Topic: Ephemeris of Mine (AU)

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-19 13:00 EST

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So ....this journal. I'd totally forgotten I had it until it showed up in an old box of mom's stuff. So weird that I would have thrown it in with her things when it came from him. But then, the year she died was weird for all kinds of reasons. I guess now's as good a time as any to start using this thing. It's not like I have anyone else I can talk to about the weird.

So, these are the things I know.

My name is Ayden Milligan. I was born on the 29th of September, 1990, to Katherine (Kate) Milligan, a nurse from Windom, Minnesota. Boring town, normal friends; I was a latch-key kid, but that was only because my mom had to work the graveyard shift to make ends meet. She never let me see how bad it was, though. I lived a completely normal, blissfully ignorant life. And it was good, me and my mom in our little house, just the two of us against the world.

My dad didn't figure into things until later. My mom always told me he was a hero, that he was out there saving lives, but I never really believed her. To me, he was just a face in a photo by her bed, until my twelfth birthday. Suddenly that face in that photo was standing on our front stoop in a cheap suit, giving me a journal wrapped in newspaper for a present, and asking my mom if he could take me out for a meal for my birthday. He did that every year. Every September 29th, he showed up on our doorstep and I went out for dinner with my absentee father.

One year, he was there for three days, and I found out what it was my father did with his time. He hunted monsters, and demons, and all the things you tell your kids aren't real and can't hurt you. I was fourteen when I found out about those lies the hard way. It's kinda hard not to believe in it when a ghoul has you strapped to a table with your veins open, bleeding out into tupperware bowls. My dad saved my life. He saved my mom's life. He killed the things that tried to kill us. And then he was gone again.

But he came back for my fifteenth birthday and for the first time, I had something I could talk to him about. He told me about my brothers, people I didn't even know existed, and I was so jealous of the way he talked about them. He was so proud of his boys. I was just the girl. I wasn't even good enough to train how to hunt, I got left with my mom in case I got them all in trouble. God, I resented them all for that so much. He gave me a necklace that year, made me promise I'd never take it off, and I haven't. Not once.

And then, on my sixteenth birthday, he didn't show. He wasn't there for my seventeenth or eighteenth, either. Or my nineteenth. My mom was worried, but she didn't want to call my brothers and ask what had happened. She wouldn't give me the numbers so I could call them. My dad just slipped into memory. It wasn't like there was much of him to miss, but every year, when September slipped by and he wasn't there, I missed him a little.

Then, a couple of years ago, all hell broke loose. Or maybe that should be heaven. Angels came for my mom and me. Friggin' angels. And seriously, they were dicks. They were not what I'd imagined when I said my prayers at night, that was for sure. Angels killed my mom because I wouldn't do what they wanted me to. To this day, I don't know why they didn't kill me, too. I guess because it would have been the merciful thing to do.

First thing I did was find my brothers' cell numbers in my mom's things, but they were a bust. I couldn't even get through, so I called my dad's number. One of my brothers, the next one up from me, picked up, and a couple of hours later, this gruff old guy showed up on my doorstep, bundled me into his truck, and drove me to Sioux Falls.

I got to meet my brothers, my dad's perfect boys, for the first time, and I gotta tell you, I felt real safe with them. They were totally shocked. Dad never even told them I existed; they had to get their pet angel friend to confirm everything for them before they believed a word I was saying. But I gotta give them credit - as soon as they did believe me, I was family.

I still don't really know everything that was going on, and what happened a few weeks after that still gives me nightmares. I can't put it down in just a few words to sum up my life - it's gonna get an entry all to itself when I get there. All I can say right now is that a couple of months after I met my brothers for the first time, they died, right in front of me, stopping something much much worse from happening to the whole damn planet.

So my whole family died at the hands of the lies people tell their children. And no one would let me hunt. No one would teach me, and every time I tried to go out there on my own, I was caught and taken back to my life. It took a while, but I did give up in the end. They were right - I was just walking bait with no one around to spring the trap for me.

So what now" I'm just your average med-student from Windom, Minnesota. Brown hair, green eyes, five foot six inches, maybe a little on the skinny side. I've got a good life, you know" Good friends, a decent job, a full ride at Stanford. It's all good. I took my full ride at Stanford; who wouldn't' If I can't be a hunter, I'm gonna be a doctor hunters can go to when they need strapping up that they can't do on their own.

There's only one real difference between me and the friends I've made here. I know what?s out there, in the darkness. And I sleep with a loaded shotgun under my pillow these days. Just in case.

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-20 13:58 EST

So. This is where I go into detail. It's almost like I have to tell someone about this, even if it is just writing it down in this old journal. I haven't been able to talk to anyone about these things since they happened. I don't know anyone who would believe me - no one who wants to talk to me, anyway.

My life was pretty standard when I was a kid. Mom would get home in the morning, wake me up, we'd do breakfast, and I'd head off to school. On weekends, we might do something together if she had the day off and money wasn't so tight, but she was usually working then, too. I learned real early to look after myself. I guess it was a good thing that I was kinda quiet and liked books. I was a straight-A kid almost from the get-go - nothing special about me, I just had more time on my hands for studying than my friends did. It meant I'd skipped up a grade early on, but it's not like I struggled to keep up. I was just the nerdy little one at the back.

Things started to change at the beginning of seventh grade. Not obviously changing, but one very important part of my teens struck up that year. Eighth grade. Last year of middle school. My twelfth birthday. I was really excited because my birthday was on a weekend that year, and Mom had the Saturday off. We went to the movies. That was such a treat, it made my week. I still remember what we saw - some silly Jackie Chan flick, The Tuxedo - and after that, we went to Cousin Oliver's Hilltop Cafe for dinner. Swanky, huh' But it meant the world to me. I never got to spend so much time with my mom usually.

It was the Sunday, my actual birthday, when things went a little scherzo on me. It's about five in the evening, and I'm just finishing off the last of my homework for the week - you know, the stuff that's due next Friday that most kids don't start until Wednesday - and there's this cranky grumble of an engine outside. Seriously, until that day, I'd never seen my mom look that happy about any kind of loud noise. She was up and out through the front door faster than I'd seen her move for anyone, and I remember hearing her calling out really clearly. She called out for John.

I didn't know a John. I didn't know she knew a John. And I certainly didn't know the guy standing next to a gorgeous car out there on the road with his arms wrapped around my mom, both of them attached at the mouth. I knew straight away that I didn't like him, though. I decided right then and there that anyone who tried to take my mom away from me was the enemy. Didn't really do me much good.

