A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, Happy Life Day- to anything y'all celebrate, I hope you have a fantastic time and a great end of your year! There's not much I can do for you good people, but what I can do is gift you the first chapter of this story, so I hope y'all enjoy.

This will be my last post of the year. I hope y'all will allow me the time to get the next couple chapters ready so I can begin a regular updating schedule. It will most likely be a new chapter every two weeks. I will update y'all in the next chapter.

Happy New Year guys. Thanks so much for making 2021 special for me! Let's hope we can survive the next one.


"Frankie! Frankie get up!"

She groaned, squeezing her shut eyes tighter against the early morning exhaustion.

"Frankie." Hands shook her shoulder, rocking her like a crib.

"Five more minutes, Cas…," she grumbled into her pillow. She rolled towards the wall, welcoming the dark corner propped against the bed.

Her world moved fast, and before she was lucid enough to know that it was happening, her face met the floor with a thud. Her cheek immediately drummed up a new throb. She sucked in a deep, shrill breath, an unwelcomed wake-up call.

There was laughter above her. Unfamiliar. Young.

With red flags hoisted in her head, Frankie pushed herself up to face the stranger. Standing before her was a young boy, a preteen. She would place him around eleven or twelve. He had messy brown hair and hazel eyes. He was thin, and he wore a Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back t-shirt, prominently displaying Boba Fett.

What the hell was this kid doing in her room? Was he an angel? Or… a demon?

"Who are-"

"Come on! It's time to get up! You know, presents? Christmas?"

Frankie flicked her eyes between the boy's. There was something familiar about him.

"If you don't get down there before they get back, Dean's gonna hide your presents, and I'm not gonna help you track 'em down this time."

"Dean…?" Frankie whispered. Her mind worked slowly, still caught on the clutches of sleep. She looked the boy up and down while repeating his words carefully in her head. Her brows furrowed, eyes narrowing. "… Sam?"

The boy shook his head and arched a brow. "What?"

Frankie's mouth suspended, agape with shock. She couldn't unsee it. His eyes, they way his mouth quirked, the inflection in his voice… this was her brother. A much younger version of her brother, but still her brother.

"W-What happened to you?"

"Kids!" another voice called, this one distant. Both hers and the boy's head turned to the open door across from the bed. "Come downstairs and help me!"

The boy turned to Frankie, a new light in his eyes. "Race ya!" And then he was off, sprinting out of the room and down a flight of stairs – hardwood by the sound of it.

Frankie was left sitting on the floor, her back to the bed, her mind whirling. "What the hell is going on…," she whispered under her breath.

She looked around the room. It wasn't hers at all. She was sitting in some little kid's room. It didn't look to be the boy's; it was too girly. It had white walls with yellow accents spread throughout. Yellow curtains and yellow bedsheets. Whoever owned this room was certainly fond of the color.

Frankie rubbed her cheek as she looked around the room. It was completely alien. Nothing looked familiar. Not a good thing to wake up to.

Frankie froze. Her breath caught in her throat. No… it wasn't possible…

She peeled back the hand rubbing her cheek. Her eyes slowly shifted to the palm, bulging at the sight. It was her right hand. She flexed the fingers, her breath returning in a quick pace as she did so.

Frankie jumped to her feet. A bad feeling rushed through her body. Things were definitely not right. She twisted around, mindlessly darting her glare around the bedroom. Her eyes landed on a floor length mirror. She clenched her jaw and slowly approached it.

The closer she stepped to the mirror, the less familiar the image reflected appeared. Both hands were there alright. Also a second earlobe, no burns on her neck, and a set of Beauty and the Beast pajamas fit for an eight-year-old. With a hard swallow, Frankie realized that the entire body reflected in the mirror was fit for an eight-year-old.

"What…," she gasped, reaching for the glass. Her fingers – all ten of them – stroked the mirror, cementing the fact that it was truly there.

"Frankie!"

A chill shocked her spine into straightening. Her shoulders drew up with horror. That voice was from no stranger.

