Appendix D

Section A

Alex age 17

It was an interesting book. It was about the billionth one like it he had read, but nonetheless, it was interesting. Another one of those ancient texts squirreled away by the Men of Letters, with a leather binding he had to be careful to support as he read, attempting to avoid damaging it further than that which the entropy of a few centuries had already caused. Doubtless, it had not been particularly well loved in that time; it was in a messy state, with no margin, cover or binding held sacred. The language was ancient, twisted, often oddly spelled, and sometimes not even in English, though it was written primarily in English. However, even in its dilapidated state after years of changing hands, Sam was determined to keep it well for however long he possessed it. That was why tonight it would rest safely on his bedside table after a gentle perusal. When he had finished reading it, it would get tucked neatly away in the library, in a corner where little happened and it would likely go untouched until the knowledge it kept safe was needed again.

It was one of the most peaceful evenings Sam had had in a long time.

"I don't understand; what is the big deal?!"

"I don't want you going out and getting in trouble with some random guy!"

"He is not some random guy!"

"Of course," Sam rolled his eyes as the shouts of his brother and niece came echoing down the hall.

"He has a pony tail! You can't trust a guy with a pony tail!" Dean snapped.

"That's your measuring stick for trust? Hair length? By that logic, Uncle Sam shouldn't be living with us!" Alex retorted.

"Oh, I'll give you weird hair, but he doesn't have a rat tail."

Their voices were getting a little too close to Sam's door for his liking. He tried to concentrate on his book, but the task was near impossible.

"Don't you trust my judgment?"

"No! No one under twenty-one has trustable judgment! Have you seen that guy?!"

"Yeah! I have! Have you spoken to him?"

"I've spoken with him enough."

"Enough to know what he's really like? You Winchesters and your stupid 'shoot first, ask questions later'! I'm done with it!"

"Hey, that rule keeps you alive!"

"Does it, though? Or does it just keep you from taking a risk that may turn out to be worth the chance?"

"And what if it isn't, huh? What if he attacks you? What if he tries to harm you?"

"Then he'll have a 9mm bullet in his leg to contend with."

"Takin' a gun on your date? Classy."

"Oh, like you've never done that."

Silence.

The door to Sam's room snapped open to reveal a righteous-looking and steaming Alex, closely pursued by her similarly expressive father.

"Alex, don't drag him into this," Dean growled.

"Uncle Sam," she piped, "what was your impression of Logan?"

"Uhmmm… who?" he honestly couldn't put a face to the name.

"See? He doesn't even know who we're talking about," Dean prodded.

"Logan," Alex pressed.

Sam squinted at her, as if reading her thoughts required glasses he didn't possess. "Looooogaaaaannn," he repeated the name, elongating it in an attempt to process and remember the person in question.

"Logan from Frankie's, the restaurant in town," Alex finally elaborated for him.

"Oh! The bus boy?" Sam continued.

"Yes," Alex replied, smiling smugly and sounding pleased.

"Ah. Well, he seemed… I dunno, normal?"

"Yeah, yeah, he seemed normal," grouched Dean. "It's always the normal ones who go the craziest," he shook his head slightly as he bit off the last word.

"So what if he does? I can take care of myself! I'm a hunter!"

"Monsters and ghosts have rules they have to live by!" Dean retorted viciously. "People don't! They'll come at you from left field every time – doesn't matter what you've been through; humans are the worst to deal with."

"Uh, only the really fucked up ones."

"You watch your mouth, young lady."

"Really? Seriously?" was Alex's response.

Sam couldn't help but laugh a little.

Dean shot him an incredulous glare, "You laugh? Really? You laugh?"

"Sorry," Sam unfurled an apologetic hand, holding his humor in. "Although, Dean, you must admit, you're not really one to preach given your tendency to use colorful language."

"Oh, I am the one to preach. I am her father; I am the ONLY one to preach!"

"Ah," said Sam. "Do as I say, not as I do philosophy. Got it."

"Hey, shut up," Dean snapped.