Next thing I know, Mom's pulling my books away from me and putting them back in my bag, and telling me that my dad is here. My dad. The man who wouldn't even put his name on my birth certificate, who hasn't so much as sent a birthday card in twelve years, is standing on the front porch. Not only standing on the front porch, but is saying that he's going to take me out to dinner, for my birthday.

I don't know what I was more angry about - that he just showed up out of the blue and started laying down orders like they were gonna be obeyed no matter what, or that my mom jumped to do everything he asked with this doe-eyed look on her face. I resented him so much for the way my mom looked at him. Even I could tell she thought the sun shone out of his a$$, and that instantly made me his enemy.

But I didn't want to upset her, so I went and got changed. You know, into my best dress because it was a special occasion, to match his cheap suit. The dude could have shaved, that's all I'm saying. And I know I made a big deal out of the goodbye, and I really dragged my feet when I was walking out the door, but ....that car. I kinda fell in love with that car on second sight. She was gorgeous. And reluctantly, she was a point in John's favor.

We went to a Chinese restaurant, which, you know, for me, was the lap of luxury. I had nothing to say to the man, and for a long time, he had nothing to say to me. This is gonna sound crazy, but I sort of liked that. I liked that he wasn't trying to pretend we knew each other, or that he cared about me, or trying to fill the silence with awkward conversation. When he did speak, it completely threw me.

"Ayden," he said, "I know you don't know me from Adam. You probably hate my guts for just being here. I never meant to leave your mom with a child to bring up all alone. But I can't say I'm not proud of the beautiful young woman you're turning into."

So weird that I remember every word he said. I can't remember my answer at all. It was rude, I know that, and it earned me a flash of real anger from the big man sat opposite before he hid it away again. I didn't speak again the rest of that dinner, and he didn't push. He just delivered me back to my empty house, and I put myself to bed. I do know he sat outside in his Impala for a long time, but he was gone by the time I got up in the morning.

So that was that. My first disaster of a meeting with my dad. I held onto the memory of that night in bright detail for months afterward. I was such a brat, but how else was I supposed to react' The man had nothing to do with me for twelve years, and then he expected me to jump when he snapped his fingers. Like hell I was ever going to do that. But then I'd remember the way my mom lit up around him, and I'd have to concede that maybe he had something worth liking. The car, maybe.

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-21 15:39 EST

You know, one of the first things people notice about me are the scars. I have two scars, one on each forearm. They're long, and they run vertically along the line of the main vein on my inner wrists. I guess people think I'm being so brave, showing my arms off and not constantly wearing long-sleeved shirts to hide them, but I really have nothing to hide. These scars aren't evidence of a troubled mind; they're a war wound. And weird though it is, I'm proud to wear them openly.

This part of the story requires a little background, how my mom met my dad, that sort of thing. In the January of the year I was born, 1990, apparently a ghoul set up shop in the local area. Dad came to hunt it, and he ended up helping a local cop, Joe Barton, kill the thing that was eating people. He got beat up pretty bad, went to the ER, my mom patched him up, etc, etc. Their eyes met over a suture kit, and since I'm the one telling the story, you can guess what happened next.

Anyway, end of December 2004. Something killed Joe Barton. It made the papers - they never found a body, but there was all this evidence of a struggle, and blood spots, and I think something about chyme from a human stomach. Mom totally freaked. She put me on lockdown, like some kind of prisoner protection. I wasn't allowed out of the house except to go to school, and even then I had to promise to get a ride with my friend Rose and her dad to and from. Mom didn't want me alone outside the house.

She didn't call Dad until the noises started, though. These old houses in Windom, they're all connected with vents for air conditioning and stuff, and we started hearing really scary noises from them, inside the walls and the ceilings. Like fingernails scratching on metal, and a body crawling backwards and forwards. I swear to God, one night I heard something say my name. Scared me so much I ran straight into Mom's room and she called Dad right then, no more waiting around.

I have no idea where he was when he got the call, or what he was doing, but when Rose's dad dropped me off after school the next day, there was this huge black truck outside our house, and Dad was there. He was blocking up all the vents in the house - he called in sick for Mom, told her she wasn't going anywhere until he had this thing dealt with. That was when I found out what he did with his life. That was the day my Dad told me that the monster under my bed was real.

I was fourteen, I didn't believe a word of it. I thought he'd finally flipped and was taking us off the deep end with him. I mean, seriously. A cop dying and weird noises in the walls, and suddenly I'm expected to believe that there's a monster after me" What would you have done"

I should have believed it.

We were locked up in the house for two days, not allowed out at all. He had us literally locked in my mom's room the whole time. I'm not going to talk about the bucket. The second night, there was some kind of fight downstairs. I didn't see any of it, but Dad was bleeding when he came back in. He told us the ghoul was gone, that he'd killed it. He said it was safe now.

So I went back to school the next day like nothing had happened. Rose was off sick, so I kinda assumed that no one had noticed me being off. After all, if there's a bug going around, who really notices who's got it and who doesn't' Anyway, I was kinda worried so I decided to drop by her house on the way home, just to check in with her. She was my best friend. I called Mom, just to let her know I'd be home later than usual. I am grateful every day that I made that call.

Turns out Rose was the thing Dad killed the night before. Or rather, he'd killed the ghoul that had eaten my best friend and then pretended to be her. Only problem was ....there were two of them, and the other one" Was pretending to be Rose's dad. I didn't stand a chance. I knocked on the door, her dad let me in, I got this really sharp pain in my head, and then nothing. Not until I woke up.

You know the feeling on your skin when you've been sweating and the air chills it right down" It's the definition of clammy. And I know in far too much detail just how bad that feeling gets when you're hypovolemic. Of course, I didn't know that word at the time. All I knew was that I was tied down on the table in my best friend's kitchen, bleeding from both my arms. The bastard was collecting my blood in bowls, too, like it was some kind of milkshake he wanted to enjoy later.

I was totally vulnerable. I'd lost so much blood by the time I woke up that I couldn't focus my eyes, I couldn't work out what was going on. I could barely move my mouth to speak. And all the time, the thing wearing my best friend's father's face was taunting me, telling me why I was dying.

I was dying because my father killed its father, the same night he met my mom. We'd been attacked because it and its sibling had wanted to get their revenge; they wanted to kill John Winchester, and they decided the best way to get him to Windom was to go after my mom and me. It didn't get any further than that, since my dad chose that moment to lean around the door and shoot it in the head. I hadn't even heard him coming.