She creeped out of the room. The rest of the house didn't look any more familiar than the bedroom. She carefully tiptoed down the stairs into a modestly sized living room. It was beautifully decorated for the holidays. There was a large Christmas tree, its top nearly scratching the ceiling, adorned with an ornament on each branch. Tinsel and garland accented the mantle of a fireplace, five stockings hanging on the edge. There was a small fire lit in the hearth, warming the room. The smell of bacon and syrup heightened the cozy atmosphere of the house.

"Step on in here, hon, and help me set the table."

A lump swelled in Frankie's throat. Her eyes watered before she even turned her head.

She stood in the kitchen with her back to Frankie, her arm stirring a whisk in a bowl. There was an apron tied around her. Her free hand tucked her hair behind her ear.

Frankie thickly swallowed. "Mom?"

Sierra looked over her shoulder. Her cheeks were plump and smeared with flour. She smiled, her eyes squinting against the swell in her cheeks. "Still half-asleep, huh?" She gestured her head towards a table in the kitchen. "A little work will rouse you. C'mon. Sam, grab a broom and help me sweep."

"Yes, ma'am," the boy answered from deeper in the adjacent room.

Frankie couldn't move. This was a dream. A vivid ass dream. One she wasn't particularly on board with.

"Francine Elaine," Sierra scolded with a fist on her hip. She widened her pointed eyes at the girl. Frankie silently gasped and obeyed. Even in dream-form, it was habitual to abide by her mother's tone.

She placed the plates and silverware neatly on the table, but her eyes were glued to the woman cooking across the room. This dream was unique in that her brain conjured up a version of her mother that she had never seen before, but always wanted to. She was chunkier than she had ever seen the woman. Sierra had always been sickly and thin, gaunt cheeks and flat muscles. But the woman before her looked as healthy as one could be. There was color to her face, and she carried herself comfortably, like she was happy in her body.

The sight brought Frankie as much joy as it did pain. Healthy or not, this was still her mother, a person that neglected her for years while knowing that she only had a limited number left. A person… that she had still missed.

Frankie's ear finally picked up on something familiar. Her heart leapt at the unmistakable sound of the Impala pulling up to the house.

"Dean!" she gasped. She dropped the plate in her hands – gaining a scold from her mother – and rushed to the living room just as the front door opened.

Her hopeful smile flatlined as a teenager in a leather jacket strutted into the house, carrying a grocery bag. As he sauntered closer, Frankie's eyes narrowed on his face. There was no mistaking who the owner of those green eyes was.

"Greetings, squirt," the teen remarked as he passed Frankie and headed towards the kitchen.

Frankie turned as he walked by. "Dean?"

The teenager stopped. He pivoted on one leg, leading with his shoulder, just like her brother had done so many times before. "Frankie." He turned back in the same manner only quicker and sharper before walking the rest of the way into the kitchen. He placed the bag on the counter in front of Sierra. The woman cooed words of thanks and leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. Dean, remarkably, didn't appear to be grossed out, and instead half-smiled tenderly at her.

Okay, this was too weird. How could her mind think up such vivid images of a twelve-year-old Sam, a sixteen-year-old Dean, and a healthy Sierra? She must have used expired coco mix in her hot chocolate.

"Hey there, princess!"

Frankie rotated towards the newest voice. It took only one look, one brief glimpse, of his face to send her into shock. Her eyes widened and watered, her chest tightening like a snake's belly, her heart racing.

It was John. John fucking Winchester in the flesh. That was his dark hair, his stubble peppered along his jaw. That was his smile that was so much like her own. The man – her father – who she had only ever seen in a grainy photograph stood before her, grinning down at her and drawing close.

She tensed when he clasped a hand on her shoulder, bent forward, and placed a kiss on her head. She gawked into his hazel eyes and saw nothing but affection. What he saw in her eyes was fear, but he never acknowledged it. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. He turned the both of them towards the tree.

"Did you see what Santa brought ya?" Frankie was speechless as he spoke, her eyes never leaving his face. "Which one are you gonna open first? Me, I'd set my sights to the big one in the back."

"The presents will just have to wait." John turned with Frankie towards Sierra. The woman stepped up to John and tucked into his other side. She craned her neck and he met her halfway into a tender kiss. Frankie restrained the intense urge to curse in disbelief. "Breakfast first. C'mon you two."