Sam carefully put his book down and stood. "Alex, why don't you go out in the hall and let me talk with your dad?"

Alex grimaced, still fuming. "Okay. But be careful, Uncle Sam," she added as she made for the door. "He's pretty angry; he may take a swing at you."

"Uh, we've had fights that have had us duking it out before. Trust me, this is nothing," He reassured her with a small smile.

"Well, all right, then," She couldn't help but throw one last jab as she exited, rounding on her father, "You know, in a few years, I'll be in college and I won't have to deal with any more of this shit."

"Oh, gee, thanks," replied Dean viciously. "That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside." He pursued her to the door; "I'm so glad you have the gall to run off to college and turn your back on your family!"

Sam shut the door tight between his niece and his brother.

"She's getting that whole 'college is freedom from your family' crap from you," Dean jabbed an accusatory finger at him.

"Take a moment to cool down, Dean," Sam suggested.

The elder Winchester began to pace about the room. Sam returned to his bed while his brother trod a ditch into the floor. It was several minutes before anything of consequence happened. All that while, Dean seemed to be having an argument with himself (or perhaps continuing his argument with Alex in his head), muttering inaudible, angsty comments under his breath.

At last, he stopped, rested his hands on his hips, let his head tilt back onto his shoulders and sighed at the ceiling.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked.

"No," replied Dean emphatically.

"Feeling less belligerent?"

"Oh, I still wanna empty a clip into a burned out car," Dean snapped back, plopping into a nearby chair. He groaned and growled simultaneously; "I tell you, sometimes being a dad sucks."

"You've got big things to deal with," was Sam's attempt at sympathy. "Big decisions, big responsibilities, big problems."

"Thanks for spelling it out there, Dr. Phil."

Sam snickered. "Well, that's not the end of it. You ready?"

Dean looked at him quizzically, "For what?"

"For what I'm here to say; The Speech."

"Oh, god."

"I gotta give it," Sam said playfully.

"No."

"Yeeeessss."

"I've heard it."

"You have."

"Please, spare me this once."

"She's a big girl–,"

"Ah, geez."

"–she's smart and she's tough–,"

"Does your mouth ever quit running?"

"–and we have to learn to trust her, as hard as it is for us."

"Shut up…."

There came a moment's pause.

"Dean," the younger summoned the elder's attention, "it was going to happen sometime."

Dean made a motion of frantically punching the air in front of him in frustration, "I know." He stood and resumed his pacing. "But did it have to be with the loser at the greasy spoon?"

"Um, yeah, she's a teenager. It doesn't matter how happy she is in her home life, she's going to pick someone at some point who was going to piss us off."

"So you admit that he pisses you off, too!" Dean grabbed onto the tidbit like a life preserver in a stormy sea.

Sam negated the attempt, "I mean, not really. I'm still not entirely sure who we're talking about. I've got the name and a vague memory, but I'm not bringing up a face or anything…."

"Really? Seriously? You don't remember the guy who shamelessly flirted with your niece in the middle of a restaurant with her father and uncle sitting right there in the booth next to her?" Dean seemed a little too taken aback for the severity of the affront.

"He did?"

"Uh, yeah!"

"How?"

"Well, he came over to our table and asked her, 'Can I take that plate for you?' in way too friendly a tone, and she said 'sure, thanks,' and then he took the plate from the table and said 'no problem.'" Dean flung his arms out at his sides, sporting an expression of disbelief.

Sam snorted laughter, "That's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?!" Dean reorganized his argument, "Okay, it doesn't sound like that much, but he said it with this big, stupid grin and way too much eye contact."

Sam laughed, "Oh my god, you are such a textbook overprotective dad."

"With good reason!" Dean countered.

"Yeah, because monsters, Dean. That's a little different than your typical teenage rites of passage."

"Hey, humans make–,"

"–the worst monsters, I know," Sam finished with him. "Not all humans are monsters, Dean. Most of them actually are basically good. It's why we hunt, right? For the good people in the world? Because they're out there. And with all the shit Alex has seen hunting with us, I'd think she'd have the ability to pick one of the good ones rather than one of the few bad ones."

