Angel Falling

by graceylovesspn

17 yo Savi and Molly, twin sisters of Sam and Dean, are dumped off at Bobby's after John dies to keep them 'safe.' They take off, desperate to join in the hunt to find and kill Azazel. When things take a drastic turn, one of the siblings does something desperate to save another and all hell literally breaks loose. Sis!fic. Loosely follows canon. Starts beginning of season 2.

2. Visit from Mom

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Hope you have enjoyed the first chapter so far. I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself. My name's Gracey and I'm pretty obsessed with Supernatural. I haven't viewed the whole series in a while so if some details are off or changed it's because I made a mistake, or I chose to do it that way. I ask you to suspend your belief and enjoy the story I have to tell! This story is OC-centric as well, but there will be more Sam and Dean, I promise. I just need to figure out my characters of Savi and Molly and how they work first and lay the foundation for the story so that when Sam and Dean come in, it's all forward from there. Any questions, suggestions or critiques are welcome. I'm trying to grow as a writer. Thanks so much for taking the time to read my work I really appreciate it. Now, onwards with the story! (Also if you like—leave a review and let me know, I'm going to start replying to them at the end of each chapter!)

I have also decided to change to first person POV as I feel the story sounds more natural that way.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, but Molly and Savannah are mine.

Savi's POV

By the time we hit Kansas, its ten am, Molly is asleep in the back seat and I'm driving. My eyes feel crusty and I generally feel gross. It's been awhile since I've been on a road trip and my body seems to have forgotten how to handle cramped small spaces and hours of driving.

When we hit our hometown, I expect something to happen…like an emotionally-charged reaction? Some big reckoning, some memory of these tree-lined streets. This is after all where my mother was murdered and burned alive by a demon who we have scarified our whole lives hunting for…but instead I feel nothing. It isn't familiar, I don't have the same memories of a childhood here like Sam and Dean do because, well, my childhood took place in the Impala and in motel rooms and on the open road. I don't even know where Mom is buried. I have the address of our old house though, something I have memorized from Dad's journal, and I pull into that neighborhood.

Molly stirs in the backseats and drags herself up to look out the window. Her dark blonde hair is matted around her face. Seeing her look so ridiculous I snort, peering at her in the review mirror. "You look fucking fantastic."

"Shut up," Molly growls, her voice deep with sleep. "Did you call Bobby?"

Shit. "No."

"Savi!"

"Sorry, I forgot. Has he called us?"

"I don't know, shouldn't you have been paying attention as to whether your phone was ringing or not?"

"I'm driving Molls, that's no safe," I tease, but dig out my flip phone from my pocket anyways. I flip it open. "Shit, it's dead."

"And you didn't bring a phone charger," Molly finishes. Okay, sometimes it's cool we can finish each other's sentences but seriously Molly? No shit I forgot the fucking phone charger.

Molly starts rambling. "So, by now, Bobby has probably called us ten times for the past hour, since 5am because he gets up so freaken early. Each time we haven't answered probably has him more panicked. By now he has probably called Dean or is about to and they are tracking us down right now."

I take a deep breath. "First of all, chill. Second of all, Bobby knows we aren't five, we can handle ourselves. And third, Dean has no idea where we are. And for lord sake, he's not hunting us."

Molly laughs bitterly. "Sav, I love you, but have you met our brother, Dean Winchester? Uber protective. He probably thinks we were taken or killed or something, and once he finds out we ran away he'll kill us himself."

A retort is forming in my mouth when I slam heard on the breaks. We both slam back into our seats. "What the he—", Molly starts, but then stops herself. She's following my gaze out the window.

I take in a sharp breath of air. The house. I know it. The presence of it looms in front of me, there is an inexplicable pull in my chest. I slowly turn the key and the car turns off. Molly is silent as well, in a trance, looking.

"That's it," I am finally able to choke. "Let's check it out."

"Savi, wai—" But I am already out of the car and on the lawn, walking towards the front door. Molly catches up.

"There's a car in the drive way."

It's an obvious statement. Of course, someone else lives here now, it's been almost seventeen years. But it just seems wrong, like the place is still ours? I'm just crazy.

There is a rumble behind them and Savi I turn, my heart in my throat; a huge truck with the words, Mo's Moving pulls into the driveway, and a guy with blue overalls and worker's boots and bald head jumps out.

"Ya'll live here?" he calls.

"N…n…no," Molly stammers out. I don't know what to say.

"Oh," the guy says, and goes back around to open the back of the truck, unbothered. Before I know what's happening, my feet have taken me also to the back of the truck, and I'm asking the moving man.

"These people are moving?"

"You live 'round here?" the man asks, unlocking the back.

"Yes," I lie, easy. A skill I don't need practice at.

"Haven't you heard? Owners claim the house is haunted. Almost everyone who has moved in here moves out within a couple of years. It's cursed. Probably has something to do with that fire about seventeen years back. Young family. Mom died. Tragedy."

Molly and I exchange glances. "Haunted?" Molly asks me.

It would make sense, I think. But, if it's Mom who's doing the haunting does that mean she's been stuck there as a vengeful spirit all these years? The ghosts we've come across in our childhood are always in pain, unable to leave and move on until something is resolved or let go. Has Mom been stuck, waiting for us to return for that long? The thought of it makes my eyes water. How the hell have we not come back till now? Dad always just seemed to avoid the place.

"Think it's Mom?" Molly whispers.