"Uhp. We've been busted. Let's go, kiddo," John tutted, patting her shoulder. He led her into the kitchen where young Sam and Dean sat ready to eat.

The table was crowded. The center was filled with plates of waffles, bacon, sausage, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and grits. The four in front of her dug right in, but Frankie sat frozen in her seat, her fork poking into a sausage.

She couldn't take her eyes off the people in front of her. Her mother was a painful sight, John was a sure surprise, and Sam and Dean… well, Sam and Dean! As children! She swore she would never see the day.

'Okay,' she sighed in her head. 'What do we got? I have no idea where I am, mom's alive, John's alive, and my brothers are in grade school. Oh yeah, and I'm fucking eight!'

"Frankie, hon, are you not hungry?" Sierra asked, concern as much in her voice as it was on her face. She was always a straightforward person – when she wasn't keeping secrets like her sold soul and her best friend, the witch, of course. Despite the lingering bitterness, until Frankie learned what situation she was in, she had to play along.

"Sorry, I'm still tired." God, her voice. How had she not noticed that it got so squeaky? She speared the sausage with her fork and brought it to her mouth.

She could have swooned when the savory, spiced pork touched her tongue. Warm and juicy, bursting with flavor. Just like her mom made on Christmas morning.

'Well, that officially marks 'dream' off the list. No way I can accurately taste while I sleep.' Frankie shoveled food into her mouth as she scrutinized the faces around the table. 'Alright, options, options. What's the last thing I remember… uh, Cas. Yeah, Christmas Eve with Cas. We watched the Grinch, went to sleep… then…'

That was it. Nothing happened after she lay her head on the pillow, at least that she could recall. The signs pointed to a dream, but her lucidness crossed out that idea.

'So, if I'm not dreaming, something had to have happened to me. I don't see or sense any immediate danger, so I don't think the demons are behind this. Not even Gamigin teased with pleasures before sweeping the rug from under me. So, if not a dream and if not demons… that points to angels. Maybe Jehoel is behind this.'

Frankie took a deep breath. She would need help to figure out what she got dropped into. She bowed her head and shut her eyes discretely.

'Come in, Cas. You, uh… you're not gunna believe this one, but I'm with my family. As in, my dead mother and John. Yeah, John Winchester. Sam and Dean are here, too, but they're… well, they're children, Cas. And I am, too. Something turned me into an eight-year-old. I'm kinda freaking out a bit here. I could use some reassurance, so could you start dropping some ideas of what this could be?'

Forks clinked against plates. Mild chatter bounced between the table's occupants. Cas never prayed back.

Frankie's eyes opened in a concerned gaze. Cas always got back to her, whether in person or a brief message in her head. But her head was silent.

'Cas. Cas, can you hear me? Cas!'

"Y'all done?"

Frankie flinched her head towards Sierra. She stood and was taking up everyone's plates. The others were bare and practically licked clean. In her mulling, time seemed to pass without any mind to her. She pushed her half full plate away from her.

"Present time?" Sam asked, eyes bright and hopeful. A corner of Frankie's mouth twitched up. It was odd to see that much happiness in those eyes, but it was welcomed.

"Sam," John muttered in a low voice. There was a stern bite in his voice, and his pointed eyes solidified his warning.

Sam sat straighter in his chair, taming the unbridled joy in his face. "May we open our presents now, Mom?" John didn't smile or nod in confirmation, but his lack of acknowledgment seemed to be the ideal response for Sam.

"Of course, dear," the woman warmly answered. In an instant, Sam's excitement returned, and he hopped out of his seat. He hurried into the living room.

Dean helped Sierra take things off the table as John stood and headed into the living room, too. Now sitting alone at a stranger of a dining table, Frankie decided to help clear things off the table as well.

Everyone found a place in the living room to sit around the tree. Sam had the duty of passing out the gifts to their owners. Once the tree was bare of presents, the room delved into a cacophony of wrapping paper and excited mutterings.

Dean unwrapped a box, and he cocked his head with a manic grin. His chuckle was a familiar sound, even if it was squeakier than usual, and it brought a smile to Frankie's cheeks. He unveiled a Led Zeppelin tee, which he slid on over his gray undershirt.

