Archive of Our Own ^beta

Marcy's alarm went off, shattering the silence. She flailed in that general direction. Where the fuck—

Her hand finally made contact with the right button and the harsh, annoying beeping stopped. Use your phone, they said, it'll be easy. If I had to find a phone first thing in the morning—

She found the lamp, turned it on, and glanced over. Dean was still asleep, which was weird. He hated her alarm more than she did. She'd accidentally left it on once while she was on a trip on the West Coast, and as payback, he'd gone to the trouble of calling her at 5:30 Eastern every morning until she got back, just on principle.

She reached over to give him a shake. He didn't respond, not even to burrow into the pillows. "Fuck," she muttered, knowing what that meant. The older he got, the more his dreams got tangled with visions, and when that happened, he sometimes slipped into a bizarrely deep sleep. He hated it, but Marcy found it actually evened out with the nights he woke up and forgot his legs didn't work.

The usual shouting and punch to the arm didn't wake him. The visions must be in overdrive. Which was just what they needed. That usually heralded a month from hell.

Hopefully it won't be another plane crash.

She'd love nothing more than to just let the poor man sleep and wake up on his own, but it was a school day and there were kids to wrangle, so she went to their bathroom and came back with a glass of water and splashed him in the face.

The benefit of this method was that she was at a safe distance when her husband came awake swinging. The lamp was not so lucky, but she managed to catch it before it hit the floor. She waited for him to quit trying to fight a nonexistent enemy before she went closer. "You okay?"

He stared at her, and for a second she was certain he didn't see her. "Yeah," he finally managed, and recognition came back. "Just— God, what a night."

"Vision?"

He shook his head. "I don't know what that was," he said feelingly, "and I don't want to know."

Elementary and middle didn't start till after eight, so why the hell the high school had to start at seven-fucking-fifteen, Dean didn't know. It made more sense to him for the teenagers to start later, not earlier. Especially when this area was still rural enough that it could save a lot of hassle for teen drivers to drop off their younger siblings on the way to school, rather than requiring three-hour bus trips or massive family outings.

Not to mention, had these people ever tried to wake up a teenager at six in the morning?

Johnny staggered blearily past him towards the bathroom. Kevin's snoring wasn't rattling the timbers, so he had to be awake. But the lights were still out in Maggie's room. She had her own clock, but she was bad about setting it for PM instead of AM. "Maggie?" He knocked on the door—then glanced at Rissa's, saw the light was already on, and hit it harder. "Maggie! Rise and shine!"

There was a muffled "Fuck that shit" from inside, and there was a thud and the light came on under the door.

Dean made no comment about the language. He wasn't that kind of hypocrite, and besides, at this hour of the day? Reprimanding the kids for cussing was somewhere below "take up birdwatching" on his to-do list. She could swear all she wanted as long as she was up and dressed on time.

"Give me that!"

"I got it first!"

"It's mine!"

"HEY!" Dean bellowed, and everybody froze. "If it's anybody's, it's mine."

"But I want the—"

"Maria. What are the rules?"

She looked down at her feet. "You get the toys first."

He held out his hand, and Nicky gave him the box of cereal. "Now, who wants this for breakfast, and who wants some other kind?"

"Last call for cheese sandwiches!" Maggie said from somewhere in the fridge. Marcy cut through the crowd with bananas in one hand and a butter knife in the other, and the Rice Krispies brigade held up bowls for their share.

"Johnny, Kevin, you guys get something?"

"Not hungry," they said in unison.

"Don't care. Choke something down." Kids did not leave this house without breakfast, even if it was only a pack of Pop-Tarts or a cheese sandwich. He'd never let Sammy go to school without breakfast, either. Dean might have gone without, but Sam never did.

Marcy pushed past him to the pantry and came out with the lockbox. "Med call!"

Dean mostly didn't approve of having kids on medications, but even he had to admit that some of the kids needed it; without ADHD meds, Maria would bounce out of the classroom and right into the street. Some kids came in so panicky they needed anxiety meds. Not to mention the occasional round of antibiotics or more normal physical problems, like Consuela's thyroid. Having Marcy handle distribution was their compromise. She was way less likely to try unauthorized med holidays.