"Who else died there?" I ask. It's a rhetorical question, but its impact leaves the us silent and staring. The front door opens, and a family walks out of the front door, there's a mom, in her late forties, and a teenage son and a ten-year-oldish looking daughter. She seems to be driving them to somewhere, they have backpacks on. Summer school? The father comes around to talk to the movers. We back up off the property and stand next to the Honda, staring on. The teenage son has a huge black hoodie on, and headphones in his ears and he looks pissed. Could he fit the stereotype of a weirdo teenager anymore? His little sister is cute, wearing a pink skirt, her blonde hair pulled up in pigtails. The mom looks tired and stressed but she has a fake smile on for her kids. Savi can see right through it. The car drives off, and the mover man and the dad go back into the house.

"We should go," Molly says softly. I nod, no words coming to me. Still in shock, we get back in the car. As we drive down the street I try to remember the night Mom died. I'm sure if it's a memory or a trick of the mind from the stories my brothers and father had told me. But I smell ashes, feel the heat on my skin and see a shadow come over pink blankets. But that's not the worst image I have and have held onto for years.

It's of my mom's hair—blonde, so blonde it's almost white, sprawled out from her head. I can't remember Mom's face, but I do remember the hair, spread out, fan-like. Each piece slowly curling from the heat, and then bursting into flames.

Molly's POV

We decide to stake out the day in a café, getting some much-needed coffee and donuts into our system. I hate donuts. They make me feel fat and sluggish. But I gobble them up, not eating for the better part of twelve hours has done a number on my body. We find some old credit cards in the trunk, a duffle bag full of spare clothes. After changing and freshening up, Savi goes to the store across the street to get a phone charger. I didn't bring my phone, I'm not attached to the thing like Savi is, but I do wish I'd brought my laptop.

The cafe bell rings, and I perk up from the sound, looking out over my cup filled with hot tea, mixed in with low-fat milk. Savi got a coffee with three cream and two sugars. The girl is made of sweets. Savi has two bags in her hands and she practically prances to the table. She pulls out a phone charger from one of the bags and plugs it into the wall beside her, sitting down and taking a huge bite of her donut.

"So," she says, mouth full. "You'll never believe what I got!"

I put a hand up over my own mouth. "Gross, Sav. Have some class."

"Honey, I'm nothing but class." She smiles but does close her mouth. She shakes the bag in her other hand, the big one. "No, look. You'll like this." She plops in on the table and pulls out a huge box with the words Apple MacBook written on the side.

My jaw drops open. "You didn't."

"I did."

"Savi!"

"Molly, chill," Savi puts her hands up in surrender. "It's on a credit card."

Like that fixes things. But I can't resist the itching in my fingertips to be on keys again. Maybe I can find some news article on our old house. There's gotta be something. I open the laptop and set it up while Savi waits for her phone to wake up. When it finally does, her screen fills with missed calls. I peek over at them and breathe a sigh of relief. No calls or texts from Dean and Sam. Yet.

Savi clicks on her voicemail and listens in. I can hear Bobby's first message. He's pissed to say the least. The second his tone is more soothing, Savi motions for me to lean in.

"Okay, I get the whole needing space thing. And I'll try to ward off Dean but can you girls at least call and let me know where you are? Put an old man's heart to rest. Idgits."

I laugh, and Savi does too. My chest feels light, so maybe we aren't in trouble. But Bobby's third call.

"Girls. Code red, maybe. Dean called asking if you could look something up. I told me you were out on a coffee run. But sooner or later he'll figure it out. I won't lie to your brother again." His voice is caring, but stern. Bobby won't cover for us again.

"Shit," I murmur. "shitshitshitshit."

"We have until ten to figure something out," Savi says, shrugging her shoulders. "It's fine.'

I don't believe her.

"Molls, I promise."

"

Okay, fine."

"We should break into the house tonight," Savi says. I think that's a very bad idea, it being illegal and all. But I am curious. And its not like our lifestyle is exactly legal. "We might be able to save the ghost…and maybe that family won't have to move."

I know it's mostly because I want to see Mom, or the ghost of Mom, if there even is a chance.

"Yeah," I say. "A hunt, great, just the opposite of what Dean told us to do."

Savi grins. "Awesome right?"

I have to admit, there is something exciting about defying my older brother. Savi and I haven't been hunting since the Boarding School Era, like really hunting, and I miss it. "Let's do it."

At that declaration, a group of teens pours into the café, two girls and a boy. The boy is good looking, as is one of the girls. She wears a crop top and a low cut mini pleated skirt. Her hair is bone straight and she has pretty eyes.

Damn, I think.

Savi's eyeing the boy.

The cute girl sees me staring and sends over a look. She motions to the other two behind her and they walk this way. My heart starts to beat. Thump Thump Thump. I'm panicking.

I know my sister can see it—obviously. Everyone can see it. Cute Girl gets up from her table to make first contact. I lean into Savi's direction and grab her hand from across the table. She shoots me a look.

"Hey," the girl says. "I'm Reese. You guys look like fresh-faces?"

"Yeah," Savi says. "We moved in about a week ago."

"Oh, where?"

"Lassener Street," I blurt out, making up a random street. Savi sends me a look that tells me to shut up.

"Oh, by the old mill?" Reese asks.

"Uh," Savi says. "Yeah that one."

"Cool!" She smiles, two dimples appear in her tan skin.

Jesus Christ.

"This is Landon, and this is Dani," she says, pointing to the girl and boy beside her. "Can we sit?"

"Sure," Savi says, making room on the table.

Danny sits close to me, and Landon and Reese sit across from them, beside Savi.

"That yours?" Dani asks, pointing to my newly acquired laptop.

"Yeah."