Sam just finished making a mountain of wrapping paper when Frankie turned her head. He excitedly shouted at the two boxes in his hands. There was a Darth Vader action figure and a red lightsaber from the Star Wars films. Frankie shook her head. He really was a nerd.

John sat in a recliner with his gift in his lap. He opened it, chuckled heartily, and lifted a new leather jacket out of the box. He leaned over the arm of his chair as Sierra did the same on the couch, catching his lips in a smooch.

This was surreal. Frankie flicked her eyes over each face, and every time she did there was more joy in them than the last. Everyone was so happy… and that made her happy.

She never had this. Yes, she had Christmases before, and yes, she enjoyed many of them, but this was so much more than Christmas. This was family. A true nuclear family. A white picket fence life. This was something she always craved, but never had. Whoever sent her here had a sick sense of humor. Maybe it was Gamigin.

"Go on and open your gifts, princess," John urged. Frankie flinched back into her persona and smiled sheepishly at the man.

She looked over her hoard. She had her own pile. She usually only had four or five gifts max. It was all her mother could afford. But she had her own hill of presents here. She decided to open the biggest one at John's suggestion.

She ripped the glittery paper in long streams until the face of the box was revealed. Frankie's jaw dropped. 'No way…' She could hardly believe that she was looking at a box for a motorized miniature go kart. She always wanted one of these! And this one was hardly an unfamiliar sight. It was the very kart from a shopping catalogue way back in 1995. She had drooled over its sleek blue design for months. After the disappointments of the following Christmases, she never thought she'd see one with her own eyes.

"Santa did pretty good this year, huh?" John boasted from the recliner. Sierra gave him a playful scowl and patted his arm with the back of her hand. Frankie could sense some kind of underground competition between the two.

Frankie looked between them, then at Sam and Dean as they marveled at their gifts, then at her kart. Her cheeks burned as she toothily grinned. She puffed out sparse chuckles to herself.

This was a dream come true. A blatant dream come true. She knew that this must have been caused by some bad force – maybe a Djinn – but until she figured it out, she decided to enjoy it while she had it.


John parallel parked the Impala on the side of the street. The family spilled out onto the sidewalk and gathered together. Sierra leaned down to Frankie and adjusted her coat and knitted cap. If this was reality, she would have shoved the woman's hands away and adjusted them herself, but in this alternate world, she couldn't bring herself to. Even as she looked into the woman's round face and felt nothing but pain, she wouldn't deny herself the touch of her mother, something she would never feel again.

Sierra smiled and pressed a kiss to Frankie's forehead. The quick gesture shocked the girl, and her mother moved away as she stood gawking ahead. Sierra took John's hand in her own and started walking down the street.

Dean stepped in front of Frankie and squatted on his haunches. He leaned forward and angled his arms out. Frankie tilted her head at his odd position. It reminded her of the day they practiced hunting in Bobby's scrapyard. She snorted at the memory.

"C'mon, don't leave the meter running," he groaned. He turned his head to her, his brow impatiently arched.

Frankie's head drew back at the realization that he expected to give her a piggyback ride. She had half a mind to laugh right in his face. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. He reached out and snatched her hands. Frankie barely had time to pull back before he yanked her arms over his shoulders.

"Hey!" she yelped as he stood. She dangled over his back, her feet hanging off the ground. She sucked in a startled gasp as she tightened her arms around his neck and hiked her legs up. He instinctively clutched her legs and bounced her body to adjust his grip. Frankie could only huff confusedly at the situation she found herself in and hold onto her brother tighter.

As Dean paraded her down the sidewalk, Frankie looked around the bustling street. There was snow sprinkled over the sidewalk and perched on the awnings of stores. The large windows of businesses were adorned with lights, trees, and plush characters of holiday favorites, each more decorated than the last. Bystanders decked in their Christmas best strolled arm in arm with warm grins on their faces. Frankie smiled back.

The sidewalks on both sides of the street got congested. There were chairs set up behind ropes, their owners bundled cozily under blankets. Frankie realized that they were waiting for a parade. Excitement spiked in her. She never got to see one in person. Only the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade on the TV.

