Chapter Three

A/N: ...this was supposed to be up sooner. Life got in the way. And I'm seriously behind on NaNo. Hopefully I can power through my lag this weekend.
A/N 2: If something doesn't make perfect (medical) sense, remember the lovely invention called magic that can bend (and sometimes break) all laws known to the common man. Feel free to point out issues, but magic might be the only answer I'm willing to give at the moment.


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July 1984. Lawrence, Kansas.

Even when he crashed in bed too late and woke too early, nothing could dampen John's mood short of a platoon of Northern Vietnamese soldiers invading Lawrence. He had to forcibly tone down his grin, knowing that if he didn't, he'd be walking around with as smug a smile as the cat who'd gotten the canary. Mike had given him a strange look when he'd opened up the garage this morning, which had let John know that he was acting like a fool, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Thankfully Mike hadn't commented, looking strangely confused, but pleased, that his co-owner was in such good spirits.

Mary had spent most of the night with him at Furguson's, eating, then chatting, and then with the luck of the devil, he'd managed to rope her into playing a game of pool with him. She swore up and down that she'd never really played before, just fooling around with friends who didn't know much about it either, but she certainly picked the game up fast, and they'd spent hours monopolizing one of the tables. When the clientele drifted down to the solid men and women who would stay until they got kicked out, John had escorted Mary back to her motel, but not before getting her to agree to lunch. He wanted her as his wife, not as the one-night stand he'd never be able to forget.

He ended up speeding through his work with an ease that surprised even himself; working through a bit of a backlog and finally getting around to that filthy old carburetor that had been sitting in the back for at least two months. He managed to scrub his hands and face clear of grease, changing his shirt for something cleaner, and walked out to the floor of the garage to tell Mike he was headed out for lunch. Exiting the building he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Mary was perched on the hood of the Impala, quiet smile still sunshine bright, golden beams of Kansas' sun making her hair and skin gleam as if she was heaven sent. He was not going to let this woman get away. Every little bit he learned about her just made him want her more, more than anything he'd ever even dreamed of. He could be patient, could coax her into it, but he was going to marry her, even if it took him twenty goddamn years.

"You good to go, John?" she asked, tilting her head to the side with a smile.

"Yeah," he murmured, wresting control over his wild heartbeat, calming it down to a steady pulse. "More than good."


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June 2012. Fort Atkinson, Wisconsin.

Five days since he'd checked Dean and dad into the hospital, and Sam was going stir-crazy. He half-hoped that a vengeful ghost would show up just to give him something to do, that's how nuts he was going. Between letting Dean bitch at him, his father's awkward silences when the man was awake, and the classier bars where hustling pool wasn't exactly an option, Sam felt like clawing at the metaphysical walls that kept him trapped in Fort Atkinson.

The doctor had revealed that Dean was healing faster than expected, hopefully cutting down on their recovery interlude, and could leave the hospital with a cast if he wanted. As tempting as it had obviously been, they had both agreed that someone should stay with their father at all times, and short of causing some sort of major injury in Sam, Dean was stuck with the job. John's precarious health had secured himself a bed until the nurse was positive he wouldn't come down with something else on top of his slowly healing injuries. Dean had been slotted in right next to him with thanks to that helpful nurse, Cindy or Sandy; Sam couldn't quite remember.

He would sit in with Dean during visiting hours, but even with Cindy's perkily helpful nature, she wouldn't let him stick around into the late hours of the night. The closest motels were a bit out of their usual price range, so Sam had resigned himself to sleeping in the Impala. Wasn't like it was something new, although he hadn't quite let Dean cotton onto the fact he was sleeping in his precious car instead of a bed. A little white lie never hurt anybody.

Days were spent in the hospital, letting Dean bitch and moan while the jerk was getting more and more antsy. Common threads circled around using his real name and hijacking their father. He could admit that using his real name wasn't the smartest idea, but he was placing the blame for that firmly on his concussion. And Sam felt more than justified in hijacking their father since he was in such crap shape. For the most part, he just let Dean rail on him without getting into a shouting match, tuning out the more irritating parts of his brother's rants. Dean was definitely an on-the-move type of guy, and being holed up in a small hospital room had to be playing havoc on his senses. Sam was going nuts and he still had a town he could escape into if he needed. Dean didn't have that luxury.