"I dunno, Sam," Dean returned to his seat. "We Winchesters have some real crappy luck."

"Even in the romance department?"

Dean shot him a surprised look. "Of course!"

Sam frowned and shook his head as he thought it over, "I don't really remember anything like that happening to us. Not the kind of stuff that we're worried might happen to Alex."

"Dude… you had to off one of your girlfriends once because she was a friggin' werewolf."

"Yeah, well, there was that one time," conceded Sam. "But I also had Amelia. And you had Lisa."

"Oh, yes, thank you for reminding me of my dead ex-girlfriend," Dean tensed.

"Sorry, man, but look at what became of that relationship," Sam gestured at the door, indicating Alex's presence somewhere beyond.

Dean thought on this for a moment, fidgeting uncomfortably, although he seemed to have softened a bit. Nonetheless, he managed to pull a negative out of it, "Yeah, well, now she wants to run off to college."

"She's just angry, Dean, she doesn't mean that.

"You know what, don't even think about that. Just look at it this way; even if our relationships ended, we still had people who cared about us, people who never meant us any harm, and good things did come from the time we spent with them. If we can find that, God knows Alex can, even if it's the bus boy with a pony tail from the diner."

Dean sat back heavily in his chair, looking sour, "You and your logic annoy the crap outta me sometimes, you know that, Sammy?"

Sam laughed. They sat quietly for a while, contemplative.

"Hey, if it's any consolation," Sam suggested, "we can always have the kid over for dinner and we can intimidate, threaten and basically scare the poor guy shitless. Classic dad-to-daughter's-boyfriend talk."

Dean perked up at this, "I like the sound of that."

"Then it's a date," replied Sam.

"I guess," Dean growled.

"You ready to talk to Alex?"

Dean sighed; "Yeah, I'd better." He stood.

They found Alex in the library, pacing, occasionally flapping her arms in frustrated gestures as if she was trying to flick her agitation off. Upon seeing them enter, she rolled her eyes and trod in an anxious circle, then rounding on them to look expectantly at her father.

"Not quite simmered down yet, baby girl?"

She rolled her eyes emphatically at the nickname.

"What? All of a sudden, you don't like me callin' you that?" Dean retorted tiredly.

"Not when I'm angry at you," was her response.

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes, but he threw up his hands in surrender nonetheless, "Fine. I'll file that for future reference.

"Look," he started in, then cast his eyes heavenwards; he had to get the cliché part out first and he couldn't help but adopt a childish manner in doing so. He mumbled noncommittally, "I'm sorry I got angry I know you're not a child and can make your own decisions and I should respect them you're smart and strong and clever and I should let you live your own life…."

Alex's anger appeared to evaporate, if not from anything more than being caught off guard by the apology. Her arms hung at her sides, her shoulders dropped, she frowned and her eyebrows shot up, an expression half elicited from surprise and half from being emotionally moved by his words.

Dean returned his gaze to his daughter and inspected her carefully, sticking his hands in his jean pockets. He stood there for a moment, contemplating her. "I've been playing dad all my life. It's hard to stop trying to protect you from every single thing. And I'm still gonna try, don't get me wrong. But I can't lock you away. That just doesn't work. It's not right. And that means letting you pick the guys you date. 'Cause… they can't all be bad."

Alex laughed. It unburdened Dean's heart.

"Come here, baby girl," he held his arms out to her.

She ambled over to meet him and they embraced, her cheek resting against his shoulder. It was a gentle hug, both of them weary from fighting, simply wanting to lean on one another and rest in the comfort of each other's presence.

When they came apart, Dean kept his hands on Alex's shoulders and said slowly, "When you're ready, you bring that boy over to dinner sometime and we'll get to know him a little. And at some point during the evening, I'll get him alone, and, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to convince him that his death at my hands is inevitable. And should he ever hurt you, I can honestly say, it will be. Deal?"

Alex laughed again, exaggeratedly replying, "Fiiiine."