I don't remember much else from that night. I do remember this tight feeling around my arms; I remember hearing him telling me over and over again that he was sorry, that I should stay awake, that we had a date for next September and he'd be damned if I was going to miss it. When I woke up again, it was daylight, and I was in the hospital, with my mom asleep in the chair beside my bed. I was on lockdown again, but this time no one had the right idea about why.

I was told, later, that a man who sounded a lot like my dad had brought me into the ER after finding me at my friend's house, bleeding out next to the remains of Rose Hanrahan and her father. The psychs assumed I'd slit my own wrists because I couldn't cope with what I was seeing - thankfully, no one believed for a moment that I'd killed anyone. They sectioned me in the mental hospital once I was given the all-clear, and even after I got out, it took a long time to reconnect with any of my other friends.

They didn't know that the monsters under the bed were real. They didn't know that I wasn't mentally unstable. But I knew. I'm not ashamed of the scars on my arms, and I don't see why I should hide them. They're a memory - of the night I really learned the truth, the night my dad saved my life. I'm never gonna hide them away.

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-22 14:40 EST

How does a fourteen-year old pick up the pieces of a normal life after the supernatural has almost succeeded in ending it' After getting out of a mental hospital where she was forced to stay for two months while the doctors assessed her mental stability' I'll tell you how - with sheer bloody-mindedness and the knowledge that in six months' time her father is going to have to stay put for an evening and explain just what the hell it is that happened.

The attack had a bit of a weird effect on me. Oh, I was still close to my mom - closer, since now I knew how quickly that could be taken away from me - and I was still straight-A, even though I'd missed a big chunk of the winter semester. I stopped hiding, though. I wasn't the nerdy kid at the back of the room anymore; I wasn't afraid of the bullies who thought I was an easy mark. I mean, come on - I'd been strapped to a table and bled out like some kind of soda dispenser. What the hell was a teenager going to do to me that could possibly compare with that"

I made more friends, I started to go out more. I know Mom thought that was a mixed blessing. She was happy that I had friends, but she wasn't so happy about me being out after dark. I always made curfew, but there were a few close calls. I didn't make another best friend, though, and boyfriends were way off the mark. Everyone was held at a safe distance, just in case they weren't what they seemed to be.

And I waited. I waited for the livid scars on my arms to start fading, so I could stop hiding them away. I waited for the day when every little sound in my room wouldn't wake me up. I waited for the nightmares to stop. But most of all, I waited month after month for September 29th, my fifteenth birthday. The one day I was guaranteed to see my dad. The day I could pin him down and get a full explanation out of him.

I remember that day really clearly. I poked and prodded and pleaded with my mom to let me take the day off school, but she was pretty firm about it. I had to take the whole day, because she didn't want me sitting in the front window jumping at every little noise, ready to pounce on Dad, when he wouldn't be here until after school was out anyway.

He was there when school was out - right there, as in ....sitting in his huge black truck right outside the school, ignoring everyone who walked by staring at him curiously. I'll bet I turned a few heads when I pretty much ran straight to the truck and climbed in, but I didn't care. My dad was here, and that meant I was finally going to get some answers.

He didn't seem to mind that I just launched straight in; he even laughed a little when I belated said hello in the middle of my demands to know what he'd been doing and just how dangerous the world was. But he talked. I'm pretty sure he sugar-coated a lot of it, played it down because he didn't want to frighten the girl, but he told me what I needed to know. Every dark thing in my imagination was real, yes, but there were ways to kill them. He told me about holy water and silver and salt, and gave me a necklace to protect me against ever being possessed. I've never taken it off, not since he gave it to me. I lapped up everything he told me like it was mana from heaven. I didn't even realise it had taken two hours to make the ten minute journey home until he pulled up on the stoop.

That was when I realised he was wearing his cheap suit again, and I actually laughed. I'd forgotten the ritual - the awkward hello, the long silence while I dragged my feet, the truly awful compliments passed back and forth about whatever it was we were wearing, and then finally the dinner. Always the dinner, like he had no idea what else he could do with me. Only this time, I'd actually run to see him. We'd been talking for two hours straight and I hadn't noticed the time. I was actually happy to see my father, for the first time.

I remember him looking kind of stunned when I skipped upstairs to get changed, hearing my mom laughing at the look on his face as she said her hellos. I even overheard her warning him about my new outlook on life as I came back down the stairs.

"I warn you now, she's a bit sassier than you're used to, John," she was saying as I walked into the kitchen.

"I can handle a fifteen-year old girl, Katie -" I swear his jaw dropped when I stepped into view. He certainly never finished that sentence. moving straight on to the next one, also never finished. "You look -"

"Beautiful better be the word you're looking for," I warned him, one finger pointing in his direction. "I love this dress."

He made a strangled sort of sound, looking to my mom for help. She shrugged, grinned, and turned her back, clearly leaving him to sink or swim on his own merit. I remember thinking that was kinda cruel - she was the one who bought me that dress, especially for my birthday.

"Is it a little ....adult for you?" Dad managed finally, rising to his feet to get a better look at me from the angle he was more used to. I'm not short, but seriously, the men in my family are all giants.

My hands went straight to my boobs, squeezing and pushing them up to create cleavage that he almost choked at. "These just arrived, I'm enjoying them," I informed my father, who was woefully out of his depth. He obviously had thought I was going to still be the shy, quiet little mouse I'd been the year before; the new and improved Ayden was almost completely beyond him to deal with.

It was at this point my mom stepped in to usher us out to dinner before we could get started on a long overdue father-daughter argument that would, no doubt, have rattled a few windows in the neighborhood. We went Chinese, like always, but this time we actually talked to each other. I told him about the normal things in my life - my grade point average, my friends, my ambitions. He told me about little things it was safe for me to know - his life before the whole demon thing got in the way, his parents ....his sons. My brothers.

That was such a huge shock. I had brothers. Two big brothers, Dean and Sam, who'd been hunting with Dad since they were kids. He even showed me a picture of them. It was years old, but it was so battered and handled, I could tell that it held pride of place in his wallet. It hurt to know I wasn't there in his wallet with my brothers, though. Like I wasn't good enough. It never occurred to me at the time that by keeping me a secret even from his sons, my dad was keeping me safe.

He told me he was on a very dangerous hunt, and that the chances were he wouldn't make it to Windom for my sixteenth. That I wasn't to worry if he wasn't there, that he'd make it up to me when he saw me again. I remember just nodding and taking this in, not really hearing the goodbye he was trying to give me. I've often wondered if he ever said goodbye to my mom the same way.