He caught a glimpse of an attempted exit maneuver. "Kevin!" Kevin froze. For a kid who could eat twice his weight, that boy hated eating in the mornings. Dean snagged a protein bar out of the box and tossed it over the littler kids' heads. "Quit doing that!"

"Yes, Dean," Kevin said.

Johnny was smirking. "And you stop daring him, Johnny!"

"Yes, Dad," Johnny said, completely unrepentant.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to cereal distribution.

Sam really needed to learn to keep track of his groceries. And maybe how to sleep in. If he could just make himself sleep till eight, he'd miss all this madness.

The Trio was good about staying out of the way in the mornings. Now, all that really meant was that they were the last ones woken up, if possible, and if not, they ate their breakfasts out of the way of the main traffic—which meant that there were usually too many people between them and him for Ananda to charge across the room and attach herself to his leg.

Unfortunately, Maggie had no such constraints.

"Uncle Sammy! Can you take us to school?"

"Again?" This was— Oh, hell, it happened every time he made the mistake of stepping into Morning With The Winchesters. Which was why he needed to quit coming in here before the kids left.

"C'mon, Uncle Sammy, just this once?"

Sam gave Maggie a look. "That's what you said the last time."

"Please?"

God, he was as big a pushover as Dean. "Fine. You guys load up. We are out of here in five minutes, and I'm not picking up anybody else this time, okay?"

"Thank you, Uncle Sammy!" Maggie threw her arms around him and stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek, then scampered off to fetch Johnny and Kevin and her backpack.

Sam sighed inwardly. He had to go buy some milk, or those kids were going to turn the Impala into their private school bus.

"Last call! Bus'll be here in five minutes!" The twins dashed by. "Coats!" Dean shouted at them. "Kara, use the da— Use the spoon, Kara—pick it up with your hand." Kara gave him a confused look, like he was asking her to recreate the Eiffel Tower with Skittles, but the spoon clattered to the table and she picked it up the old-fashioned way. "Good girl."

"Rissa! Mikey! Time to go!" Marcy yelled, and came over for the morning round of good-bye kisses. The middle school was on Marcy's way, and after some incidents with crappy bus drivers, neither one of them was inclined to force Rissa onto the bus anymore.

"Last requests?" Dean asked.

"Call in and tell them I've lost my voice?" Marcy suggested with a grin, and gave him a kiss. "You going shopping?"

"We're gonna try."

"Good luck. Recruit Sam, he needs an adventure."

"Not sure he'd agree with you."

"Of course not, that's why I suggested it."

"Nyssa, we've been through this."

Nyssa wrapped her arms around Mildred and squeezed and gave him the puppy-eye routine. The Stooges were spending way too much time with Sam.

Dean sighed. "Fine, but she has to buckle in. And she's your responsibility. If she gets lost...." He let that trail off threateningly.

Nyssa's eyes widened, but she nodded solemnly. He buckled the stuffed dog in between Kara's seat and Nyssa's, then buckled her in.

Ananda was less cooperative, which was weird. "What's the holdup?"

"Uncle Sammy said he was gonna go."

Dean blinked. Sam wasn't that stupid. Was he? "Are you sure, Ananda?"

"He promised!"

There were tears brightening the green of her eyes, and Dean mentally hurled a curse at his brother. "I'll text him, okay? Maybe he's planning on meeting us there."

Like hell. Sam would rather hunt than go on a family grocery run. He'd tossed off that promise and hadn't even thought about what it would mean to break it.

Dean was going to kill him. Nobody broke a promise to one of his kids and got away with it.

0915: did you promise to go shopping with us today?

0916: maybe?

0918: AM I GOING TO HAVE TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU FOR BREAKING A PROMISE TO MY DAUGHTER

0920: shit, i did. sorry. meet you there? where?

0922: costco asap. so gonna take this out of your hide, man

Sam found Costco with only one wrong turn. In his defense, the local roads had apparently been designed by a drunk and the signage put up by stoned kindergartners. Although that seemed to be more a North Carolina thing than strictly Charlotte.

