Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

No Rest for the Wicked

"Mommy, tell me a story."

Her daughter's voice pulls the woman out of the haze she has been drifting through for the last few minutes. She blinks until the soft pink walls come back into focus, trying to remember whether she actually fell asleep or only came close. Either way, her heart starts beating harder at the possibility.

She knows better than to fall asleep without permission.

The little girl is curled against her side beneath the pink chiffon canopy, blonde hair tickling the woman's neck as she shifts closer. In the dim light, with her cheek pressed against her mother's shoulder and one stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her arm, she looks exactly the way she always has.

For a second, the woman can almost believe that.

Then small fingers close around her wrist.

The grip tightens directly over the bruises already circling the bone, and the woman has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound. Her daughter does not look up. She only holds on a little tighter, almost absentmindedly, while the woman forces herself to keep breathing.

"Why don't we take a nap first, sweetheart?" she asks carefully. "You've been awake almost all night."

Her daughter lifts her head.

"I'm not tired."

"No, of course not." She smooths a hand over the girl's hair, hoping she cannot feel the tremble in her fingers. "I just thought you might want some rest before your birthday dinner. Daddy and I want our special girl to have lots of energy tonight."

For a moment, there is no answer.

Her daughter only watches her.

Three days ago, that stare would have meant nothing. Three days ago, the little girl in her arms had cried when she scraped her knee and crawled into bed between her parents during thunderstorms. Three days ago, the worst thing she had ever done was sneak frosting from a cake before dinner.

Now the entire house moves around her moods.

They have learned not to tell her no. They have learned not to whisper when they think she cannot hear them. Her husband learned not to try the front door after the first attempt ended with him thrown hard enough across the room to crack the plaster behind his head.

And they have both learned never to ask what happened to their daughter.

The girl's expression finally softens.

"I still want a story."

Relief leaves the woman lightheaded.

"Okay."

"The princess one."

She reaches carefully toward the nightstand and picks up the book of fairy tales they read the night before. It has been one of her daughter's favorites for years, its spine worn soft and several pages bent from being carried around the house.

She opens it across her lap.

Her daughter settles against her again. "Change her name."

The woman glances down. "The princess?"

"Mhm."

"What should her name be?"

The little girl smiles against her shoulder.

"Violet."

The woman pauses.

She does not know anyone named Violet.

Still, she turns to the beginning of the story and runs her finger beneath the first line.

"Princess Violet," she says.