It was a strange night. It was the first time I ever felt like I really had a father, but it came with hurt and upset to mangle the pleasure in that feeling. I had family who would never know who I was, that I even existed - he'd put his foot down about that. I wasn't allowed to contact my brothers, not at all. I remember, when it came time for him to leave, I hugged him. It took him a minute to react, but he did hug back, wrapping me up and squeezing, and I swear I felt him sob a little. But when I pulled back, all I saw was his smile, and for the first time, that smile meant the world to me.

What I didn't know, as I climbed the stairs to bed, was that his lone little smile was the last I would see. I never saw my father again.

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Ayden · Date: 2012-08-23 16:21 EST

My dad didn't come back for my sixteenth, just like he said he might not. But he wasn't there for my seventeenth, or my eighteenth. I missed him on my birthday, but he'd never been a big part of my life. I figured either things were really bad, or that he'd decided not to come back anymore. Even Mom wasn't too bothered by it, or at least, she wasn't bothered anywhere I could see.

He missed out on a big achievement in my life. I'd already skipped a grade, way back, but the real milestone was being accepted to Wisconsin to study Pre-Med in 2009. It wasn't a major that was offered, so I ended up being a Folklore and Literature major, but I'd already decided what I wanted to do with my life. I'm still working on that plan, too. I'm gonna be a doctor, but I'm gonna make sure hunters know about me. They gotta have somewhere safe to go to get patched up - monsters and demons can always find them in hospitals.

I moved into the dorms at the university, got myself a job at a local diner to cover the cost of living, and my books and stuff. I was really happy, settled in and working hard. I really enjoyed the challenge of studying all this folklore and knowing that most of what I was reading was real, but the thing I worked hardest on was the pre-med. I had a point to make - Mom really didn't want me getting into medicine, not after her experience as a nurse. But things were good. I should have known it wasn't going to last.

Sophomore year, March 2010. I was visiting my mom on a weekend - all right, so I had laundry to do and I didn't want to pay for the machines - and everything was normal, you know" Well, not normal globally, if you counted the freaky weather and mass suicides and earthquakes and stuff, but normal for home. We didn't know that the Apocalypse was coming. We certainly didn't know that we were about to get dragged into it ourselves.

Anyway, we're just sitting down together, about to have dinner, and suddenly there are three men in the kitchen with us. They just appeared out of nowhere, all crisp dark suits and this way of looking at us. They were so superior, so much better than us. And one of them spoke to me.

"So you're the Winchesters' baby sister," he said, like it was common knowledge. "Well, I can certainly see why they've been keeping you under wraps."

Knowing that my brothers knew nothing about me, I stuck to the party line, but I'm pretty sure the surprise showed in my face. Winchester isn't exactly a common name. "I don't know what you're talking about. What are you?"

The one who spoke began to pace backwards and forwards, this smarmy, patronising grin on his face. "Ah, an intelligent question - you must get that enquiring mind from your mother. Not who, but what. But I'll answer both." He paused, looking down at me, and I swear I felt about as big as an ant about to get stepped on. "Zachariah, Angel of the Lord, but that's not what I'm here to talk about. You, Ayden, are going to say yes."

I remember looking at Mom as though she could make sense of this, but she looked about as befuddled as I felt. The assumption that I was going to do anything this smarmy smarta$$ said prickled along my spine, igniting the attitude I'd been developing for the last five years. "I don't think so," I refused, shaking my head with a smirk of my own. "I think you're gonna leave."

The smirk on Zachariah's face went cold as he stopped moving. Caught under his stare, I realised a little late that I might have just sassed something that could kill me without breaking a sweat. I wasn't going to apologise, though. They were in my house, after all. Well, my mom's house, but the principle's the same.

"I see the problem here," Zachariah said, and for a moment, I thought he was going to be reasonable. "You think this is a subject up for discussion. You're getting ready to study medicine, aren't you? Let's see how enthusiastic you are for a debate when your mother is in the throes of, I don't know ....advanced cirrhosis of the liver."

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't to see my mother suddenly pitch off her chair onto the linoleum, her skin turning yellow with jaundice and mottled with bruises from the slightest touch. She moaned in pain, her body inflating with what I now know was ascites, an accumulation of fluid in the peritoneal cavity, and to my shock, there was a lot of fresh blood bubbling up from her mouth, pooling on the floor by her head.

I launched off my chair to land on the floor beside her, suddenly in a panic. "Stop it!" I remember yelling at Zachariah, frightened and shocked and totally bewildered. "What are you doing this for?"

And the bastard answered as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn't just handed my mom a death sentence. "As I said, Ayden, you are going to say yes." He sat down in the chair I'd vacated, watching me try to do something, anything, that would ease the pain my mother was in. "And you're going to say it now."

"Say yes to what?" I demanded, angry as much as frightened. The worst they could do, I thought, was to inflict massive amounts of pain on me and leave me to die. I didn't know about resurrection then. "How the hell can I say yes to something when I don't know what the question is?"

"I'm hearing a lot of this." He held his hand up, flapping his fingers and thumb like some kind of puppet mouth. "What I want to be hearing is this."

My mom cried out suddenly, drawing my attention down to where she was curled up, the blood pouring from her mouth into my lap. I was horrified to see sores opening up all over her skin, and not just open wounds - these were pus-filled, necrotic. They must have hurt so much, and they were everywhere. I could see them beneath her clothes where the blood and pus were seeping through the cloth.

"I'm not allowed to do it to you yet, though," Zachariah continued, ignoring my crying, screaming pleas for him to stop what he was doing, to leave my mom alone. "Here's the thing, Ayden. Your family have a habit of not doing as they're told, even when they're in full possession of the facts. So you don't get the facts. You get persuasion."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the disfigured agony that was my mom. Was she being put through all this because of me" Was I being asked something because of my dad, or one of my brothers" But Zachariah had given me a bit of information that made up my mind. Whichever Winchester he was after, they hadn't said yes to whatever it was. It had to be something real bad. So I made a decision that ultimately cost me everything.

I looked up at this so-called Angel of the Lord, smirking down at me from his seat, and despite the tears and the fright and the horror of what they had done and what I was about to do, I knew then and there that I wasn't going to do anything he wanted. "You can kiss my lily-white a$$ and go squeal for your yes, 'cos you're not getting it from me."

I think that was the second time I came close to dying. Zachariah was pissed, and I mean really pissed. So pissed he didn't have words for it at first. And then he just turned it around. He stood up and patted me on the head.