Dean and the girls were at the door, though Sam couldn't tell if they'd just gotten here or if Ananda had insisted on waiting. He hoped—a little desperately—that it was the first.

"See, there's Uncle Sammy, just like he said." The dark glare Dean shot him meant there would be payback in his future. Serious payback. "Grab a cart, Sam."

He already had Kara belted into one, but Sam didn't argue, just tugged another out of the rack. "Ananda, you want to—"

Ananda gave him a glare that she must have learned from Dean. "I'm too big for the buggy," she said loftily, and helpfully shoved Nyssa and Mildred over. Sam picked Nyssa up and got her buckled in, and realized that he was now taking orders from a four-year-old.

"You do not go wandering off, Ananda," Dean ordered.

"Of course not, Daddy," she said innocently, and reached up to hold Sam's hand.

Dean snorted. "Who am I kidding? Like she's going to let go of you." He sighed. "You wanna split up or go in order?"

"Um...what kind of list are we looking at?"

Dean tapped on his phone. "Long. New arrivals always throw us off schedule."

"Maybe we better go in order, then. I'll probably get the wrong thing, or not enough."

Sam had privately questioned if they really needed two carts, but they both filled fairly steadily. "How did you handle this before I moved in?" he finally asked. Dean was managing the one cart pretty well, but if this was the usual kind of shopping trip....

"I shopped more often," Dean said dryly. "So I didn't have to get this much stuff at once. Or I grabbed Johnny and Kevin on a weekend, if Marcy's home."

"And the kids?"

"I sent them to school." Sam raised an eyebrow. "No, seriously. I've never had to deal with three this young at once before. Not like this. I would not bring these three in on a weekend, trust me— Kara! Put that down!" The box of Rice Krispies hit the ground with a thud. Ananda helpfully scurried over to pick it up and put it back on the shelf. "What have I told you about levitating things outside the house?" Dean added, at a much lower volume.

"Sorry," she said.

Dean muttered something that Sam didn't catch. "God, I cannot wait until those damned grocery delivery services reach us."

"Nobody does?"

"Parmesan, large container, and no. There's a couple of services that deliver stuff, but mostly it's frozen meals, not staples. I mean, they have their uses and save us some hassle, don't get me wrong, but nobody delivers cereal or milk or bread."

"Or six pounds of grated Parmesan?"

"And peanut butter. Two creamy, one crunchy."

"Three?"

"They're kids, Sam, they eat a lot of peanut butter."

Sam hefted a second and then a third industrial-sized can of peanut butter off the bottom—always the bottom—shelf. "Don't you have allergies to worry about?"

"We don't have any nut allergies right now. Not even any lactose intolerance. Just latex and whatever that weird thing is with Maria when she eats grapes. Marcy keeps track and warns me, don't worry."

This is fucking impossible, Sam thought, following Dean into the next aisle. How the hell did Dean manage this? Even when there were only a couple of kids? There was so damn much to remember—

"Daddy?" Nyssa said.

Sam blinked, but a glance was all it took to reassure himself that Nyssa was talking to Dean, and not him. When did Nyssa start calling Dean Daddy? Most of the kids took months to get past "Mr. Winchester," let alone get to something as informal as the "Mama Marcy" most of the fosters called her. Daddy was on a whole other level.

"What, Ny— Oh, shit, never mind. Hand her here, Sam." Sam managed to get her unbuckled and lifted her out. She promptly climbed into Dean's lap. "We'll be right back."

Dean wheeled off, leaving the carts—and Sam and Kara and Ananda—behind. "I think I missed something," Sam said, and then realized he was saying it to himself.

"Nyssa needs the bathroom," Ananda informed him.

Shit. That aspect of these trips hadn't even occurred to him.

Sam opened the trunk of the Impala as Dean opened up the back of the van. This time, he didn't ask how Dean managed. All Dean had to do was get the perishables in. Anything that didn't need immediate refrigeration or freezing could wait for Marcy or the older kids to get home.