"Sweet," Landon says. His voice is deep. He clears his throat and shrugs a little into his shirt. He seems shy. Danny is leaning on her hands, her blonde hair falling off over her shoulder and pointing towards Savi's tattoos.

"Those are sweet."

"Thanks," Savi smiles.

"What does it say?" Reese asks.

"Aw, nothing special," Savi says. I grit my teeth.

Truth is, about three years ago when we were fourteen and had just gotten back from the boarding school, Dad was pissed at Savi for not shooting straight on a simple salt and burn. Instead the rock salt bullet ricocheted off a dresser and scraped Dad's arm. It wasn't a big cut or anything, but Dad said Savi was too distracted and ordered her to memorize a Latin exorcism. Savi refused and Dad spanked Savi. It was humiliating to say the least. Savi came back to our room in tears of frustration, saying that Dad had told her if she acted like a brat, she would be treated like one. Savi, wanting to prove she wasn't a brat, but an actual adult grabbed her wallet and dragged me downtown to a tattoo parlor. Turns out she had forged Dad's signature, but the dude tattooing her didn't seem to care much about her age anyways.

She sat in a chair and got the entire exorcism tattooed on her arm. She added in some skulls for good measure. Like Dad would freak out enough already. That way, she said, she would never forget it and wouldn't have to memorize it. Savi didn't even flinch during the six-hour ordeal. I think it was out of pure spite. It's amazing what pure spite can do. It's a real motivator.

We were four hours late for curfew and Dad was more pissed than I'd had ever seen him. He separated us, which was probably the worst part, locked us into separate rooms, and us them not to make a sound. Then he went to the bar to drink, leaving Dean to deal with us.

Dean unlocked the doors after I couldn't stop crying—then yelled at Savi for another hour or two. When the whole ordeal was over it was dawn, everyone was exhausted, and Dad had come back and passed out in the bedroom. We never spoke of it again, but Dad didn't talk to Savi or really me either for weeks after. We never really went on any serious hunts after that. It was all 'research duty' for us girls from then on. We all decided not to tell Sam, who at this point was enjoying his second year at university.

However, I understand why my dad was so concerned Savi had missed her target. It hadn't been the first time someone had been injured because of one of us. And Dad was just scared.

Savi tells the whole story, in dramatic and lavish detail and by the end we have acquired three new very cool friends. And an invite to a party that night. Bonfire on one of the local beaches. No fucking way. I will not be attending a party. Talk about social suicide number one. Not especially with hot girls like Reese walking around.

But when the teenagers leave, and Savi looks at me with those eyes, I can't help but say yes. I always cave to Savi. Anyways, someone needs to watch Mrs. Hot Pants who was making swoony eyes at Landon the whole time.

Savi's POV

We go shopping. We get hot clothes. Molly complains the entire fucking time.

"Can you at least try to be a teenager?" I snap at Molly.

"I am," Molly argues back. "I'm doing the slouching-pissed-all-the-time bit."

"Har, Har," Savi I say, dry.

"So plan is, we crash the party for a few hours and then sneak off to break into our house, right?" Molly asks for the fifteenth time. I suck in a breath. Molly is a worry wart. And no fun.

"Yes, Mom," I say, snarky. But immediately regret it. "Sorry," I whisper, seeing the pain flash in Molly's eyes. She flashes me a tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"You think it could really be Mom?" she asks. She's so quiet, I have to lean in to hear her.

"Yeah," I say, feeling the hope fluttering against my chest like feathered wings. I don't want to think about the crushing disappointment if it is just some old dead ghost, but if its Mom that's not much better. I didn't even think there was a possibility my mom could be a ghost. I always took comfort in the fact that she was in heaven, hopefully watching over me. I know Molly shares that dream, that wish, and follows the rules mostly to hopefully make Mom proud. As much as I admires that about Molly, I can't quite do the same, my loyalties have always been to my father, and I acknowledge my mom watching over us as more a dream. No proof that it, or even heaven or angels are real. I'm a see-to-believe-it type of person, even with the life 34 live. And, we haven't had any proof of angels yet. Molly on the other hand practically collects angel figurines. She has a drawer filled with them back at Bobby's.

When we finish shopping, we come out adorned in our many bags. We stop off at a diner for supper time and discuss how to deal with Dean's recent call with Bobby. After some convincing from Molly, I take out my phone and give Bobby a call.

"Sup, Bobby," I say into the phone, nonchalant. Molly gives me an annoyed look.

"Savi," I hear the rough voice on the other end of the line, a sigh of relief.

Then.

"Where the hell are you and why the hell haven't you called yet?"

"Calm the hell down," I joke, but immediately regret. Bobby's silence tells me I may have pushed it too far with the circumstances.

"Watch it, kid. I have covered for you once, and Dean is waiting for a call back from you. I am guessing you haven't done that yet. Listen, I get it you girls need space, but this lack of contact..." he trails off. "I will come get you if need be."

"Listen Bobby," I say, sincere. "We just drove a few towns over and rented a hotel room for the night. We need some space...some sister time."

Molly snorts.

Okay so that may not be the most believable story, but Bobby, probably judgement clouded with worry believes it. He doesn't have anything else to say but, "Call Dean." Then he hangs up.

"That went well," Molly says.

"We gotta call Dean?" I ask. I really doesn't want to. Hearing his cold, calculating voice, barking orders each time he calls sends sadness through me. I don't know if he realizes it or not, but he is always so harsh with me, and softer with Molly. I wonder if he resents me, it was my fault me and Molly ended up in the boarding school anyways, it was my mistake. And Molly has always been weaker, always needed more attention from Sam and Dean. My brothers feel the need to protect her more. She cries easily and feels too much every time she kills. Hell even if it's a justified kill. She makes friends in every town we go and always used to cry even more when we left. She wasn't built to be a hunter. I was, I feel it in my bones. It's the one thing different about us. The one thing we don't talk about. But I've always been pushed together with Molly and left in the dust. Maybe I resent her for that.