"Okay," John said as he slowed to gather with the group. "I'm gonna scout ahead, find a good spot. Wait for me here." He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Dean squatted and let Frankie dismount. She hurried off him, but she couldn't deny that it was kinda fun to be carried around. She'd never say that out loud, of course.

Sierra turned to the children. "There's a coffee shop just ahead. Anyone want hot chocolate?"

"Ooh me!" Frankie and Sam shouted in unison. Frankie whipped her head over to him, but he hadn't reacted, like he was used to it. She supposed she should be, too, at this point.

Sierra disappeared down the street. Frankie shoved her hands into her pockets, blowing out a shivering breath. She had some time to think about her predicament. This world wasn't contained to just the house, so she wasn't hallucinating in a cage or prison. Everything so far had been positive, so it was a strong possibility that this was a Djinn's doing, but even then, Cas would still be able to hear her. At least she thought so. She never had a run-in with one to test any theories.

A dense blow to her cheek knocked the air from her lungs, more in surprise than pain. By the frigidness of her skin and the dripping ice from her chin, she gathered that she had been pegged by a snowball. She turned her head towards the chortling. Dean held his hand over his stomach, guffawing at her.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," she grunted through a quickly growing smile.

"Whatcha gonna do about it, squirt?" he taunted. Oh, he should not have said that.

With a manic grin, she bent down and scooped up a snowball. Dean hurried to the snow, too, and worked a ball in his hands. Frankie smoothed the ball with her gloves, and she leaned to the side as Dean's snowball soared passed her. She threw hers with all her might, but the force shifted her feet on the icy concrete. She slipped forward, landing hard on her stomach. This time, the breath got knocked out from pain.

Dean's laughter echoed throughout the street, over the idle sounds of the crowd. Frankie dropped her forehead on the ground in defeat.

"Frankie!" Sam yipped as he ran up to her. He crouched next to her and turned her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Frankie glared ahead at Dean as he propped himself against a building to keep from falling from laughter. "I'm gunna get 'im."

Sierra reappeared with hot chocolate for her, Frankie, and Sam and coffee for John and Dean. Frankie sipped the scalding beverage with a content smile. She looked over to Sam. He wore a dark chocolate mustache on his lip, a tiny marshmallow sliding to his chin. Frankie giggled. He shot her a playful scowl.

"You're one to laugh."

Frankie narrowed her brows and licked her upper lip. She blushed and wiped her mouth with her sleeve as Sam chuckled.

John slid through the crowd and called the family over. He led them a good distance down the street to a semi-crowded spot. They were towards the back, but still had a good view. At least those that weren't four feet tall did.

The sun was beginning to set when the music broke through the bustling crowd. Through the crooks of arms, Frankie could see approaching lights. Just as she saw the first glimpses of a float, a pair of hands slithered under her armpits. She noisily gasped as she was lifted into the air. She nearly started kicking the air before she was set down on a pair of shoulders.

She stared at John's dark brown tuft of hair. His hands rested on her ankles, keeping her safely propped on his shoulders.

Frankie's chest twisted so tight that she felt like something may snap. Her eyes welled with tears. It was such a simple gesture. Dozens of fathers held their children on their shoulders on this street alone, but this wasn't just a father holding his daughter.

This was John Winchester. A man she never met. A man she had come to gather was not the best father. A man she had heard wasn't even that good of a person. And yet she found herself in this bewildering circumstance where she could finally see him, talk to him, touch him, and instead of him adhering to reality, he was perching her on his shoulder so that she could watch the parade.

Well… reality be damned. She wouldn't get another chance like this – a chance to have a father.

She slid her hands under John's chin and rested her head on top of his, watching as the bright parade floats strolled by. John gave her a loving pat on her leg.

When the parade ended, the crowds of pedestrians all moved together to their cars. When the crowd thinned a bit, Dean whistled at Frankie and squatted again, inviting her for a piggyback ride. The girl smirked.

Frankie scooped up a handful of snow. She wrapped her free arm around Dean's neck and hiked up her legs. He clutched her legs and stood to adjust her position. Quickly, Frankie pulled the back of Dean's collar and shoved the handful of snow down his shirt.

The teen arched his back with a yowl. He tried bucking her off, but she held on tight, pressing against his back to hold the snow in place.

"Not cool!"