Ananda vanished for a few minutes, then came back towing a little red wagon. Nyssa was right behind her with a green one.

"What?" Dean asked. "Takes fewer trips this way." He started stacking ice cream in Nyssa's wagon. Sam followed his lead, digging through the groceries in the Impala looking for things that needed refrigeration and putting them in Ananda's wagon.

This left Kara uninvolved, and she wasn't happy with the situation. "I wanna help!"

Dean rubbed his temples. "Okay. You get the cereal. And only the cereal, Kara, is that understood?"

She made one of those happy kid noises, and boxes started flying. One hit Mildred, and Nyssa started screaming bloody murder.

"Nyssa! Mildred is perfectly fine!"

"But—"

"Is she bleeding?"

Nyssa actually stopped and looked. "No."

"Then she's okay. Kara didn't mean to hit her." Dean looked up at Sam. "Can you get the—"

"Dean, go in. I'll unload."

Lunch was, as usual, leftovers from last night's dinner. There weren't typically a lot of leftovers in this house anyway, so it usually worked out to proper lunch servings for the girls, at least; he and Dean could fix sandwiches while the girls were napping if they needed more. Anything left after that usually wound up scarfed down by the teens in search of after-school snacks with more heft than the usual granola bars, fruit, and peanut butter crackers.

Well, lunch for Ananda, Kara, Nyssa, and Sam was leftovers. Sam turned away for a minute to refill Kara's glass, and when he turned back, Dean was slumped over in his chair, snoring. The girls were staring at him wide-eyed.

"And here I thought he was used to you guys."

Dean slouched back in his chair. "God, I need a drink."

"Bring me one."

Sam sat on the floor, back against the wall beneath the bay window. He'd set the book on the ledge when the Trio finally dozed off after their post-lunch mayhem.

Sam was still on the floor because they'd abandoned their usual pillows for him. Kara was clinging to one leg, Nyssa and Mildred were tucked up under the other arm, and Ananda was wrapped around his middle like a limpet. And it had taken them so damn long to get to sleep today that Dean was afraid to move them.

The last thing they needed this afternoon was a cranky Trio.

The house phone rang, and all three of the girls came awake like they'd been hit with cattle prods.

Sam groaned, and Dean swore.

It took Dean a couple of minutes to find the phone in its pocket. "I don't care who this is, you are dead."

"What?"

He recognized that yelp. "What is it, Bill? The adoption's final, they can't be missing more paperwork, and that meth-head can't possibly be sober yet—"

"I need you to take in a kid for a couple of days."

"I can't, Bill, I've got my hands— Kara! Drop it!" He waited for the doll to hit the floor. "I have my hands full right now, Bill. This house is closed."

"Look, it's not that much, just a couple of days, a week at most, he's the same age as Ananda—"

"Bill, I can't right now. If it's a ghost or something, I can get Sam or Hannah to take care of it—" Sam shot him a glare. "—but I can not handle another kid right this minute. Not unless they're in school. These three are killing me as it is."

"Dean—"

"I mean it, Bill. Not another kid under six until Ananda is in kindergarten."

The Trio finally dozed off again—any nap was better than none—and this time, they weren't all over Sam. He wasn't surprised when Dean snuck them over to the office for a drink.

And then a scream tore through the house.

Dean was out of the office before Sam had even registered what was going on. By the time he'd figured out that the noise was coming from the playroom, Dean was already there. And he didn't hesitate, just threw himself out of the chair to get to the floor.

Nyssa, sobbing, threw her arms around him. "It's okay," he said, pulling her close. "I gotcha."

Kara and Ananda were standing awkwardly away from their nest of blankets. Sam set the chair back on its wheels for when Dean needed it again. Ananda came over and hugged his leg. He picked her up. "You okay?" he asked, and she nodded and put her arms around his neck. "C'mere, Chaos," he added, and Kara came over. She wasn't quite as willing to hug him as Ananda, and he couldn't pick them both up, so he took her hand and led her over to a chair. Once he sat down, he could put an arm around her, too.

They just needed a bit of comforting, and they were fine. Nyssa was taking longer, but then, she'd been the one who had the bad dream.