"We have to," Molly says. "I can call if you want." I'm hella grateful.

Molly takes the phone and dials. Dean picks up on the first ring.

"Savannah?" he asks. I cringe at the use of my full name. I know a lecture's coming.

Molly's voice falters, "N…No, it's Molly."

"Oh hey Molls," Dean says, a lighter tone instantly morphing from the stern one he had. "What took you so long to call?"

"We were up to our ears in research," Molly says. I roll my eyes. Molly sucks ass at lying.

"Ha." Dean says. His laugh is sharp and short. "Sure."

"Okay, to be honest we haven't researched at all today," Molly says.

My heart sinks.

What the fuck are you doing?

I send Molly a glare. Molly puts out her palm as if to pacify me.

"We've just kind of been trying to take it easy. Bobby let us sleep in and then made us pancakes." Molly scrunches her face into a fake smile and then lets out a sharp laugh. "Then Bobby challenged us to checkers. After that he made us go get coffee. That's when you called I assume?"

It's such a bad lie, but maybe Molly's fake cheeriness is hidden over the phone because Dean says, "I get it Molls. Glad to hear you're doing okay. Look, how's Savi holding up?"

I suck in my cheeks. Why would Dean ask Molly about me? Probably to keep me in check, make sure I am staying out of trouble.

"Sh…she's fine," Molly says.

"And right here!" I call out.

Dean's silent for a moment before he says, "Glad to hear that Sav."

It's the tone of his voice, the quietness, almost as if in surrender. Maybe he was just worried after all. The thought surprises me, I'm used to being treated as…not something to just be worried about.

"Anyways, Sammy and I seem to be getting close to cracking the case. Guess what's been tricking children to let it into their houses?"

I share a look with Molly, her eye brows are raised. Dean's voice is a smirk in it.

"Clowns."

"What?" I ask, holding back a laugh. Molly grins, the worry in her eyes faded into the background.

"Sammy must love that," Molly says into the phone. Dean chuckles.

"You know it. Also, can you pass the phone to Bobby for a sec?"

Molly freezes. "He uh…"

"Went out for some grub," I yell, to spill in the empty space. I hope Dean doesn't pick up the hesitation.

"Okay," Dean says, a bit disappointed. "Guess what? A woman named Ellen called Dad's phone, apparently she owns a roadhouse that is a gathering place for hunters."

A gathering place for hunters? I send Molly a surprised look.

"Wait…" Molly looks shares my look. "Seriously? How many other hunters are there?"

"According to this Ellen, lots."

"Dad said they always just kept to themselves," I add.

"Yeah," Dean says. "Well apparently that's not the norm. They do go off on their own, but they have friends…other hunters. Makes sense."

Something Dad always told Molly and I and Dean and Sam was that hunting is a lonely job, a lonely life. Friends are weaknesses, you can't have 'em. You got your family and that's it. Probably why it hurt so much that Sam left. We were all any of us had. But other hunter friends, people who get what it's like to drive the backroads of America and live out of a duffle bag and sleep on lumpy mattresses…there's a sense of understanding there. Now that I think about it, it makes sense.

"And Bobby knew too," Dean says, a sharp bite in his tone, maybe resentment. Dean's always someone who thinks so little of himself, at least I think so, but searches for connections in other people. He tries to fill up that lonely place in side with one-night stands and alcohol and friendly conversations around a bar. Me too. Molly and Sam look more for a longer lasting connection, and it gets them hurt. Like Dad said, you can't have friends in this life. I kind of understand why he wanted us to keep away from the social hunter's scene.

Dean doesn't say he's angry at Dad, he uses Bobby as the smoke-filled mirror for that, but I can see he's bluffing.

"Have you guys gone out to visit the place, what's a road house anyways?"

"Yeah, we may head there after this hunt finishes up," Dean says. "It's just a bar with a few beds in the back. Still, maybe these other hunters have heard something."

Something. The word is so loaded, with seventeen years of searching, hoping, losing hope and starting all over again. Sometimes I just want to stop searching for something and give up. But I can't do that to Mom. So instead I fill up that empty space with smaller monsters, and hunts, things we can find—smaller somethings—always with our eyes on the prize.

"Take care of yourself," Molly says into the phone. Her eyebrows are creased inwards, I know Molly isn't concerned with Sam or Dean, or with their mission to break in to their old house tonight, but with the party coming up. It's so trivial and yet so unlike Molly that it is Molly. If that makes sense. I shake my head. Probably not to anyone but me.

"Yeah, you girls too. Hey look, when this hunt is over maybe we can come by and visit." His words are loaded, he's evaluating how we will respond, too much eagerness and he'll think we aren't ready, too much hesitation, he'll think we are scared and not ready either. I was not ever not ready. But just like so many other things in my life, this isn't a choice I am able to make on my own.

Molly sighs. "Yeah, we'll chat about it."

"Okay, stay safe kiddo." He hangs up. Molly puts my phone down and stares at her nails. The silence stretches on for a minute. I can't take it anymore.

"Dude, what."

"I should paint my nails."

"Why."

"I bet Reese paints her nails."

"Jesus, kid," I say. "Why would that matter." At this point, I'm just teasing, but Molly falls right into the trap.

"Because she's….she just seems like the kind of girl who would…like that on herself…and other girls…you know."