Frankie wanted to make some kind of jab on how snow was very cool, but she couldn't speak passed her own guffawing fit.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

Frankie peered over his shoulder as he picked up a sprint. She hugged his neck as she fervently bobbed on his back. She realized too late what he was running towards. She tried to hop off, but he was already twisting around and falling back onto a big pile of snow.

Frankie's squeal trilled into laughter as she was submerged in freshly shoveled snow. The weight of Dean's body lifted from her, and his hand caught onto hers as she lay back laughing. He pulled her from the snow, a chuckle on his own lips.

"Okay," Frankie giggled. "Okay, I yield."

"Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal," Dean teased as he pulled her into a noogie.


The family sat around the living room, eyes set to the TV as Home Alone played. The fireplace bore a dying fire, breathing the last waves of heat. Their bellies were full of a glorious Christmas dinner, courtesy of Sierra. Thank goodness that this version of her mother was a good cook.

Frankie couldn't recall any point in her life that she had ever been so content. Her heart was as full as her stomach. She gazed around the room. Her family was basked in the glow of the TV and the lights from the tree. Sam sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television, a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. Dean sat in the recliner, his legs crossed over each other and his hands linked over his stomach. His eyes were closed, and his head drooped to his shoulder, a smile ghosting over his lips. Sierra cuddled up to John on the couch.

Frankie sat in John's lap, leaning back on his chest. She lifted her eyes, peering up at her father. He noticed her looking and lowered his head to catch her gaze. He smiled, small but filled with love. He pressed his lips to her forehead. Frankie's eyes closed, and her heart lurched. The moment he pulled back, Frankie tucked her head under his chin, resting close to his heart.

Her mind tutted her, reminding her that none of this was real, but her heart spoke louder than her thoughts. It was near to bursting. She was filled with warmth from head to toe. Finally, she was happy.

Finally, she had a home.

After the movie ended, Sierra lightly jostled Dean awake. He tiredly trudged upstairs to his room, Sam following behind with a big yawn. John stood from the couch with Frankie in his arms. She melted into his embrace as he climbed the staircase.

John carried Frankie to the yellow bedroom with Sierra on his heels. The man tucked her into the bed and tenderly patted her head. Sierra smiled softly at her daughter. She stepped up to the girl, bent down, and stroked her hair.

"Goodnight, hon," she whispered before kissing her cheek.

Frankie smiled back. She didn't think she had stopped smiling since they returned home. "Goodnight, Mom." She shifted her eyes to John. Her throat tightened. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, kiddo. See you in the morning."

Sierra took John by the hand. The couple gave Frankie one last look before softly shutting the bedroom door behind them.

Frankie sighed soulfully as she turned onto her side, tucking her hands under her head. What a day. It had been a rollercoaster, that was for sure. One of many in her life, but at least Hell was predictable. This was completely out of left field. Maybe this was a Djinn. Maybe she was slowly dying in some basement somewhere. Well, if that was the case, someone would come to rescue her, either Cas, her brothers, or the angels. So, until then, she would sit back and enjoy this time she had with her family.


Frankie flinched in the sheets. She woke with a start. Peering around the room, she saw that it was still night. She must have had one of those falling dreams. She thought it interesting that she could have a dream in a dream-like world. Later she would make theories on how that could be, but for now she delved back into sleep.

Two loud poundings on the door startled her. She gasped and sat up in the bed. The sound was oddly familiar, and she deduced that it must have been what woke her. She slowly and carefully stepped out of bed. She glanced around the room, searching for a weapon. She spotted a pair of batons next to the dresser. She must have been sportier in this alternate reality. She snatched one and creeped the door open.

No one stood outside the room. From the sounds of snoring, the family still seemed to be asleep. Her eyes pointed to the stairs. She gripped the baton tighter. Frankie crept down the stairs, gazing with a sharp eye as she descended. The living room seemed to be clear. As she slowly padded towards the kitchen, she raised the baton over her shoulder. On the count of three, she leapt into the kitchen, ready to strike.

It was empty. Only the refrigerator's low hum called out to her. There wasn't a single sound from an intruder. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. She got up out of bed for nothing.

"It really is a cozy place."