With any luck, they'd be out of here soon. Dean could manage with his arm in a cast for a while; that hadn't ever been the problem. Their father's health was more worrying. Sam knew that their family wasn't mentally healthy. They all had issues that simply couldn't be dealt with in a sane manner. Every problem linked back to another in never ending loops scattered with enough supernatural shit that it wasn't practical to try and talk to a psychiatrist. Not that John or Dean would even want to open up like that. And in his quiet moments, Sam could admit he didn't want to open up like that either. Years of keeping everything close to your chest, looking for the monsters that hid in the dark, or the human cruelty that lurked in the day. He was better than the rest of his family, but not by much.

But with the glaring evidence that John hadn't been taking care of himself at all... Sam was beginning to wonder if their father was worse off than he had believed. If revenge really was the only thing keeping him alive. If Mary was more important than his own sons. If he would just die when this was all over with. It was a sad picture of a man, and he quietly wondered if he would end up like that. Years spent hunting Jessica's killer, never being able to take a break for fear of loosing a trail that simply wasn't there. He wouldn't abandon the fight until this demon was dead, he owed that much to Jess. But if it took so long that he forgot who he had been, how much he hated this... Would he end up as a pale reflection of his father's grief and rage?

Sam shook his head, jostling the thoughts from their current trains of progression. He didn't want to think about that. No matter how much it might come true.

His ears just caught the tail end of a temporary nurse's question, something about painkillers...?

"Nah, the only medicine I need is a pretty nurse and some time alone," Dean flirted, causing said nurse to flush prettily and wring her hands. She left quickly, but with a pleased quirk to her lips, so Sam hoped Dean wasn't about to get reported for harassment.

Sam palmed his face as he gave a not-so-gentle kick to a leg of Dean's bed, jostling the frame. Just in time to hear Dean swear and take a breath that usually preluded a rant about whatever was currently irritating him in relation to Sam. Since Sam was currently looking for something to distract him, he was more than ready to put up a fight this time.

"Goddammit Sam–"

"For godsakes, Dean–"

"HE'S NOT MY FATHER!"

Sam and Dean froze, verbal lashing on hold as a loud feminine voice managed to breach the relatively soundproof walls of the hospital. She had to be yelling for her voice to reach into room, since the general hustle and bustle down the halls couldn't be heard when the door was shut. John shifted on the bed, not quite up to his usual speed, but definitely alert and straining to hear what the problem was.

It was a surprise to have their door flung open by a nurse, who was clearly trying to drag a young woman into their presence. All three of them had tensed at the abrupt movement, wondering just what the hell was going on. When the nurse managed to yank the girl off balance and past the protection wards, Sam let himself relax infinitesimally. If she'd been a demon or had intended them harm, the protections would have sparked, lit up, or simply refused her entrance.

Then what she was saying registered.

"I don't know where you got those papers, but whoever the hell this John Winchester is, he's not my father!"

Sam could feel his jaw dropping. He didn't know what he expected, a strange woman being brought into their room, but it definitely wasn't this. Just... daughter? A man had needs, sure, but surely John would have been more careful– And she was definitely a woman, not a girl, there was no way– Not right after mom had died...

"The results are right here," the nurse grunted, straining against the girl who was clearly trying to escape. "You are definitely Mr. Winchester's daughter."

"And who the hell gave you permission to test my blood against some old guy anyways?" the woman demanded. "I'm twenty one, you can't make those kinds of decisions for me, especially when I've been unconscious for only three days!"

"Your signature is on the papers!" the nurse finally exclaimed, clearly affronted. If her hands were free, Sam would bet they'd be firmly on her hip.

"Like hell! I wouldn't have signed something that would give anyone the permission to do paternity tests!"

"And why not?"

"Because if I ever found my father, I'd be slapping him with an attempted murder charge in an international court!"