Sam considered, then got out the coloring supplies. If he kept Ananda and Kara busy, Dean could tend to Nyssa, and when Nyssa was feeling better, she'd probably drag Mildred over and join in. If they weren't going to get a proper nap, at least they could be sort of quiet.

One second, the house was relatively quiet. Ananda, Kara, and Nyssa were coloring contentedly in the playroom.

Then a door slammed open, and all hell broke loose. Feet thundered up the stairs, and cabinet doors slammed in the kitchen.

"Phones up!" Dean shouted, and there was another stampede. On any given day, half the kids forgot to put their phones and tablets in the charging rack in the hall when they got home—and it was never the same half.

Sam stepped out to get a feel for the afternoon, because to ignore it was dangerous and tended to lead to him getting roped into shenanigans. Johnny and Kevin were in the kitchen, already reheating the last of the Hamburger Helper. Maggie and Consuela had grabbed granola bars and were in the other playroom with Rissa, digging out their homework. Mikey, the twins, and Maria, already changed into their roughhousing clothes, tore down the stairs and galloped through the back hallway and out into the yard.

"Put the coloring away first," Sam reminded the girls when they started to get up.

Ananda and Nyssa just looked at Kara. The door on the big cabinet flew open, and the crayons obediently scurried inside.

"Parasite," Sam warned.

Ananda collected the pictures. They'd let Kara do all the work if nobody reminded them. And Kara would let them, because it was so easy for her to move things. Dean wanted to try to break them of that habit. Kara needed to learn to do things the old-fashioned way, and Ananda and Nyssa wouldn't always have her around.

"Dad, weren't you supposed to set out those lasagnas to thaw?"

"Shit!"

Maggie just grinned at him. "Don't worry, I got them. Three of the big ones, right? They'll just have to bake a little longer is all. Oh, and Johnny and Kevin started the greenery patrol already."

Dean blinked. "But—it's not—"

"I can tell it's been a rough day."

"You can? How—"

"You're still in the van chair, Dad."

He looked down. Holy fuck, he was.

"Also, Mildred went up a tree."

Dean rubbed his temples. "I don't suppose that by 'up a tree' you mean 'on Uncle Sammy's head', do you?"

"No, but if that happens, I'll get a picture for you." She grinned. "Speaking of which, I think Uncle Sammy wants to beat up on me before supper, but if you want me to finish—"

"No. You need the lessons."

"I can already—"

"Maggie, when you can take down your uncle, you can cut it down to maintenance. Not before."

Maggie was, overall, a cooperative kid. But sometimes her inner teenager came out. "Dad, I'm not going to be a hunter—"

"I don't care what you're going to be. You're going to learn how to defend yourself."

Maggie was not a happy camper. She also wasn't paying any attention at all. "Half-hearted" did not begin to cover it.

When she missed the third opening—one Ananda could have taken—Sam sighed and gave up. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Huh?"

"This is the first time I've ever seen you actually act like a teenager. What's up?"

"I don't want to do this anymore!" she exploded. "He's acting like I'm going to go out there and start stalking vampires! I'm not going to be a hunter, I'm going to fucking college and then I'm going to be a damn teacher!"

Sam winced. He was pretty sure he'd had this argument with Dad once, except that it had ended with him getting punched. "He doesn't think you're going to be a hunter," he said evenly. The problem could be that Dean wasn't explaining why he was so insistent—or it could just be that Dean was her dad and she was a teenager and that meant an automatic communication problem. Maybe she'd accept the reasons from him. He'd always done better when Bobby or Pastor Jim had explained things. Even if their reasons were exactly the same, it always sounded way more logical coming from somebody that wasn't Dad. "Hell, he doesn't want you to be a hunter. He's scared, Maggie."

"Of what? And if he's so scared, why don't the boys have to do this?"

Yep. Her inner teenager was definitely blinding her to logic. Time to play Reasonable Authority Figure. "How tall is Johnny?" he asked.

"Um." The question threw her, and she had to think a minute. "Five eleven, maybe?"

