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The Family Business

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Summary: A father willing to do anything to protect his child and a daughter willing to do anything to make her father whole again. Mix in the Winchester family and you’re in for one hell of a ride.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Faith-CenteredDrusillaFR1848,0771173,5717 Nov 1012 Feb 12No

Prologue

A/N: First fic, hope you like it, Bobby has always fascinated me, especially his past, as has Faith, merging the two of them together seems like a fit for an effed up family, but this is going to be totally AU.

Title: The Family Business

Summary: The story of the struggles of Bobby and Faith Singer, their haunted past and doomed future. A father willing to do anything to protect his child and a daughter willing to do anything to make her father whole again. Mix in the Winchester family and you’re in for one hell of a ride.

Characters: Faith, Bobby, Sam, Dean, John
Rated: FR-18 for now with lang, violence but may go up later.
Warnings: Violence, eventual sexual situations
Pairings: Probably FaithSam but may change…
Genre: Action/Romance/Drama

Dis: I do not own Supernatural or BTVS, all characters belong to their respective owners I’m just borrowing them for my own pleasure.

Illustration



August 1981
Sioux Falls, SD

Dead leaves the color of mud swirled around a dew covered lawn, neatly trimmed. The flowerbeds were free of any weeds, the blooms coloring bold and bright and surrounding the light blue house that looked white from the moon’s light. The wind made a windmill turn slowly, creaking obnoxiously as if protesting the movement and white sheets that had been set out to dry the day before fluttered softly in the breeze. A baby’s cry filled the night and an owl perched on a tree twisted its head around to turn its beady yellow eyes toward the large man dressed in jeans and flannel cradling a small child wrapped in a pink blanket. Blood stained the man’s clothes, and was sticking to the skin of his face and neck. His hands looked raw, as if he’d scrubbed them until he couldn’t anymore- but he still had dirt under his nails. Before him was a mound of dirt, the perfect size for a grave.

Karen’s grave.

A lone tear went down his cheek as he cradled his wailing baby girl closer. That thing in the ground hadn’t been his wife. It’d been a monster with his angel’s face, eyes black as coal as she’s turned to him, holding a knife over the cradle of their baby girl not too long ago…



“Isn’t she beautiful?” she had asked, looking sweet yet deadly with that knife. Then her eyes had changed and a cold chill had traveled through his body when she turned her evil gaze on the child. “I think I might kill it.”

He hadn’t thought, just reacted to protect his child, and had tackled Karen down to the ground. The force of their bodies crashing into the crib had jarred the sleeping child and she awakened. Startled the baby wailed, on top of the wail was the screech of Karen as she tossed him off of her as if he weighed no more than a stick.

His back had made contact with the yellow wall that’d been hand stenciled with lilies by her hand. A framed photo of the three of them crashed to the floor as he tried to get up and just as he got to his feet she came at him, knife raised. He barely managed to twist away from her strike but they tumbled out of the baby’s room. Thankful that they were nowhere near their child, he grabbed hold of her shoulders, shaking her.

“What’s wrong with you!” he’d yelled but she just started screaming, insane wails as she gripped his hair and slammed his head against the floor. He didn’t know how he managed to do it but he rolled her off of him and stood on shaky feet, head throbbing. She came at him again and the force of her hit threw him back and he couldn’t catch his balance as they tumbled back toward the stairs. Together they fell down the oak steps, crashing to the landing. He knew he dislocated his shoulder as he landed, but managed to work through the pain to grab the knife that’d clattered to the front door.

Then he saw her laying there, still.

“Baby?” He walked to her slowly at first, and then rushed to her side, shaking her after he lifted her to cradle against his chest. “Karen, baby wake up!”

She did, black eyes opening as she lashed out with her hands, nails raking down his cheek.

“I’m going to kill you! All of you! I’m going to make you watch as I gut the child and play with her insides!”

He didn’t know what happened next. He had the knife in his hand, then it was in her chest, but she was still screaming, as if it didn’t have any effect on her, so he did it again, and again until she suddenly grew still. Then, she smiled, before tossing her head back, black smoke leaving her mouth and flying toward the fireplace, disappearing up the chimney.

Then she was still again, and he watched as her chest struggled for breath while blood trickled out of her mouth. She opened her eyes, this time revealing bright green instead of black.

“B-Bobby…” she had rasped, look of betrayal and fear on her face. “Why?”


Then she died, and now he was torn apart. He killed her, the love of his life, his Karen. He’d stabbed her as if she were some murderer that’d intruded in on his home. The mother of his child now lay six feet under, a corpse, and he was left with one question. What the hell had been in her? Black smoke had felt evil, had given him goose bumps as it flew out of her, and he feared that it might come back into his home and kill him and his baby.

He looked down at her now, her bright brown eyes closed in slumber, thumb in her mouth. His dirty fingertip lovingly trailed a brown curl off her cheek to behind her ear and she sighed in her sleep. She was all he had left, and he had to protect her. The only way to do that was to find out what the hell had been in his wife, and what he needed to do to prevent it.

Robert Steven Singer died that day along with his wife, in his place, was born a man ready to take vengeance against whatever it was that was out there. The next morning he packed two bags, abandoning his home as well as the mini-van his wife insisted on, instead opting for his 1971 Chevrolet Chevelle.

Sitting in the drivers seat now he sat, engine running, looking in his rearview mirror first at the sheets that still hung on the clothesline outside in the rain, then at his daughter whom was playing with her favorite toy in the car seat.

“Just you and me now, Faith.” She looked up when hearing her name, brown eyes meeting his blue in the mirror. She had his mother’s eyes, had them since the day she was born. “Gunna protect ya, make sure nothin’ happens to ya, you hear?”

As if she understood him, she smiled, and then the toy grabbed her attention back up again. He then threw his car in gear. He’d parked the van over the grave in the middle of the lawn, hoping no one would look under it when they came looking for the Singer’s, wondering why they weren’t at Sunday Mass or the Fall Picnic. He didn’t know if or when he’d come back, but it wasn’t going to be anytime soon, so he had a hell of a while to think of a story about his missing wife. If the cops came looking for him, he’d make it a hell of a hard time to find him and Faith. For now, all he could concentrate on was their safety, as well as finding someone that could give him answers.



TBC in Chapter One…
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