Seven years later…
"Lizzie, what are you doing?"
My daughter is staring at me with wide green eyes. There is a huge grin on her face, one that reminds me too much of her father.
"Can I have some of that?"
She points to the cake batter I have whipped up.
"No, honey. The raw eggs can make you sick."
Her smile vanishes and is replaced with a slight pout.
"Put away your pout, Lizzie. You'll have cake soon enough."
"It's not for me, Mommy."
"Oh? Who is it for, your father? You can tell him the same thing I told you."
I set the oven for the proper temperature, doing my best to keep her away from the batter at the same time.
"It's for Castiel."
I really wish that I knew where she had come up with such an original name for her imaginary friend. God only knows where she picked it up.
"Castiel doesn't eat cake batter. You've already told me he doesn't eat to begin with, so don't try to go back on it now."
I wish we could back to even a year ago when Castiel didn't exist. He had only come into her head in the past eight months or so.
"But, Mommy-"
"Now, Lizzie, I said no. You know not to do this, we've been over it. Keep begging and you won't get cake later, got it?"
She gives me a dark look, one that I know she gets from me, so I can't be too angry about it. As she stomps out of the kitchen, I place the cake in the oven.
"I see you pissed off our offspring," I hear Dean say with a laugh while I work to clean the kitchen.
"She'll get over it."
"Castiel, again?"
"You've got it."
"That's a rather interesting name. At least she is creative."
"There's that. I get kind of sick of hearing about him though. Did you ever have any imaginary friends? I don't remember how long they are supposed to last."
"Well, she doesn't socialize, so it's not a surprise."
"Don't start in with me on that. You know I can't allow her to go to any kind of schooling."
The subject is an odd one with us. We don't argue about it, but we don't exactly agree on it, either. We refuse to let Lizzie leave the house unless absolutely necessary due to those wanting to kill us. I have nightmares on a constant basis of what they would do to her if they even knew she existed, so she wasn't leaving my sight. Both of us understand why this has to be, but we worry at the same time that we are going to make ourselves and her crazy.
"I know. I'm not saying that. But this has to be expected and maybe it's not the worst thing."
"Talking to herself?"
"Maybe she's not talking to herself. Look at us. We're both supernaturally inclined. Is it so strange that she may be speaking to something we can't see?"
I don't want to think about that. It's an idiotic notion, wishing that she would grow up normally. Her father is a hunter who somehow crawled out of the grave. I am a Slayer run off the map. We are hiding amongst the woods of northern New York with our property lined in salt and protection enchantments. The idea that my daughter would grow to be nothing more than a Girl Scout is ridiculous.
"No," I mutter, almost silently.
The next few weeks fill tense in the house. Lizzie doesn't want much to do with me, but I can't tell if it is actually that, or that I am imagining things. She is above me on the second floor and I can hear her running around. Dean is outside, monitoring the perimeter of the property, an activity with both pertake in twice a day.
"Lizzie!" I call, lazily wandering up the stairs, "calm it down a bit, okay? You could wake the death with all of that noise."
I approach the doorway of her room and see that she is sitting on the floor, surrounded by many toys.
"Hi, Mommy."
There's a large toothy grin on her face. Her dark curls are pulled into a ponytail holder, one that I didn't put them in.
"What are you doing?"
"Playing with Castiel."
I nod with my teeth clenched slightly. I don't want to say anything to upset her and try my best to remember what Dean told me.
"You can play downstairs with me, honey."
"I want to play with Castiel. He tells me stories."
"Stories?"
I'm trying so hard to go along with this.
"About you and Daddy."
I don't expect that. It's difficult to talk to someone about a being that doesn't exist. Even though I am speaking to a child, I still find it incredibly complicated. It would be easier to talk to a stuffed animal. I decide to change the subject and bring her downstairs for lunch.
As we sit in the dining room eating grilled cheese, I watch her closely, trying to figure out what she is thinking. She's very quiet.
"Is Castiel here?" I ask, trying to get her to talk to me.
"No. He likes to stay upstairs."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I think he just likes it up there."
She goes back to her sandwich and her tomato soup. She remains silent during lunch. The feeling I experience reminds me of how aggravated I used to get when Mom would ask me to spend time with her when I was younger. I understand Mom now. I feel terribly lonely with my daughter sitting beside me.
"Mommy?"
I practically jump at her question.
"What's up, sweetie?"
"Do you know what a Slayer is?"
The question turns my insides to ice. For a moment, I just sit, unable to move. My comprehension is non-existent.
"Mommy?" she asks again, her eyes wide, "are you okay?"
"Where did you hear that word?" I demand of her.
"What?"
Her voice is quivering. As much as I hate to do this to her, I am terrified.
"Mary Elizabeth Winchester, you answer me," I say, my voice rising.
She knows how serious I am. I never call her by her full name unless I mean it.
"Castiel told me…"
"Now, dammit, you tell me the truth! This is serious!"
"I told you, Castiel told me!"
"Castiel is not real! Do you understand that? He's not real! And I want to hear where you got this word from this instant!"
She's crying and I'm yelling and I feel like shit. I shouldn't have told her he wasn't real. That just crushed her little heart.
"He is real! He told me about you and Daddy, about how you were a Slayer and you protected the world against monsters!"
There are huge tears rolling down her now bright red skin and she is hardly speaking coherently. I can't believe the bits of words I understand. That's when I realize Dean has come in from outside.
"What the hell is going on?"
I watch Lizzie clutch onto him, sobbing into his jacket. He grips her protectively and stares at me, confused.
"She asked me what a Slayer is. Where did she get that from, Dean? You?"
His confusion turns to anger.
"I would never tell her that."
"Well, she says that Castiel told her and we all know he doesn't exist, so she has to be getting it from somewhere. Who else does she talk to?"
We're talking about her as if she isn't in the room. I don't like to do that.
"He is real!" she suddenly screams at me, pulling her face from his jacket, momentarily.
In an attempt to calm our wailing daughter, Dean knelt down to her height.
"Lizzie, go up to your room, okay? Go play with Castiel. You can take your sandwich with you."
She quickly grabbed her sandwich and left the room, not looking me in the eye the entire time. The moment he knows she is out of earshot, Dean glares at me.
"What's your problem? Are you trying to push her away?"
"My problem? What are you doing telling her about our past? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"
"I told you, I didn't tell her anything!"
His face is red with frustration.
"Well, who did?"
"Christ, Buffy, I don't know! Maybe she picked it up somewhere. She can read, you know. Maybe there's something around this house that she found. She's a little kid!"
"I don't have anything lying around the house that says I used to be Slayer! Are you fucking crazy?"
He sighs heavily, running his hands anxiously through his hair. I don't want to cause him this much unease, but I cannot help it.
"She got it from somewhere and it wasn't me. I know it wasn't you. But you can't jump down her throat about it!"
"All I can think is that those things that killed you know about her! They're luring her out to hurt her, Dean! What if that's what happening?"
There are tears rolling down my face and soaking into my sweater. His frustrated expression softens slightly.
"You have to stop this, Buffy. They're not going to get her, I promise."
"That's what you said before we got married."