"And Kevin?"

"Taller. I don't—"

"You're five four," Sam said flatly.

"And a half," she muttered.

"The boys aren't even into their full growth yet. At the rate Kevin's growing, I won't be surprised if he winds up taller than me. You might get another half inch. And as much as we all hate it, the world out there? It has different rules for women. It's wrong and it sucks, but that's the way it is. Your dad's not scared that you're going to go after a vampire. He's scared that a drunk linebacker is going to come after you."

She stared at him. "This is about rapists?"

"Rapists, muggers, kidnappers, everything you've ever seen on the news. You're already at a natural disadvantage because you're smaller and weaker. Your dad just wants to make sure that you have every shot at surviving."

"I survived vampires."

"First off, we don't know why you survived," he reminded her sharply, "they could have let you go." Her jaw dropped. "Second— All you kids, you're like me and your dad. You grew up knowing nightmares were real. But that doesn't necessarily prepare you for things that are just...bad dreams."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't." He sighed. "This is why your dad asked me to take over your training, so you could learn how to fight off somebody bigger and stronger. Somebody not supernatural." He thought a second. "Let's sit down and talk this out, and that'll be today's lesson, okay?"

"If it's about that, why doesn't Rissa—"

"Rissa's scars need special handling." Not to mention that she wouldn't come within twenty feet of him. "And you know damn well she's not exempt from the throwing and shooting practices. But you're getting the accelerated stuff because I'm here and you're here and you're the first one who's going to leave. Johnny and Kevin are enlisting, not going to college. They'll make up for this in basic. You— Even if you take a self-defense class, trust me, it's not going to be anything like what you're learning here. Most self-defense classes for women teach you to escape. Our dad taught us to kill."

"That's not—"

"You remember the other week, when Jenn came over and your dad told us there wasn't going to be any training that day, even the little stuff? What Jenn doesn't see, she doesn't have to report."

"That's why we don't have training on home visit days?" she asked, sounding a little stunned.

"That's why." Jenn wasn't about to risk her only safe placement for supernaturally-traumatized kids, and nobody was going to risk Dean and Marcy's wrath if any of the kids, even the fosters, got taken away because of a bureaucratic violation.

"I never put that together."

"They're not going to tell you everything, Maggie, like it or not. They're still the parents, and you're still the kid. You're lucky they tell you anything, frankly. Our dad just gave orders."

Maggie considered that. "What you said, about us always knowing about nightmares versus bad dreams— Did you know somebody who—"

"Not really." He debated how to explain this. "I was like you, never thought about normal threats. But in college, I had a girlfriend. She was almost as tall as your dad, and athletic, and strong. She'd done years of karate. No trauma in her background, not the way this house of misfits has." That got a shared grin. "But, because she'd always lived in the normal world, she was paranoid about keeping the doors and windows locked. I was the one always forgetting. And every time she left our apartment, whether she was going to class or to a bar or to her job, she checked her keys to make sure her Mace was still there. She never went anywhere alone if she could help it. She never went anywhere without telling somebody where she was going, whether that meant leaving a note for me or calling one of her friends."

"So something had happened to her before?"

Something. "No. These were precautions, Maggie. This was what she, and all her friends, considered basic prevention. Stuff that would help save them from normal threats."

"From the bad dreams."

"Exactly. So...think about it, okay? Maybe don't give your dad such a hard time. He just worries."

"He can't worry about everything."

Sam snorted. "One of these days, Maggie, you're going to look back at this conversation and be amazed at how naïve you were."

Nyssa squinted, then threw her pebble. It cracked against the post and bounced off.

"Good girl!" Dean said, and she squealed and jumped in his lap. He tried not to swear. "You're going to be up to real rocks in no time."

Another rock went flying—Rissa, this time, the rock a broken piece of concrete block the size of a softball, and rough-edged, not like the river pebbles Nyssa was throwing, which were small enough for a three-year-old's hands. Rissa was naturally right-handed, but because of the scarring, she was forced to do a lot of things with her left arm, and she'd become very ambidextrous. She was even becoming one of the family's better shots, and considering her lack of depth perception and limited ability to handle a gun's kick....

