend still towered over his brother, still had the same friendly grin he'd flashed her the first day of kindergarten. And his brother, the piercing green eyes that never left the back of her mind, there was no way she would have forgotten them.
They were both covered in dirt and smelled like gasoline. Sure enough, she could spot the outline of the Impala in her driveway behind them. Before she could say another word, Dean smiled, asking, "Hey, Gracie. It's been a while. Mind if we come in?"