"Okay," I say, not pushing. Truth is. I', pretty sure Molly is mretty fucking gay. But she's just never said anything. I know she'll come out in her own time, but sometimes I just wishes Molly would see how obvious it actually is.

I dig around in my purse and pull out a crisp ten dollar bill. "I saw a shopper's drug mart across the street. Knock yourself out. I'm sure Reese will love it. She seems like a dark red nail polish kind of girl."

Molly takes the ten bucks sheepishly and murmurs a thanks, before bolting out the door to grab a bottle of the stuff.

She really needs to get laid.

Molly's POV

The waves crash into the shoreline with a quiet force that rings about in my core. I pull down my jean skirt one more time and adjust my crop top.

"It doesn't look like I'm trying too hard?" I ask Savi. Savi huffs, seemingly annoyed.

Well, sorry if this isn't my kind of normal gig. I feel more comfortable in jeans and jacket. But, I have spotted Reese, hanging out by the bonfire with Danny and the boy, the one Savi had her eyes on—Landon. Reese's blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, it reminds me of the classic cheerleader look. Reese's blonde head bobs upwards and her eyes land on me. She breaks out in a grin and my stomach descends into butterflies.

"Yo, the twins are here!" Landon looks up and spots Savi and motions for her to come over. Savi grabs my hand and squeezes, pulling me stumbling across the sand. I like being referred to as one of 'the twins', like I have a title, a name, a face that people recognize. Maybe this is what it's like to have friends—or at least potential friends.

The night goes by in a blur. Savi keeps to Landon's side all night, while I hang onto the edges of Reese and Danny's conversation. They are discussing the latest episode of Gilmore Girls. I've never seen the show, but from the way they describe it, I don't think I wants to. All that closeness from mother-daughter, it would almost seem cruel to subject myself to watching that. My eyes drift over to Savi, who has herself tucked into the crook of Landon's elbow.

I smirk to myself, if only Dean were here, he's be chasing these boys away with one look. I don't mean it I guess, I'm just bitter in a way. Savi's always had it so easy with social interactions, she just says things and people listen and laugh and before you know it she has a boy draping his arm around her and whispering promises he won't keep into her ear. The difference with other girls is Savi knows they are playing her, and she leads them on, like a bitch on a string, and then she turns the tables and ends up being the one leaving them with their little boy panties around their ankles—of course after Savi's gotten the good stuff. That's how she tells it to me, and it may be embellished to her benefit, but I give her the benefit of the doubt.

Reese on the other hand, keeps looking at me, and maybe this is flirting, or maybe she's just wondering why I'm so quiet. I try to talk, insert a laugh here and there, but mostly I just make do with a stupid smile on my face that feels plastered there.

"Hey," Reese has caught me off guard, coming at me with a beer in her hand. She offers it to me, but I refuse.

"Don't drink," I say.

"Come on," Reese says. "It'll loosen you up, you look scared." Scared doesn't even begin to cover it. I slowly take the beer from her hand, our fingertips graze each other. The can feels cool under my palm, and Reese's fingers feel soft.

"Sick polish," she says, nodding with her head. "My favourite colour."

I blush almost as deep as the colour on my nails. I look to Reese's to compliment, hers are a simple French manicure, but they make her hands look long and twisty. I imagine my fingers interlaced with hers. Heat rises up in my cheeks and I swig a bit of beer. I feel the hot spread in my chest. Reese smiles.

"There you go," she says, taking my hand. "Let's dance." She leads me through a crowd of people crowded by the outdoor stereo. It's blasting a Destiny Child's song. Before I know it—aided with beer and Reese's hands on my hips I'm bopping along to the music, and laughing. Mom, Savi, and everything else wiped clean from my mind.

Savi's POV

I leave Landon on the beach, sand still stuck to his cheek and in his hair, zipping up his pants. He doesn't see it coming, but I've been planning this all night. Hell, since we got here, and Molly seemed taken with that Reese chick. I take another glance at Molly, she's clearly drunk, swaying to the music, Reese's arm wrapped around her shoulders. She has a lax smile on her lips and I can tell she's loose. Forgotten her anxiety.

The powers of a drink.

I leave her in that state. She doesn't need to see the house, or this ghost that could be Mom. It won't make her feel better. It will make her feel worse. Her memory of Mom won't be this fairy-tale image of some white-haired woman who would make Dean and Sam peanut butter sandwiches and tomato rice soup and sing her twin babies girls 'Hey Jude', when we couldn't sleep anymore. It would be of an ugly pissed off ghost. I can't do that to her.

I know how much she holds onto that Mom, even though I see the Mom on the ceiling. Her mouth open, her eyes wide. Frozen. Fear. And her curls, burning.

So, it won't scar me as much if I see Mom as a distressed ghost, haunting her old house for seventeen years. I want to put her out of her misery but keep Molly from seeing something she shouldn't. Dean, Sam and I have a silent agreement Molly's soft. Not built for this life but thrown into it anyways. Even Dad knew that. He wouldn't train her as hard, he would let her sleep in sometimes, do research instead of the actual hunting. Me, he trained until my fingers bled and I fainted. I was tough. I love hunting. It's something I was built for. Not Molly. And I need to protect her. So I ditch her.

I take the Honda to the house. When I step outside, the air is heavy for July. A pressing thunderstorm hangs. The clouds block out any stars. The wind is still, the crickets are chirping. I decide to go around back. I easily unlock the gate and step into the backyard. There's an inground pool, an old swing-set shoved at the back of the yard and a small quant garden framing the back of the house. There's a big deck with a barbeque. A covered hot tub. It's the definition of a classic suburban apple pie life. Something we almost had.