"We'll see if you still feel the same way after watching your mother die in excruciating agony. Call me."

And just like that, he was gone, taking his two goons with him. Leaving me to curl my mom up in my arms and sit with her, waiting for an ambulance that came too late. My mom, the healthiest woman you could ever want to meet, died in my arms on our kitchen floor of advanced cirrhotic liver disease and MRSA, all because some angel didn't get what he wanted. All because of me, and some misplaced loyalty to my absentee father. http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/Kate.jpg

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-24 10:21 EST

The next few hours are kind of a blur. I guess everything happened too fast for me to process, or I just don't want to remember all the technical details. I don't want to remember the paramedics calling a doctor to pronounce my mom dead on scene, or having to sign off her body to the coroner, or talk to the police. I don't want to remember the shocked sympathy on everyone's faces when they realised that I'd watched my mother die and now I was all alone. It's not like I told them angels did it - I'd spent two months in a mental ward already, I wasn't going to ask for a one-way ticket back there, thankyouverymuch.

It wasn't even midnight before everyone was gone again, and I was left in an empty, dark house that was full of memories. I do remember I was sitting in the kitchen, just staring at the unfinished meals on the table and trying hard not to look at the blood congealing on the floor, when it suddenly occurred to me that I needed to speak to my dad. I was hurting, why shouldn't he hurt with me"

It didn't take but a minute to find my mom's so-called secret numbers, and right there were the three that I was looking for ....John, Dean, and Sam. I figured my dad's number wouldn't work - he was in the habit of changing his number so often it was a miracle anyone ever managed to get hold of him - so I called Dean's number first. I got nothing but that horrible Out of Service beeping, and the same when I tried Sam's number.

I was crying by the time I tapped my dad's number into the phone, certain it would just prove to be a dead end like everything else. I think I actually cried out with relief when someone, a man, answered it.

"Hello?" It wasn't my dad, so it had to have been Dean or Sam.

"Is my -" I remembered just in time that they didn't know they had a sister. "Is John there?"

There was a pause, like the guy on the other end was startled by the question and had to adjust his thinking. "He can't come to the phone right now," he said finally, and I just knew that was a lie. Something bad had happened to my dad, too, I was sure of it. "Can I help you, at all?"

"Only if you're Dean or Sam." And that elicited a tense response.

"This is Sam," he identified himself, but I could hear the frown on his face. "Who is this?"

"I'm Ayden Milligan, I'm ....John's my dad, and my mom's -" I think I was crying too hard to make much coherent sense by this point, because the conversation broke down into his disbelief and my snotty sobs.

I could hear voices in the background, at least two other men and a woman, and one of them vehemently denying any chance that I was who I said I was. I made a guess that was Dean. It sounded as though Sam was stuck in the middle, trying to calm me down and trying to make Dean shut up long enough to listen to sense. I think I'd called in the middle of an argument.

When, finally, things seemed to have calmed down on both ends, Sam turned his attention back to me. "Ayden, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he began, and then had to stop while I dragged myself back under control again. "John died about three years ago."

The bottom just about dropped out of my world when I heard that. My mom was dead, and then I found out that my dad's been dead for three years and no one told us. I can't help wondering if my mom knew and kept it from me, or if she spent those three years wondering where he was and what he was doing. You'd think he would have put something in place to let us know if he ever died, but oh no ....the man had such a hero complex, he kept on protecting us after he died. Except I didn't feel protected. I felt abandoned, and I still do.

"Ayden" Are you still there?" Sam sounded concerned, and to my surprise, that other voice that had to be Dean sounded almost as concerned in the background. "Is she okay' Why's she calling?"

"Yeah," I managed, forcing my tears down to a manageable level. "I'm still here, I ....Look, I need help, I'm scared. This dillweed calling himself Zachariah came to the house a few hours ago, and he, he wanted me to say yes to something, and when I didn't, he killed my mom -"

And there I went into floods of tears again while Sam passed this on to everyone else in the room where he was. He waited until I was a little calmer, and I found myself telling him exactly where I was. I never really got a straight answer from him as to why he didn't put me on speaker. It turned out to be a good thing, though - I wasn't distracted by what else was going on around him, I could focus on my brother's voice. In the background, I heard the woman start to speak, too low to understand what was being said. It sounded like she was handing out orders, and a few minutes later, I was pretty sure that she and Dean were the only ones in the room with Sam. What I didn't know at the time was that they'd sent Castiel off to make sure I was who I said I was, and Bobby Singer was in the car on his way to pick me up.

"Okay, Ayden, I want you to do a couple of things for me." Suddenly Sam was back on the phone and back in control of the conversation. "I want you to tell me your email address - I'm going to send you a picture. I want you to draw that picture on a flat surface, but it has to be in blood. If the angels show up again, you press your hand to the center of the sigil, and they'll be blown away for at least a half hour, long enough to draw another one if you have to."

I winced, but agreed, passing on my email without a second thought, moving through the house to turn on the computer. A little blood was better than dying bloody in the kitchen the way my mom had. As I printed out the banishing sigil, Sam went on.

"I want you to pack a bag, too," he told me. "You're going to come here, to us, for a while. We can protect you better if you're close by."

In the background, I could hear Dean still talking. "Seriously' Zachariah killed her mom' Son of a bitch." There was a thump, and that woman's voice again, obviously telling him off, and weirdly, that made me smile. I hadn't even met Dean and Sam yet, and I already liked the woman they were with.

Sam stayed on the phone to me for over two hours, talking about nothing, filling the silence while I packed a bag and set myself up to wait next to the front door, right next to where I painted that banishing sigil on the wall. He didn't pass the phone on at all, and I gotta admit, I was glad of that. Sam sounded gentle, if a bit tense, but Dean sounded like an argument waiting to happen and I just wasn't in the mood for that.

Bobby turned out to be this gruff guy in a trucker's hat and a plaid shirt, who pulled up to the house and got me into his car without even introducing himself. Sam recognised his voice, and it was only then that he rang off. As soon as he did ring off, though, I started crying again, and I didn't stop through the whole trip from Windom to Sioux Falls.

I nearly crashed us when Castiel appeared in the back seat, panicking and shrieking loud enough to bust an ear. Bobby should have earned a medal for only swerving and not driving us straight off the road in response. I wasn't completely reassured by his insistence that Cas was a friendly angel, especially when the dude put his hand on my sternum and marked me with something. That hurt, deep down, bone deep. But he promised me that it would keep Zachariah from finding me again.

