A/N: This chapter starts to get into some of the things from my original Evy story, Sensitive Souls are the Strongest, and the Supernatural series. The excerpt from 'twelve years old' is from the episode Shadow, where the boys see John in person for the first time. The one from 'thirteen years old' is from Something Wicked This Way Comes, where Evy is attacked by the Shtriga as well as Asher. The excerpt from 'fourteen years old' is from the end of season three, No Rest for the Wicked, right before Dean goes to hell. And the final section takes place during the four months Dean is in hell.

Eleven Years Old

Sam walked inside the apartment and practically threw his backpack onto the bed. He didn't see or hear Evy or Jess, which was frustrating since the apartment wasn't that big. He'd gotten a voicemail from Jess when he stepped out of class. Evy was sick and Jess had picked her up. Sam finally found Jess when she came quietly out of Evy's room.

"What's going on? Is she okay?"

"Relax. She's fine. She's asleep." Jess said. "Come here."

Jess led a very anxious Sam into the kitchen. "Jess, what's going on?"

"Sam, I'm going to tell you. But you have to promise not to freak out." Jess said.

"Freak out?" Sam asked.

"Yes. You cannot make a big deal about this when Evy wakes up. Okay? Promise me." Jess said. Sam nodded, and she finally told him. "She started her period today."

Evy crawled out of bed and walked into the front room, where Sam and Jess were both sitting on their bed. Sam noticed her first, and wanted to get up and grab her in a hug. But he'd promised Jess he wouldn't make a big deal about it, even though to him it was a very big deal. Evy climbed on the bed with them, in between Sam and Jess. She didn't say anything as she put both arms around Sam's waist. Sam did the same, and for a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

"How you feeling?" Sam asked, when he noticed that she was close to falling asleep again.

"Okay." Evy said.

Sam could hear in her voice how tired she was. "Your stomach still hurt?"

"No." Evy answered.

Sam squeezed her and kissed the top of her head. "I love you."

Evy squeezed him back. "Love you too, Sammy."

Jess smiled and put her book down. "Sam, we talked about everything when we got home. She knows what she needs, what to do when she feels like it's coming, and that she can talk to either one of us if she has some questions."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Well I guess that's that. Who's hungry?"

"Definitely not me." Evy said with a slight groan.

Concerned, Sam started to question her further, only to see Jess shaking her head. It's normal, she mouthed. Water.

"Okay. You don't have to eat any dinner, just drink some water." Sam said. "Let's go, baby girl."

"Not a baby." Evy murmured, and Sam was surprised to see a scowl on Evy's face.

"I guess you're right." Sam said sadly. "Let's go, big girl."

Twelve Years Old

John had a picture in his head of Evy. It was one he carried around with him everywhere he went. He knew it wasn't an accurate picture, and it hadn't been for years, but he held it close to him.

In the picture, Evy was tiny, no taller than two feet, holding tightly to Sam's hand. Her long wavy hair was the mirror image of her long dead mother, and she was always smiling. She would reach up to him, begging him to pick her up.

John missed those days.

But as Dean crossed the room, stopping just short of running to him to embrace him, John saw just how inaccurate-and strikingly accurate-the picture he held in his head was. Evy was definitely holding tight to Sam's hand. She was also looking towards the floor, trying to look in every direction but at her father. As he greeted Dean and hugged Sam, John prepared for the biggest apology he'd ever had to make. It would be the first time John had spoken to Evy face to face since she was nine years old, and it terrified him more than facing any supernatural creature ever could.

"Hi, little one."

"Hi, Daddy." Evy said quietly. She still held Sam's hand tightly, as if staying connected to him was giving her courage. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Evy smiled and grabbed John in a hug, healing, at least for the moment, a little of the bridge between them.

Thirteen Years Old

It was late at night, and Evy was lying in a coma in the children's ward of the local hospital. Sam had called him earlier that night crying, begging him to come down and see Evy. As painful as hearing Evy's voice had been for him the last few years, what Sam had said on the voicemail made him wish he could hear it again.

Dad, it's Sam. Evy needs you. Now more than ever. Dad, please, please come down here. She's in a coma, and she's dying. Our baby's dying, Dad. If you don't come this time, you may not get another chance. We can work out all our other stuff later. Just get here, Dad, please. Don't let her die without her hearing that you love her.