The rock slammed smack into the crotch of the person-shaped target, hard enough that the paper tore.

"Ow," Dean said mildly, and Rissa gave him her lopsided grin. "Was that intentional, or was your trajectory off?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to see if I could do it."

"You've been listening to Maggie, haven't you?"

"No," Rissa said, "Mom."

"Worse."

Nyssa shifted in his lap. "Can I throw a big one?"

"Not yet, sweetheart. You have to work your way up to that."

"I couldn't throw the big ones when I started, either," Rissa assured her, and ruffled Mildred's fuzz with her good hand. "And I was way bigger than you."

"Really?"

"Really. Dad, you want me to do another round?"

"No, that's enough for today." He didn't need Nyssa getting any ideas. Hopefully, soon, he could have her practicing with Ananda and Kara and put the bulk of this on Sam. Then he and Rissa could get back to shooting. "Almost time for dinner."

Nyssa frowned at him.

"He means supper," Rissa translated to Southern.

"Whatever," Dean muttered as Nyssa slid off his lap and to the ground. Ten years and they still wouldn't let him talk normally.

Nyssa held out her arms to Rissa. "I can't, sweetheart," Rissa said quietly. Dean's heart twisted. "But you can hold my hand, okay?"

Nyssa accepted that the way only little kids could. "Okay."

They walked off, Nyssa holding on to Rissa with one hand and dragging Mildred along with the other.

Marcy teased him about falling too quickly, but this time, the whole family had. He was going to have to talk to Bill. Maybe there was something they could do to accelerate terminating her jackass father's parental rights.

Dinner would be even more of a nightmare if it weren't for the age gaps. Maggie could help Kara, which left Marcy free to help Nyssa tonight while Dean kept a watchful eye out for other problems.

Like the fact that Kara had about twice as much on her plate as Rissa did. Rissa wasn't eating what little she had, either, she was merely moving her lasagna around. She hadn't gotten a roll, and her salad was untouched.

"Rissa," he said quietly.

She looked up, guiltily, then back down at her plate. Mikey, sitting beside her, also suddenly looked guilty. So that was where her roll had gone. They were conspiring, the little—

He knew what it was. Well, he sort of knew. She was scared of Sam. None of them could figure out why, but ever since Sam had moved in, she'd been bolting what little food she ate at family meals and escaping as soon as she could—unless Sam was sitting near the door, in which case she huddled in her chair looking miserable until he left. At least once a week she tried to plead illness to get out of dinner.

Breakfast wasn't as bad, but Sam usually tried to avoid the morning rush. And lunch—well, she was at school most days, Saturday lunch was a haphazard free-for-all, and Sunday dinner at Anne's featured at least seven tables, so she didn't have to even see Sam.

She wasn't losing weight, not yet, but that wouldn't hold true much longer.

At the same time, though.... Sending her to the kitchen wasn't exactly a punishment, and it could set a bad precedent. Sam would be willing to leave, of course, but there was Ananda to consider...and where Ananda went, Kara and Nyssa wanted to go. Sam couldn't handle all three of them on his own. Not with Kara still arguing about forks.

He and Marcy were going to have to talk to Rissa about this. When, he didn't know. But soon.

"MOM! He took my good scissors!"

Marcy didn't even look up from Johnny's essay. "Michael Dennison Winchester! You give Rissa back her scissors right this minute!"

"But I need to—"

"You know her good scissors are for her stitching only! We have a whole cabinet of craft supplies, use it!"

Johnny rubbed his ear. "Do the Marines still take people if they're deaf on one side?"

"Do you want an A on this paper or not?" Marcy shot back. "Kevin, where's yours?"

"I did it already—"

"I don't recall reading it."

"Um. Dean did."

Marcy leveled a stare at Kevin that had sent better men to their knees. "Unless you wrote it in Latin, you know better. Dean helps with math and projects. I do the humanities. Now either show me the edits or get to work on the draft you're going to show me before bed."

"But—"

"Now, Kevin."

