Chapter Text
"Mom, I'm home!" You yelled, taking your combat boots off and placing it next to the door mat. You threw your purse at the couch and waited for her to answer. She didn't.
You ran upstairs, storming in her room.
It was only a false alarm. Your mother was peacefully asleep. You sighed, relieved and stood on the door until you calmed down. Carefully not to wake her up, you walked towards the bed and took a wooden box out of her lap, placing it on the nightstand before covering your mother with the blanket. You kissed her forehead and let yourself fall on an armchair that was right beside her.
Your eyelids started growing heavier and, soon, you fell into a dreamless slumber.
.
.
.
You woke up jumping to the hoarse sound of her coughing. You quickly grabbed the towel you always kept next to the bed frame and gently swiped the blood away.
"I'm right here, mom." You comforted her, caressing her hair.
"(y/n)?" Her voice was terribly weak and, despite the fact she had her gaze on you, it was like if she couldn't focus on your face.
"Yes."
She caught your hand and squeezed it tight, breathing heavily. "I'm so sorry."
"Shh. It's fine, mom. You haven't done anything wrong."
Your mother was crying frantically and you didn't know what to do.
"I'm sorry!" She repeated, widely sobbing.
"Stop crying. Everything is Ok." You said, stroking her cheek.
"Please, forgive me." Your mother cried out loud. You put the towel back in its location and closed your eyes.
You despised her hallucinations, it was almost impossible to calm her down whenever they started. She would talk about senseless things like monsters and darkness and would always apologize for God knows what.
You opened your eyes when she stopped talking. She had fallen asleep again. You sighed and tried to free your hand out of her grip. That was when you felt a small piece of paper between your hands. You held and unfolded it.
It was old and stained with some brownish fluid, but you could still read the words so clearly written.
I love you
-Bobby
You glanced at your mother sleeping form and back to the paper. Your eyes stopped on the box she had never let you open. You had seen it before, but never felt the need to search through it before.
Bobby. Wasn't that the name she called in some of her worst nights? You wondered as you caught the box and placed it on your lap. You took a deep breath before pushing the lock and lifting the lid.
"Really? All those years you've hiding photos from me?" You asked with a grin. There were outworn pictures of her youth. You couldn't help but notice how much she looked like you.
You started roaming through the pictures, but your fingers collided with something cold in the bottom of the box. You moved the photos aside and your smile faded when you saw what was it. A gun (Glock 9mm), a silver dagger and a flask.
"Since when does she drink?" You asked yourself, shaking the flask and frowning when you realized it was full.
You let the box between your legs and, eventually, decided to check the pictures. There were other people on the pictures, but one specific man accompanied your mother in most of them, usually at her side, holding her hand or hugging her waist.
In many of the photos there were guns or knives attached to her belt, what shocked you the most was seeing how comfortable she seemed with the weapons.
You took a picture of your mother and that man out of the box and turned it around.
Bobby Singer and Mary (l/n). It said. Successful vampire hunt. It was dated with year you were born. All of the pictures were.
"No, no, no!" Your mother suddenly shouted, leaning across the bed to take the box from you. It ended up falling, all of its content spreading on the floor. She tried to get out of the bed.
"Mom!" You grasped her shoulders and slowly pushed her back down. "You can't get stressed. Calm down."
"You shouldn't have opened it! You shouldn't." She was freaking out, rocking back and forth with a disturbed look.
You stepped on the photos so you could sit at her side and hugged her, finally able to understand what she meant.
"I forgive you." You whispered and it was all it took to calm her down. She hugged you back, like she hadn't done in a long time. You went back to your armchair, conscious of your mother gaze on you while you collected everything. "So... Who's Bobby Singer?"
You glanced at her and saw she had a soft smile placed on her lips.
"Haven't you discovered it yet?"
"My father?" You tried, even though you had no doubts.
"Yes. We dated for three months not long after he became widower."
You put it all in the box and closed it, looking at her in surprise, only then the fact that she was lucid hit you.
"What happened?" You asked, making sure you took your opportunity to speak with her while you could.
"I got pregnant. I didn't want you to grow in that life, so I ran away."
"What life?" You didn't want to push her, but the urge to get the answers was greater.
"A Hunter's life"
"Well, killing animals is not something I would enjoy very much." You stated. She chuckled.
"No, dear. Not this kind of hunt. What we used to do was way more dangerous."
She looked to her hands, nervously playing with her fingers nervously.
"Well, I'm waiting." You said, resting your elbows on your knees and your chin on your hands.
"We hunted monsters."
You didn't questioned her directly, but inside you were wondering if she was losing lucidity again.
"Right. What kind of monsters?"
"Werewolves, vampires, witches, everything children fears and more."
You frowned. "Mom? Are you sure you're not hallucinating again?"
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"It's a little hard to." You admitted.
She sighed and stared at the ceiling. "I'm dying."
"Don't you dare say that!" You scolded her, sitting straight.
"It's true, darling. You know it."
"Mom! J-just don't say it, OK?"
She extended her arm and you held her hand.
"I want you to meet him."
"Meet who?"
"Your father. I have no idea where he is, hunters are always travelling, but I might know how to find him."
~ One week later ~
You entered your Mustang 72 and slammed the door. You took your black high heels off and threw it on the back seat.
The funeral had just ended and you left before everyone started giving you their condolences. The air felt heavy and all you wanted to do was run away. Which is exactly what you would do.
You had been planning it with your mother. She had told you everything you should know and given you the wooden box.
You sighed and squeezed the wheel until your knuckles were white before staring the engine and looking up to the sky.
"You better be watching, mom." You mumbled, even after all you knew about ghosts and it was hard to believe she was still there, you needed some faith.