The back door is unlocked—of course. I push it open. To these people danger doesn't exist. I shove my lock pick into my pocket—this is almost too easy. I don't believe in meant-to-be-s but it feels right to be here. Like Mom was expecting me.

Inside is the living room, off of it the kitchen. There's a gaming box attacked to the TV, and the stove light glows 12:15am. Witching hour. I let my feet glide across the floor-thank god for carpet flooring. The house smells new, like it's being renovated. Probably if it's on the real estate market. There's a bowl of fruit set out on the island. I feel offended by that bowl of fruit. Like of fucking course—what's more boring and ordinary than that. I part of me craves it.

I make my way to the stairs, treading softly on the carpet. I let my feet lead me, they seem to have muscle memory of where to go, even if I wasn't even walking when this all went to hell. There's a row of bedrooms down the hallway, four. A bathroom. A small space off the banister with a chair, a book shelf and a grandfather clock.

I almost walk past her.

"She told me you would come."

I freeze. Turn. The little sister I saw earlier today is sitting in the armchair in her nightgown, her eyes on me. She rocking slowly back at forth. her blonde hair straight and framing her eyes, which the shadows are hiding. Her hands are clasped in front of her.

She doesn't look cute now.

"Black hair. Blue eyes. Yup, hi Savi."

Her voice is low and soft, but with an edge, almost a sneer. But it sure as hell ain't soothing.

"I…" I start. "Is it really her—er, Mom?" I ask instead.

The little girl stands up and puts out her hand. "I'm Bridget. I'm ten."

"Nice to meet you," I say, shaking it. Her hand is cold. She sees the surprise on my face and pulls away quickly. She starts walking down the hallway, pauses and turns around. One finger curls.

"Well, come on."

I am entranced by her. My feet follow. She told me you would come. Mom? Mom was expecting me?

So, you talk to ghosts," I whisper, to lighten the tension. Bridget doesn't respond. She goes to the end of the hall and opens the door to the room on the left.

"This is my room," she says, monotone voice. She doesn't look at me as she goes inside. I hesitate for a second, but decide to follow.

I step inside. It's a typical little girl's room. A double bed on the far wall, a dresser by the door. The walls are pink. There are stuffed animals lined up neatly on the baby blue bed spread. I look up at the ceiling, it's painted white, but part of the shade is an off-white, more beigey. It looks like a shadow in the broken moonlight coming in through the curtains Bridget sees me looking.

"Could never really cover up the blood."

My heart starts to hammer in my chest. In my mind's eye I see the blood spreading from beyond her stomach. My mom, in a puddle of her own blood. But ghost Mom would tell Bridget that, would she? It would scare her too much. My instincts raise a bit as my adrenaline kicks in.

I instead try to focus on the room, see if I remember anything else—but I don't. I'm not even crushed with painful memories or haunting flashbacks. I don't know what I expected but not this. It seems to easy, too normal. Normal even for me.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changes. It shifts, snaps. It no longer feels peaceful, but almost as if something is about to happen. The air feels closer. Out of the corner of my eye I see the low lamp in the hallway flicker. The mirror on the wall above the dresses frosts over.

Shit.

In all my years of training, I didn't even think to protect myself walking into this house. It seemed like I didn't have to. I'm not hunting Mom.

I have nothing on me. I rack my brain. Ghosts…what do ghosts hate? Iron. It kills them. I don't have any iron.

"Savi."

The voice makes me start. I freeze in place, slowly turning back to Bridget. She isn't Bridget anymore. Well, she is, but her eyes are dark. They have changed from brown to blue, and her facial features seemed aged. She also stands in an angry stance, fingers clenched.

"I told them not to bring you here." Her voice sounds like it once used to be soft, once used to sing songs to her children and read them bedtime stories. But now it sounds like she screamed while she was pinned to the ceiling and burned to death.

"Who?" I ask, despite myself. My heart beats fast, and I break out into cold sweats. My body is responding with fear, but my head is clear. I know it's Mom. Mom possessing Bridget.

"Your brothers."

"M…My brothers were here?"

She moves closer to me. Mom/Bridget takes a hold of my hand and looks up at me. "Last year."

Last year? Dean and Sam told me they never came here. When would it have been?

A memory pops into my mind, Sam and Dean dropping Molly and I off at Bobby's after that hunt in Oklahoma. The one with the bugs. Molly had panic attacks for a week. They took of quickly, saying a hunt that needed to be dealt with quickly, didn't say where they were going…could it have been Kansas?

"The house was haunted last year too," I say. "By you?"

Bridget/Mom smiles sadly. "No. A vengeful spirit."

"Then why are you here?"

"To keep you away. I knew you were coming. You can't—he'll find you."

"Who?"

Bridget/Mom looks up at the ceiling. I follow.

Of course. The demon.

"Are you possessing Bridget?" I ask.

Bridget/Mom nods.

"You can't," I say. "It isn't right. Let her go."

Bridget reaches her hand out to me. I bend down, her small fingers trace the skin on my cheek.

"I was able to appear to the boys, but afterwards, they locked me out of the Veil. Sent me back to heaven."

"Who?" I ask. Angels?

"Them," she says simply. "But I had to see you. The only way was through possession."

"How did you know we would come?" I ask.

"Ever since John died…I knew you were lost. I knew you would try to find me."

"Is he…" I ask. In heaven? I want to say. All we know is he made a deal to save Dean, at least we think. Those deals don't end very well.

"No," Bridget sighs. "I haven't seen him.

