At the age of seven you were seated in your father's car, driving around after one of his "business trips", your father sat in the driver seat, one hand on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the radio as he tried to find the classics. The car was traveling at about 70 as the open road provided you with endless destinations, all you had to do was pick one.
"Daddy, where did you get that black eye?" Your little voice asked as you pointed towards the puffy black and blue area that was your father's eye.
"Well baby, while Daddy was at the bar with his coworker, and one of the boys got in a fight after trying to pick up one of girls, so Daddy got punched trying to save his ass." He smiled at you before turning his view back to the road, "Don't worry though your Daddy is a fighter."
"I never worry about you Daddy!" You smiled at him before looking back out the window.
It was true, you never did worry about him, even after he told you what the real meaning of the business trips were, and that he got that black eye from fighting a pretty angry demon that got one good punch in before his ass was ganked. You had even offered to help him on cases and trained but you were his little princess and there was no way he would ever let you in the field. Instead he invited a young mister Robert Singer, who was the same Robert Singer who informed you that the job finally killed your daddy and that he was looking for a partner to work some cases with, which was fine with you. That was until a ghost broke your arm by flinging you into a glass cabinet and then throwing a brick on your shooting arm. You now were confined to a cast, and Bobby was still fighting things.
"Bobby! You have to let me go!" You shouted as you followed him from the front porch to the den.
"For the last time, I need a living partner, not a dead one."
"Im not stupid enough to get myself ganked you ass."
"Yea well I am going on hunts with Rufus till that arm heals, and just to make sure you stay here, John and the boys are coming over."
"Oh so now I need a sitter! Shouldn't someone be watching his boys while he goes and helps you?"
"Well he wanted to take some time off and spend it with the boys, he said he would be happy to come here for a bit and help you with research and house chores. Besides Dean will love the junk cars."
"I fucking hate research,How can I do research and occupy a two year old with this stupid thing?" you raised your new cast slightly and instantly regretted it, as a sharp pain shot through your entire arm.
"You don't have to occupy Sam, you are in charge of research and chores, and John is in charge of you, and those boys."
"I don't need someone to be in charge of me! I am fucking 28 years old!"
"And someone who will follow me into the heart of danger with a broken arm if I don't have someone here to watch ya. So you will suck it up buttercup and DEAL WITH IT!" He slammed the book onto the table as you turned on your heels and stormed to your room, where you locked yourself in. For the rest of the night you ignored the occasional knocks on the door from Bobby, you ignored the sound of the tray being placed on the floor outside your room, you feel asleep listening to Bobby talk to John on the phone, the last words you heard were, "She is going to be a handful probably."