And then he was gone, leaving Bobby to deal with the weepy nineteen-year old curled up in his front seat. That man has the patience of a saint - three hours of crying, and not a word telling me to shut up. No wonder the boys always felt better when he was around.

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-25 18:24 EST

How can I describe meeting my family for the first time" Not just my brothers, but Bobby, and Ellen, and even Castiel. I was only with them a short time, but they're family. I know that when the chips are down and I need them, the ones that are still alive will be right there to get me through. Because that's what they did three years ago, when I had nowhere else to go.

Bobby Singer, a grumpy old man with the patience of a saint, who had to sit through three hours of me weeping to myself in the passenger seat of his car. He never tried to tell me everything would be okay, or cheer me up, or distract me from what I was feeling. He just let me feel it; he left me to work through the bad on my own, because that's what Winchesters do. And even though I've never taken the name, I'm a Winchester.

It wasn't just the car ride to Sioux Falls that he helped me on. I lost count of the number of times he just sat with me, always in silence. He never seemed to know what to say to me; it was like he could deal with my brothers because they were men, but the thought of trying to cope with a girl was beyond him. But he tried, especially after ....it ....happened. There were a lot of silent moments with Bobby after that, full of feelings shared without words. I never thanked him, either. I guess I'm still assuming he'll always be there, even if I haven't spoken to him in years.

Ellen Singer, his wife, was another story. She's the heart of that house, even then when she was stuck in a wheelchair without hope of getting on her feet again. She held everyone together. She was the one who told me what had been going on, what I'd been dragged into. She wouldn't let Sam or Dean tell me themselves; I even saw her smack Castiel's hand once for starting to explain what was going on before I was ready to hear it. And he never batted an eyelid - he just stopped, just like that.

It was Ellen that taught me that it's okay to be angry when someone dies, especially when they die bloody. I spent hours with her every day, when the others were poring over books or arguing about what they were going to do, just talking to her. She never once tried to take my mom's place, but I think I gave her that place anyway. She's the kind of fierce gentle soul anyone would want for their mom. She knows what?s out there, she'll defend you from it to the death, but she knows how to be soft when you need her to be. She's the one who cut all ties and convinced me it was for my own good. I know she's right, but after everything that happened, everything I shared with her ....I miss her every day, almost as much as I miss my own mom.

Castiel ....how the hell do I describe an angel" Not just an angel, but a fallen angel, someone who was on my side right from the start. He's the one who convinced Dean and Sam that I really was their sister, so in a way, he's the one who gave me my family. Always so literal and matter of fact, and completely out of his depth when it came to emotions. And he was so hurt when I yelled at him for his little magic trick in the car. He never warned you before he did something, especially if it was going to hurt. Having my ribs covered with Enochian sigils did hurt, but I understood, eventually, why he hadn't waited to do it.

He was like a brother to Dean, and when he left, it made waves in the house. But at least he stayed and helped for a while, even if he didn't think the plan would work. He just didn't understand family. He staked his life on a different way, and he died defending his right to free will. He's as much a hero as anyone else can claim to be. You don't have to win to be heroic; knowing Cas taught me that. Sometimes just making a stand is the only thing you can trust yourself to do, and you have to do it, no matter how hopeless. I hope he knows, wherever he ended up, just how inspiring he is to me. How important his loss was to the greater cause.

Sam was my brother, right from the get-go. He was waiting for me on the porch when I arrived, he stayed close to me all through that first day. He gave me my first hug that night before Ellen sent me to bed. I know he wasn't totally confident that I was real, that I was really John's daughter, but he acted like he was. I hope that, over the weeks that followed, he came to see me properly as his little sister. That's definitely how I saw myself when it came to Sam.

He never talked about the big bad, the elephant in the room. Not to me, in any case. He always tried to stop the conversation if I happened to walk in on them talking about how hopeless everything seemed. Sam gave me something completely normal to latch onto. He told me about his time at Stanford without ever mentioning his girlfriend or how she'd died, about what he'd wanted to do with his life. Little things about life growing up with Dad and Dean that made me ache with envy. And he took an interest in my life, in my ambitions.

One thing I remember really clearly about Sam was something no one ever explained to me. He was really angry, simmering all the time, even though he tried to hide it, and even in the midst of that anger, he always seemed to be trying to hold onto a hope that was just out of reach. There was a real sense of darkness in him that he was trying to escape, and even though I didn't know what had happened over the last couple of years - and I still don't - I wanted to help. I hope I did, in a tiny way.

I hope he knows, wherever he is, that I love him, and I miss him. And I wish my big brother Sam was still here to see me in Stanford, earning my full ride, with a normal boyfriend, and normal friends, and a normal job. Everything he wanted for me ....what they both wanted. At least one of the Winchesters got it right, even if I had to be pushed to get there.

And then, there was Dean.

Yeah, that's gonna take some thinking about before I write anything down.

http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/WinchestersAndMilligan.jpg

Ayden · Date: 2012-08-30 15:38 EST

There are a lot of things I've had to do in my short lifetime that most people would find weird and maybe completely out of their comfort zone. Confronting a pair of archangels intent on fulfilling the Apocalypse should top that list, but it doesn't. Describing Dean ....that comes close.

I really don't know where to start. He was my big brother, with everything that implies, the good and the bad. The man was so full of contrasts, it was hard to pin down just who Dean really was, but I think I saw him a few times. Enough to know who it was I'm really missing as the years go by. I love Sam, I miss Sam, but Dean had something special. Sam made me feel loved. Dean made me feel safe, and that's something I haven't had in a long time.

Dean never told me what I wanted to hear, he told me what I needed. He never told me a gentle lie to ease me past something - that isn't to say he never lied, because he did. And every time I caught him in a lie, we argued. I know I was in a bad place, but I regret so much of what I said to him when I was upset. He didn't know how to deal with it, and he just clammed right up. Just like I do when I'm upset and I've gone too far. We really made Sam earn the title of middle child.

I remember something Ellen told me about Dean. It's stuck with me through all these years without him. "You can't help loving someone who tries so hard to take it all on his shoulders without a word, just to keep you from feeling it." I've got another way of describing that. Infuriatingly, endearingly, frustratingly stubborn. But apparently so am I, and Sam definitely was. It must be a Winchester thing.

If Sam was all about emotion, Dean was all about problem-solving. Confront the man about his feelings, and you got a brick wall. Give him a problem that needed to be fixed, and he was there, animated and ready for anything. He started teaching me about my baby before things got out of hand, and what he started, Bobby finished, just because it was something Dean wanted me to know. He taught me how to load and fire a shotgun, how to strip it down and clean it. He gave me an iron knife, and taught me the best ways to make myself safe in my dorm room at college. Dean gave me tools that I'm still using in a very practical way.