Frankie sharply inhaled and squeezed the baton with a glare. She raised the weapon as she swung around, bracing for an attack from the intruder. He was sitting in the recliner, his legs crossed. He was mostly bald with wily eyes and deeply sagging bags under them-…

"Oh fuck…," she whispered.

Zachariah half-smirked at Frankie. He draped one arm over the back of the recliner as he peered apathetically around the room. "I wouldn't choose this color scheme, but… it's humble."

"You…"

Ten Hell years had passed since she last saw that bastard, but she could never forget the face that sent her life spiraling downward. He appeared the very same as the night he forced cysts into her kidneys, still in the same black suit.

Zachariah leaned deeper into the chair as he arrogantly stared down his nose at her. "I trust you've settled in comfortably."

"You! You're behind all this?!"

The angel bobbed his head from side to side. "In a manner of speaking."

"So-So what? This's some kinda psychological torture? Showing me what I never had?!"

"No," Zachariah sighed irritably. "This is a gift. Do you know that word? 'Gift'?"

Frankie scoffed, a near humorless laugh. "You wanna give me a gift? What makes you think I'll accept anything from you? Do you realize what you put me through?! What I did because of you?!"

Zachariah sat still on the recliner, all except for his top lip which twitched faintly in the moonlight. "It was a… grievous mistake."

"Yeah, you're fuckin' right it was. Yeah, I bet they tore your ass up for it, too!"

In a flash, Zachariah's head snapped straight, his eyes jabbing daggers into Frankie's small form. "Watch it, girl. You'd be surprised how quickly your perception can change under my influence."

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate on that for me to consider it with fear," Frankie lethargically said as she crossed her arms.

"What I mean…," the angel slightly rolled his shoulders as if to reset back into his pompous persona, "is that you should appreciate what you've been given. This gift doesn't come from me."

Frankie's apathetic façade faltered. Her head drew back, eyes widening. "It's from my rescuer?"

"Don't you think you've been through enough pain and fear? Here you don't have that. This pocket world," he gestured around the living room, "there are no demons, no angels – well, besides me." He placed a haughty hand on his chest. Frankie rolled her eyes. "There will be no Apocalypse." Frankie's glare cut back to the angel. "Ah! I see that one got to you. Here, it's just you and the picture-perfect family you never had. A healthy mother, a dad who's willing to raise you, a chance to grow up with your brothers… it's all you ever wanted."

Frankie tapped the baton against her arm. At sparse moments through the day, she had felt like maybe this turn of events was the universe rewarding her for putting up with so much shit. Those thoughts didn't last long, though, as she didn't think the universe would be that kind to her.

But an angel might.

"But… why? Why now? Why me?"

"Because you are chosen."

"To do what?"

Zachariah chuckled. "Well, if I knew that I wouldn't have tried to kill you." Frankie pursed her lips, the only thing she could do to keep from spouting an uncouth string of phrases. "Enough questions, Frankie. Enjoy this. It was all made just for you." He stood from the chair, dusting off his suit. He shifted his eyes to the side, not even gracing her with a full turn. "Merry Christmas."

He disappeared with the sound of rustling wings. Frankie blew out a long breath that she was only half aware she was holding.

Well… that surely answered all her questions. Or most of them, at least. So, this was a gift. A reward. From Heaven.

That did not sit right with her. Why the hell would they reward her? If they were watching her as closely as Jehoel implied, they would certainly have known about the demon blood. Why they hadn't interfered with that, she couldn't say, but this was what sat uncomfortably in her gut.

It now made sense why Cas couldn't hear her. She could be in Heaven for all she knew. Now that thought scared her. There would be no way for her to run away or be saved.

But… did she want to?

It was nice here. Nothing seemed to be inherently awful, and she was happy. And no Apocalypse!

Maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she stayed. At least she couldn't hurt anybody. Besides, even if it did turn sour, it didn't seem like there was any way to escape.

Might as well make the best of it.


The official The Taking of Frankie Pearce playlist is on Spotify for those that wish to get a feel for what this story entails. Sort of a sneak peek ;) Since links despise me, I will not associate with them on this site. So, to find the playlist, simply type into the search bar, "TToFP" or "The Taking of Frankie Pearce".