As soon as he'd hung up the phone, John had raced towards the hospital. The vampires he was hunting could wait. Sam was right; their baby was dying and that made everything else fall to the wayside. But the two-and-a-half hour trip made him realize something. He still hadn't found the thing that killed Mary. If he exposed himself to Sam, Dean, and Evy now it could still put them all in danger. So when he arrived at the hospital that night, he'd waited until visiting hours were over, then walked inside.

John was surprised that no one stopped him. Surprised, but grateful. He made it to the children's ward, where he quickly spotted Dean sleeping in a chair beside a bed. John approached the bed slowly, not really wanting to do this. Evy looked like she was sleeping. To anyone looking in, it would have seemed like John was just standing there, staring at Evy. But one thought kept going through his head. All the times he'd been to see Evy in the last three years, he'd had to keep silent to keep her from seeing him. Now, he could reach over and shake her arm, yell at her, scream at her, make as much noise as he wanted, and she still wouldn't hear him. If Sam and Dean don't figure out how to stop this thing, it could really be the last time I see her. He had faith in them, so John just stayed for a few more minutes, watching her sleep. He realized he couldn't stay long or he risked waking up Dean, so John kissed his forefinger and middle finger and pressed it to Evy's forehead.

Please don't go, little one. Daddy loves you so much it hurts. Please come back.

Fighting back tears, John turned to leave the room. As he made the turn into the hallway, he stopped. He felt goosebumps on his arms, and a small breeze that didn't match the hospital's air conditioning system. But what made him stop was the voice. It was faint, almost indecipherable, and John wasn't even completely sure he did hear it. Daddy, come back…John did look back briefly. Everything in him wanted to do just that. But instead, he turned around, went back to his truck, and drove away.

I love you, little one. I know it doesn't feel like it, but I do. Keep fighting, and I'll see you soon.

Fourteen Years Old

Dean was going to die the next day.

In twenty-four hours, he'd be on top of a funeral pyre, spending the rest of eternity in hell. The certainty was like a heavy jacket on top of him. There was nothing he could do anymore to prevent it. He allowed Sam and Bobby and Evy to keep searching for a way to save him, but it was no use.

There was one thing that made Dean stop. Somehow, Evy had fallen asleep at the table. She was surrounded by books, and her head was resting in her arms. For a moment, Dean didn't see the fourteen-year-old warrior that Evy had regretfully turned into. He saw the four-year-old Evy, knocked out after claiming that she wasn't sleepy and she didn't need to take a nap or go to bed. He saw the six-year-old Evy, climbing into his lap to sneak a movie with him when the two of them were supposed to be in bed. He saw the eight-year-old Evy, hugging his waist and thanking him over and over for bringing Sammy home for Christmas.

Feeling a sense of guilt that threatened to choke him, Dean leaned over and kissed Evy's cheek. "I'm sorry, baby girl."

Evy murmured something in her sleep, something that he couldn't quite make out, but which sounded suspiciously like 'not a baby'.

Fifteen Years Old

Bobby watched Evy hang up the phone and wished he could do anything to take away that kicked puppy look on her face. A week earlier, Sam had walked into Bobby's house with a sleepy Evy, put her to bed on his couch, then walked out the door and not come back. Evy put the phone on the table and walked into Bobby's living room, a look of shock on her face which Bobby had only seen before on ghosts that weren't quite accepting of the fact that they were dead yet.

"Baitfish? What's the matter? What did Sam say?"

Evy continued to stare off into the living room, having not heard Bobby's question.

"Baitfish?"

"He left me, Bobby." Evy said, and for a minute, Bobby swore it was a heartbroken five-year-old kid speaking and not the almost grown Winchester daughter in front of him. "He left me."

"Who?"

"Sammy." Evy said. "He said I had to stay with you. That he wasn't coming back."

"Oh." Bobby wished he could say he was completely surprised, but he wasn't. "He's just blowing off steam, Baitfish. He'll be back."

Evy nodded, acknowledging Bobby's answer, but it was clear she didn't believe it. Bobby waited on her to cry or to come over to him for a hug, as she had done countless times when she was younger. Bobby felt his own heart crack a little when she didn't.

"I'm going to bed."

Bobby's own heart cracked a little as he watched her walk up the steps, helpless to help her heal, wishing for the days when a hug and kiss from uncle Bobby could fix a broken heart the way it had fixed skinned knees and fevers and bad dreams before.