I don't mean Sam didn't give me anything, or teach me anything. But Sam didn't need me to look up to him, although I'm sure he enjoyed being the protector instead of the protected for once. Dean needed to know he was passing on more than just what he called the family curse. He carried so much guilt and blame and responsibility - he felt responsible for the Apocalypse, for God's sake! Something that was prophesised centuries ago when the Bible first got written down, but oh, no, it was all Dean's fault. Try arguing him out of that, and oh, look, there's that brick wall again.

He gave me a few stony silences in the weeks we knew each other, and I'm pretty sure I earned them all. But I wouldn't change that for anything; I can't even really bring myself to regret the arguments that brought those silences down between us. Because without the silences, there wouldn't have been the reconcilliations, when the apologies didn't matter so much as the explanations. The first time that happened was when he'd been locked into Bobby's panic room for scaring the crap out of Ellen with a disappearing act. I snuck down and shut myself in with him, and ....we just talked. No secrets, no lies, no excuses. Just talking, brother to idiot sister.

When I finally found out what was going on, what the big plan was, I was terrified, sure. But even when he was nothing more than a meatsuit for Michael, he was looking out for me. Michael told me that Dean had asked for my mom to be brought back to life, and even though it didn't happen, even though she was gone for good, I will always love my brother for wanting that for me. I saw him walk into the path of danger for me when Michael was supposed to be in charge of their body - I guess it was good practise in the end. But that could only be Dean. Why would an archangel care if I got splatted in the line of destiny?

So how do I describe Dean' He was an angry, loving, practical, emotional, vulnerable, hard, well-put-together wreck. He was my brother, and I am so proud to be able to say that. I just wish I'd told him, before he left. The one thing he needed to hear, and I never said it. So yeah, I don't have many regrets, but I do regret that my brother never got to hear me tell him two very important things. I'm proud of you. I love you.

I miss you.

Ayden · Date: 2012-09-09 09:01 EST

The human mind is a very interesting thing. It has a concept of time no other animal brain has; it stores up some memories like treasures, erases others to protect itself. I don't remember my mom's funeral, or much of what happened right after it. All I really know is what happened after that, when Dean had gone in one direction and me and Sam went in the other.

Ellen was furious with us. I mean seriously, blindingly, heart-breakingly incandescent with us for letting Dean go off on his own. Well, I say us, but I think I'm being charitable. She was furious with Sam, and she made sure he knew it. And he just stood there and took it - this big man, taller and stronger than anyone else I knew, stood there and let a little woman in a wheelchair call him every name under the sun without offering excuses or apologies.

I think that was when I realised just how tall Ellen stood in my brothers' minds. She could have been the teeniest woman you could imagine, and they'd still see her as towering over them, this great parental figure who could scold and praise in equal measure and never stop loving them no matter how stupid they were.

Those three days were tough, though. Not just because the house felt just about ready to implode with worry and anxiety, but because that was when I finally found out what was really going on. Ellen finally took me to one side and laid it all on the line for me, about angels and demons and Michael and Lucifer and the Apocalypse. I finally understood why Dean wanted me told and Sam didn't, why they both felt such responsibility for the whole world.

It was a lot to take in, and I know Sam expected me to turn my back on him, to blame him for everything that had happened. He seemed so very shocked and surprised when I didn't, when I sat down next to him at dinner, when I hugged him and thanked him for looking after me. I wanted Dean to be there, so I could thank him, so I could apologise to him for being a spoiled little brat and thinking only about myself and off-loading everything onto him. But I only had to wait a few days, and he'd be there too.

Except he wasn't. The three days came and went, and there was no sign of Dean. Ellen started to pace - and believe me, watching someone pacing backwards and forwards in a wheelchair is more stressful than doing it yourself. Bobby turned taciturn and growly; Sam started to lose control of his anger. Even Cas was antsy, unable to track or trace Dean because of the sigils he'd put on all our ribs to hide us from angels.

When, after a whole day with no word from Dean, Sam finally gave up that he'd probably gone to Wisconsin, Illinois, or Kansas, Castiel was gone to search for him before Sam had finished speaking; Bobby and Ellen put all their contacts out looking for Dean. They all thought he'd done something stupid - saying yes to Michael stupid - and I felt like an idiot for feeling absolutely certain he hadn't. What did I know, right' I'd only known my brothers two weeks.

I was vindicated when Cas finally dragged him back, bloody and hurting and so angry I thought he was going to bust an artery. Ellen insisted he get put on lock down in the panic room, and I think Bobby and Sam agreed just so she wouldn't hurt them for crossing her. I remember thinking how weird it was not to trust Dean when he'd obviously been through hell and not caved.

I didn't know then that sometimes you can love someone so much you don't dare trust them not to do the right thing.

Ayden · Date: 2014-02-03 16:25 EST

I can't talk about what happened next. God, I can't even write it down. I don't want to go back there, to go back to the weeks of planning and finally the day of The Event. The day I watched my brothers kill each other for the good of everyone else out there.

I barely remember the weeks afterward. I remember the funeral - not a big churchy affair, like with my mom. Just a quiet laying to rest with me, Ellen, and Bobby, watching as flames consumed what was left of Dean and Sam, making absolutely damn sure no one would ever be able to use them, or even a part of them, ever again. I cried so hard I hurt, and they cried with me - Ellen and Bobby mourning the sons they never had, with a lot more dignity than I showed.

I went back to college, somehow I got through what was left of the semester, and I still got high grades in my exams. Then I went back to Sioux Falls for the summer. And slowly, I'm not sure how, it got better. We talked about them all the time. Ellen always had some funny story to share about Dean or Sam when they were little, and Bobby had his own stories to tell, both of them trying to remember without being sad. I don't think any of us will ever stop mourning for the lost, that tragic waste of lives. But that being said, we have other things to be thankful for. We had each other, and even though Ellen cut all ties except for emergencies once that summer was over, I will always hold the Singers in my heart for their kindness to me.

The visions started about halfway through my next year at college. I'd have these really vivid dreams, and although they were weird as all hell, and violent, too, I never really thought anything of them. They were a nuisance, interfering with my ability to concentrate in class, getting in the way of the promise I'd made to my brothers to do well and get on in life. But one thing changed that.