I try not to think about the alternative.

"You need to leave," Bridget/Mom warns.

"You too," I whisper. "You don't belong here."

"I will," she says. "But first…"

Her eyes glaze over. Bridget/Mom's face fades away until it's smooth and clear. She looks like a child again.

It seems Mom is gone. Then, a huge burst of light. The mirror shatters and I am on the floor, Bridget is knocked unconscious beside me. The shards of glass whir around my head, whipping.

"Mom," I ask, voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

"I let the demon in," a faint voice whispers. I try to follow it. It seems to be coming from the corners of the room. "I let him bleed on you. But Molly. Her fate I did not expect."

"What?" I ask, very confused.

"Your blood," she says. "Molly's blood."

"What about it?" I yell to the darkness. I peer over at Bridget, start to crawl towards her. The shards of glass follow me, hanging in the air.

"I must…" the voice thins out into a creepy cold chant. "I must…"

It doesn't sound like Mom anymore.

Just as I am reaching for Bridget, I feel a sharp pain in my side. I look down, a shard of glass is stuck into my stomach. The pain bubbles and rises. The glass piece twists goes deeper. I suppress a scream. The pain is blinding. Worse than that one time I broke three of my ribs. Or that time I dislocated my shoulder. This pain goes deeper.

I try moving away, towards Bridget's body. I reach her and squeeze her hand. It's cold. She's dead.

I let go, curl inwards into the fetal position, trying to grab the glass with my hand, it goes in further. The pain spreads into my stomach, I curl my fingers into my palm, praying for my gun, for a knife, for fucking anything. This isn't Mom, why would she hurt me?

The glass shard rips out of my side. I hear a pop and then there's blood on my hands, on the carpet.

Two pieces of glass rise and position themselves in front of my eyes.

"Mommy, please," I bed, crawling away from Bridget's dead body. I hear a door scrap open in the hallway. A light goes on.

"Hello?" someone asks. Then an, "Oh my god." A thump near the stairs.

I look at the broken fragments of the mirror, and I think I see a glint of blonde hair in the reflection. Flames licking. I focus on it.

A crib. A figure bent over. Then a finger, blood. Dripping. Dropping in a baby's mouth. My mouth? Then the reflection changes and it's Mom's open mouth screaming. The eyes. The hair.

I scream too.

Just then there's a crash, a familiar yelp and the screaming tops. Someone's hand is on my mouth.

"Savi!" a voice in my ear. Hands under my armpits, yanking me up. I open my eyes. Molly is standing in front of me, a bloody nail in her hand. I look below her. Blood blooms on Bridget's chest. Iron nail. Right. Iron expels ghosts.

"You…" I start.

Molly's voice comes out strong. "She was already dead. I just expelled the ghost."

"Mom?" I ask.

"If it was Mom it sure as hell wasn't the part of her that was ours," Molly says.

There's a woman's voice in the hallway. My adrenaline kicks back in, reminding me I'm bleeding from my stab wound. Molly rips a part of her shirt and presses it into my side. Blood leaks onto her fingers. I hiss. The pain is starting to make me feel light headed.

"Norman!" There is a shrill scream.

Molly eyes the window.

"We need to go, now," she says.

I agree. We step over Bridget's body. I press a hand into my side to try and staunch the flow of the blood. Molly kicks in the glass of the bedroom window and it shatters. She peers her head through.

"Shit. It's a ten foot drop." She says.

Adrenaline courses through me. "We'll break our legs."

"Do we have any other choice?"

"Hey! Whoever is there, I'm getting my gun!" A deep voice yells.

"He didn't stay out for long," Molly winces. She scurries back to the door and shuts it. I help her push the dresser in front of it.

"We are so fucking screwed," I say.

That's when I get an idea. "Bed sheets," I say.

"Bed sheets?" Molly asks, incredulous. "What…ohhhh." The realization dawns on her face. She runs to the bed and starts ripping them into strips.

Flashback to the Boarding School Era a year in. We are thirteen and I have discovered boys. The dorms lock at ten. The windows open at eleven. I make my escape on our makeshift rope and am making out with Michael Stewart behind the Arts Building by midnight. It's a foolproof plan.

Molly fashions a rope with the sheets in under a minute. In that time, we have been threatened by a gun three more times from Normal, there has been a phone call placed to the police, sirens can be heard in the distance and the mother is screaming for her little girl. It breaks my fucking heart.

I throw the makeshift rope out the window and am about to turn back to Molly to hold onto it while I climb out, but she is bend over Bridget.

"Dude, we have to go," I hiss.

Molly holds her hand up. "Just…wait."

Ever so gently and carefully she closes the little girl's eyes with her blood-stained hands. She looks back at me, and her cheeks are wet.

"It will be easier on the mother."

That's my fucking sister.

"Okay." She gets up and grabs the end of the ladder. "You ok to climb down?"

"I'll just remember my boarding school days."

"Ha," Molly says. She starts to tie the sheet rope off to the curtain holder to the right of the window sill. When she's got it secure, I swing one leg out the window. The other I curl around the rope. I have to let go of my stab wound to hold the rope with both hands. I feel the surge of blood come forward. I bite my teeth and remember Dad's words.

Focus now. Pain comes later.

I shimmy down easy enough, and Molly follows. We make a run for the Honda, just as a police car pulls onto the block. Molly yanks open the driver's door. I throw her the keys. There's a distance crash from the house…the door being kicked in. A mother's scream as her heart breaks.