The statement shocked the nurse enough to let go of the woman's hands. Sam felt pretty surprised himself, and could see Dean's what-the-fuck expression from the corner of his eye, letting him know that he hadn't just imagined it.

"What?" the nurse asked, taking a step forward in a distinct attempt to keep the woman from leaving the room again. But it didn't look like she was trying to escape anymore, eyes gone colder and a clearly defensive stance as she held her ground.

"My Aunt Willow and Uncle Xan had to rush my mother to the hospital when they found her. She had been beaten half to death and her clothing burned, and was immediately placed in critical care, since it looked like she should have been dead already. It appeared as if she had been beaten over a long period of time, for there was no way the healing and re-injured wounds could be from anything else."

Sam started to get a really bad feeling about this conversation; watching the woman's eyes grow colder and colder, her speech more stilted.

"They managed to get her stable, started taking more tests and vitals, and then realized that she was two months pregnant. It was of the doctor's professional opinion that if she didn't lose the baby in the next hour or two, it would be better to give her an abortion. It would give her a better chance at surviving her condition, not having to support a baby on top of it. Not to mention that the child would likely have some sort of problem if it did manage to hold on. There's a reason pregnant women don't go around getting hit in the stomach. But it was for the best," she continued with a purposeful lilt to her voice, "since it was likely the child was a result of rape."

There it was. Bad feeling clearly identified and labeled with 'do not touch'. Sam winced in sympathetic pain, wondering how the woman managed to remain so eerily calm.

"Despite all of the doctor's recommendations, Uncle Xan and Aunt Willow refused to let them abort the baby. Summers women are built tough, they maintained, and if they let the doctor get rid of the child, they'd be assisting him in cold blooded murder. Seven months later I was born, but mom couldn't remember anything about being attacked, no matter how much she tried."

The woman somehow seemed to stand taller, looking down at the nurse with evident disdain.

"Now, tell me again that this man is my father. I'd just love to put a face to my mother's attacker."

The nurse flinched and looked away, eyes closed as if to ward off the blank and factual tone of voice the woman had used to describe the events surrounding her birth. Her voice was pained as she replied, "I-I'm sorry, I must have been mistaken–"

"Damn straight," the woman snarled, icy demeanor cracking as she let herself get angry. "I want to see every single one of your superiors and figure out who gave the okay to test my blood against some guy. It just reeks of unprofessional conduct, and I want to see them fired, sued, and unable to get a job for years."

"I understand you're upset, but you can't just–" the nurse started placatingly.

"Just watch me." She turned sharply on her heel, glaring at them as well as the nurse, and exited the room with tightly controlled steps and narrowed shoulders.

"Christos," Dean said suddenly, looking at the nurse with intense eyes.

She turned to look at him, eyes still clear, and obviously confused. Sam internally debated with himself for a second, then stood and tripped, tipping the bottle he held in his hands so that the water splashed against the nurse's blouse. When all it did was let him see her bra through the white shirt, he apologized profusely, even as she fled through the door.

"Holy water?" John demanded gruffly.

"Yes, sir."

Dean managed to crack a wry smile. "Too lazy to buy a bottle of water, Sammy?"

"Something like that," Sam murmured, capping the bottle again.

"We need to check the girl, too," John headed off any potential bickering.

"If only to keep her from trying to sue us, too," Sam agreed.

Dean made a half confused, half inquiring noise.

"She thought we were in on it," he explained, gesturing towards his eyes. "That glare was definitely directed to us as much as it was towards the nurse. If this is a totally bizarre, non-supernatural event, we really don't want her trying to sue us. The nurse gave dad's name as John Winchester."

Scowling, Dean grumbled, "Don't ever use your real name, just brings trouble–"

"See if you can catch up to her," John ordered, clearly expecting to be obeyed. Sam grit his teeth as he stood. Now was definitely not the time to be getting into it. He was going to either have to exorcise a demon by himself, or diffuse a ticking time bomb known as seriously infuriated woman. Not exactly something he was looking forward to, but it had to be done.

And fuck, he didn't even know the girl's name. Scowl forming on his lips, he lengthened his stride out the door, hoping to find her before she disappeared completely.