He dragged out a sheet of paper and snagged the book Johnny had been consulting. The boys were good about doing their reading, if not so much the other homework—

"Mom!"

I swear to God, I don't remember growing up being this kind of circus. "Jesus, now what?"

"Rissa hit me!"

"I did not! You'd know if I hit you!"

"Separate corners, you two! Rissa, if you're done with your homework, out of the playroom!" Marcy rubbed her temples and tried to focus on Johnny's paper. "I swear, those two are worse than me and Sean."

"No, they're not."

"Really?" Marcy raised an eyebrow. "So why are they always at each other's throats?"

"Because Mikey is being a little brother, just the way he was with Rhianna," Johnny said quietly. "He annoys her to death, but if anybody else in the house touched Rissa's good scissors? He'd kill them."

"Watch them sometime," Kevin put in. "It's kinda weird. He'll be running off at the mouth, talking trash, poking her with a stick—metaphorically, I mean—but it's what Mikey does. The rest of us know better. She lets him get away with sh—I mean, stuff the rest of us never could. Mikey would beat the crap out of anybody else who tried any of that. Besides, have you ever noticed? He never actually uses the good scissors."

Marcy thought a second, and realized that Kevin was right. For all the screaming and yelling, it was always about Mikey taking the scissors and threatening to use them, but as far as she could remember, those scissors had never once touched anything beyond Rissa's fabric or threads. "Then what's with the noise?"

Johnny shrugged. "I don't know, Mom. But—it works for them. Really, it does. Them coming in so close, and then Rhianna— I think Mikey just saw a new big sister who needed him, in a way Maggie doesn't. And I think maybe Rissa needed somebody to just be a pain in the ass. Treating her carefully when necessary, even defending her, but not like she's a fragile little snowflake who'll break if the wind blows the wrong way too, you know?"

"I think you murdered about six metaphors in that one sentence, which certainly explains your writing grades." She was reassured by their insight, though. A lot of kids wouldn't have bothered thinking about the reasons behind the noise. "Now, tell me how you're going to fix this sentence."

"By, um, making it an actual sentence?"

"That'd be a good start. Show me."

They were running late tonight. Honestly, they ran late most nights, but Dean was more tired than usual, and he felt the lateness. "Okay, you three, in bed."

The Stooges were either as tired as he was, or they recognized that tonight was not a night to push, because they all climbed promptly into their bunks, not a syllable of backtalk. Not even the usual request for bedtime to be overseen by Uncle Sammy. Like Sam was that crazy.

Nyssa wordlessly held up Mildred.

Dean stifled a sigh. "Good night, Mildred," he said, and faked a kiss on the dog's stuffed fuzzy head. Nyssa beamed and let herself be tucked in. "Curtain open or closed?"

"Open."

"Okay."

Kara was already out—she had that rare gift of falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow—so Dean just had to pull up the covers, make sure she had her blue blanket, turn on the nightlight, and pull the curtain half-closed.

He levered himself up out of the chair so he could reach into the upper bunk. "All good up here?" he asked.

Ananda gave him that eerie little look she did sometimes and said, "Make sure the door's unlocked."

"Uh-huh." So somebody was going to be crawling into bed with them before morning. Nyssa, maybe? That dream earlier might spark another nightmare.

Of course, tonight, it hardly mattered. Marcy was going to be lucky if he didn't sleep through whatever Ananda was seeing.

"Dean? Did you say something?" Marcy poked her head out of the bathroom—and laughed.

Dean was sprawled on the bed, sound asleep. He hadn't even gotten the braces off his ankles, he'd just fallen over.

"Lover, that's my pillow you're drooling on," she said, unable to keep back a smile. The only response was a soft snore. "I guess somebody had a rough day," she said. She untied his braces, pulled them off, and tossed them into his chair, moved it to its usual spot so that he wouldn't be confused if he had to get up, and then pulled the blankets up over him.

She climbed into bed next to him and set the alarm before turning out the light and slipping under the covers herself. "Sleep well," she murmured, knowing he wouldn't hear it, and reminded herself to make sure he checked his legs tomorrow.