I think of the ripped sheets. The broken window. Bridget's eyes closed. Her eyelids stained. My blood on the floor. Bloody shards of glass. The nail-sized hole in the chest of her little girl. It looks like a murder scene. Our fingerprints are everywhere. Our DNA. We make a fucking mess.

"We have to go," Molly whispers, and I close the passenger door and lean against the seat, putting pressure on my wound. Molly slams on the gas and we turn the corner just as the police car turns onto the street.

We hit the highway and drive until we reach a gas station. Molly quickly hot-wires a Kia and we peel out of the gas station, leaving the Honda in our wake.

I am breathing hard, so is Molly. The silence lasts for five minutes. When we are sure we aren't being followed Molly speaks up.

"We need to find a motel. Stitch you up. Lay low."

"Molly," I say. My voice quivers. I hate the sound. I sound weak.

"Yeah."

"We screwed up."

"I know."

"How did you…" I start to ask. Molly peels her eyes from the road and looks over at me.

"I felt your pain. I knew you went without me."

It's something we've had all our lives. This connection to each other. When the other is in emotional or physical distress the other feels it. It has saved our lives countless times.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"For going without me?" Molly asks. Her usually soft voice has hard edges. "For ruining a night with a girl I met…who…" She is going to say something else, I can see it in her eyes, but instead she says, "I had to leave."

"Molls."

"It's fine," she says, sharp. "We'll drive for a few hours, put this mess behind us. Are you okay until then?"

I nod. "I talked to Mom."

"That wasn't Mom."

"It sounded like her."

"She killed that poor girl and possessed her. That wasn't Mom, that was a vengeful spirit."

"The spirit told me Sam and Dean visited the house last year."

"What?" Molly is surprised. The crease in her forehead softens. Her eyebrows raise in confusion.

"She also said something about our blood. I think she showed me something in the mirror. A reflection of the night she died. I think the demon bled into my mouth. Maybe yours too."

"That's insane," Molly says. And it is. But from her heavy breathing I know she believes me. "Even if it was Mom, it…it wasn't how she used to be."

"She said she was in heaven. She didn't see Dad there" I say.

Molly doesn't say anything. I think if she did, she would start crying. She knows I hate it when she cries.

"Sam and Dean went there last year?" Her voice is thick.

"Yeah," I say. "I think after Oklahoma."

Molly shivers. "The hunt with the bugs."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of," Molly says, there is fear laced into her voice. I shift in my seat and lean towards Molly. I place a hand over hers, resting on the gear shift. Hunting. Something we aren't supposed to be doing—according to Dean. Dean and Sam.

Shit. We need to call them.

"I don't want to think about that right now," I grit my teeth.

"He is going to kill us. We left evidence and a girl is dead. The police are involved. We're fugitives."

"Maybe we can run away to Mexico," I say.

Molly scoffs. "I don't think we can handle this by running away."

"That's what you dreamed your whole life of doing anyways," I say. I don't mean for it to sound bitter, but it comes out that way.

"No. I dreamed of living a normal life. One not filled with monsters, guns, death and stab wounds. That's different from disappearing off the map into a foreign country on the run. Way different." She pauses. "Dean would find us no matter where we went."

"What are we going to tell him?" I ask her.

"The truth," she states simply. Everything is so simple with Molly. No lies, no secrets. Nothing but goodness. I ache for her. This life isn't fair.

"Maybe a version of the truth," I say. "Look," I continue when she flashes me an annoyed glare. "We ran away and we lied to Dean. We went into a hunt unprepared and we didn't solve anything. Our prints on everything, there is the body of a ten year old girl and the police are involved."

"Technically, you went in unprepared," Molly says. And points to my gun, attached to her hip.

"I'll take the blame for that."

"Sav, we have to. Before Dean sees it on the news."

Shit, he would be more pissed if he found out that way.

As if by a cruel twist of fate, my phone bursts into a ring. Molly and I both jumps. I reach to answer it with my good hand, as Molly crosses her fingers and mutters. "Please be Bobby, please be Bobby."

It's 2am though. Only one person is awake at this time. We both know who it is.

I flip it open, press the speaker button.

"Savannah Alexis Winchester."

The voice is filled with fury and rage. This is way past anger. My heart squeezes. I'm scared to answer.

"Say something right now."

Dean's voice is low, cold and calculated. I wish he was yelling instead.

"Hi," is all I can get out.

"Wrong answer."

Molly and I share glances.

"Dean let me—" I say.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

"I…" I start. "I got stabbed. Look I'm fine. W…we're fine."

"Where are you?"

Again, a clean simple statement. No hint of emotion.

It fucking terrifies me.

"Headed south," Molly says.

"Drive to Austin. We'll meet you there."

"Okay," Molly says again. Her voice comes out wobbly.

It's a ten-hour drive to Austin and its 2am and we are both exhausted, but we don't protest.

"Don't stop unless you have to. Pull over when you can and Molly, stitch Savi up first."

"Dean—look," I start. He cuts me off.

"We'll talk when you get there."

The phone line cuts dead.

The car is filled with a heavy silence. Molly puts on her blinker and pulls off at the next exit.

"I'll stitch you up, we'll take a bathroom break, gas up and grab some coffee and Advil okay?"

I don't say anything. I can't. Dean is more pissed than I think I've ever heard him. I don't want to face him, or his disappointment. I shouldn't have let my feelings get in the way. Impair me like that. Thinking of telling him I walked into that house unprepared terrifies me. I fucked up so many times before, but never like this.

"Molls," I whisper, tongue sticky in my mouth. It's dry and heavy.

"Yeah?"

"We are seriously fucking screwed."

Her hands grip the steering wheel. She pushes harder on the gas.