I'd had an horrific dream. I'd seen a boy from my own year, one of my classes, chased down by this thing with blue white eyes and claws and fanged teeth. I'd watched as it ripped him open and ate his heart. And then, a couple of days later, he wasn't in class. The day after that, the newspaper ran the story - a serial killer on the loose, whose victims were mauled and their hearts removed, never to be found. I still remember the shock, I remember not being able to hear or see anything, how numb I felt that I'd known it was going to happen and I hadn't done anything.

The next thing I remember is Gabriel, the rogue archangel Dean set as my shadow before he died, standing there with me, holding my arm tight as he pulled me away from my classmates. He told me what was going on, that only a prophet is given the protection of an archangel, and even though I wasn't a prophet, some of that power had rubbed off on me because he was watching over me. It's just as well Dean never knew - he'd have freaked out if he'd known that giving me the best protection Heaven can provide would make me psychic.

We tried an experiment over the summer. If having an archangel on my shoulder was giving me visions, maybe if he went away, the visions would stop. I talked Gabriel into it, mostly by not leaving him alone until he agreed. But it didn't work. If anything, the visions got worse, less controlled, less clear in my mind. I'm psychic now, archangel or no archangel, and having Gabriel around, even if I never see him, keeps that part of me sane. But at least I know that now.

Couple of years later, I applied to Stanford to study medicine. I'd promised Dean I'd graduate from a university, any university, and break the Winchesters' duck; I applied to Stanford for Sam's sake. He was happiest there. I hoped I would be, too. To my ever-lasting amazement, I got a full ride. With no parents to provide any kind of income, I got free tuition; likewise, I didn't have to pay for food and board. The Stanford Fund gave me a grant to get the books I would need and get me started, and I got a job as a waitress during the summer before I enrolled so I could pay for everything else. I was paying my own way, and after two years of looking after myself and really struggling, it was luxury.

I got more than that when I got to Stanford, though. I got a room-mate who quickly became a friend, the first friend I'd had since Rose was killed by a ghoul who wanted me dead. Gina is one of the saving graces in my life - she doesn't let me study all the time, she doesn't question why I sleep with a loaded shotgun under my pillow, she doesn't argue about salting the windows and doors before I go to bed. She has a really free, to-each-his-own attitude, and so long as my quirks don't interfere with her lifestyle - which they don't - she's fine with them. She set me up with Cole, too.

Don't get me wrong, I like Cole, I just don't like him. We get on great; he's okay at kissing, I guess. I just don't think it's going to last. He deserves someone who thinks he's awesome, who can make him the center of their world, and that someone isn't me. We've talked about it, though - he feels the same way about me. It's so weird, being in a relationship just so people stop trying to tell us that we should date more. But hey, since we've been together, people have stopped telling him to get laid, and stopped talking about me having starch in my panties. We're good for each other, at least for now. That works for me. Especially after what happened over the summer of 2012. ___________ http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/ColeandAyden_zps31b2c6d6.jpg http://i849.photobucket.com/albums/ab51/RhyDinLittleTheatre/GinaandAyden_zps5e1bdc2f.jpg

Ayden · Date: 2014-02-03 18:20 EST

Which brings us to August, 2012. End of my sophomore year at Stanford, I was completely settled. I had friends, I had a high grade point average, I was doing a little hunting here and there, making use of some of those visions. And then I get a phone call, out of the blue. Ellen. Saying that Dean is back.

I took off running. I packed a bag, jumped in the car, and drove for three days with barely a stop to get to Sioux Falls. Had a couple of conversations with Ellen while I was driving, and she brought me up to speed. This Dean isn't the Dean who died. This Dean has been ripped from some alternate dimension where he and Sam didn't die, had his soul split right down the middle so he can be here and there at the same time by Olympian Gods, of all things. Not only that, this Dean is getting married to a girl who had almost the same thing done to her. Don't ask me for the details, I don't know them, and frankly, I don't care. All I know is that somehow I have my brother back.

He wasn't all that pleased to see me. God, I behaved like a brat. Jumped out of the car expecting a big hug and a welcome back, and got a moody, grumpy "what the hell are you doing here?" instead. That hit me in the gut. I felt like I wasn't wanted, like he didn't care that I'd spent years mourning my brother and just wanted to get to know him again. I mean, he's still Dean. He's just not the Dean I knew. Took me crying on him to get to see the soft sugar center he doesn't show people.

You know, I spent years hiding the visions from Ellen and Bobby, not wanting them to know that the apple pie life they want for me just isn't going to happen. But the second I was with Dean, it all came out. I told him all about it, told him about a dream I'd had where a guy I didn't know got torn to pieces outside a church. Turns out that guy was his fiancee's foster father, a guy called Brian Morgan. Also turns out the fiancee, Nim, is a whole lot tougher than she looks. She's this sweet, delicate little thing, and yet first thing she did was say the wedding's going ahead. Forewarned is forearmed.

Of course, it didn't quite turn out the way we'd hoped. Strangest wedding I've ever been to, I'll tell you now. Everyone in their best, everyone armed to the teeth, and just after the kiss, all hell breaks loose. Things called Hybrids, manufactured mixes between a demon and a deceased human soul, come crashing in through the windows, through the doors. There were so many of them, it was total chaos. To be honest, I couldn't tell you what actually happened; I was kinda busy trying not to die. And then the second weirdest thing ever happened. Two kids saved the day - two kids who say they're Dean and Nim's kids from the future, Sam and Hope. Oh, and who dropped the bombshell that Nim's already pregnant with Sam.

It's gonna take a while to get my head around that one. I mean, Sam is like a carbon copy of Dean, with Nim's caution and my Sam's intelligence. Hope, she's a sweet mix of Dean and Nim in looks, but boy, is she ever Dean's daughter. And consequently, my nephew and my niece. It's just weird. And then there's the reason they're here. They want to take out the Fates, so that some long-term plan Hades has already put in motion won't take out their parents and just about everyone else they know and love in their future. Again, I don't even know how to explain it. I just know I'm gonna do everything I can to help them. Everything.

We held off on starting anything until Nim was out of her first trimester, though. No one wants anything to happen to her or the baby, and I'm pretty sure if Dean has his way, she'll get locked in a padded cell for the whole duration of her pregnancy. Lucky for her, she's got my brother wrapped around her little finger. So Dean and Nim are going after Death's Scythe, which some demon called Crowley has, apparently. And Sam and Hope, they're coming back to Stanford with me. We're going after the Fates, to take some of the heat off Dim (and Ellen nearly wets herself laughing every time I call Dean and Nim that - even Bobby smiles!). Who knows" Maybe we can get this all done by Christmas.