supernatural || sister edition

1.

Flashback: 

NO P.O.V.

After Dana had put her younger sister Samantha to bed, their father Joseph returned from working late at the mechanic shop. His hands were filthy as he kissed the top of Dana’s head, holding her round cheeks and staining them with car grease. Dana smiled up at him, her hero, the man who “fixed cars so they could fly” Joseph had told her once. Joseph stared down at his daughter in admiration, for how strong she was to live day after day with her mother, who absently drank her days away at Buck’s Saloon while he was at work. And so, he moved on to Samantha’s room, finding her sound asleep and still too young to understand the fact of the matter that her own mother could not be there to tuck her in. He kissed her forehead as he did to Dana, before squeezing her small hand and whispering, “Goodnight, Samantha.”

Joseph emerged into the hallway, upset to see that his wife was drunkenly stumbling through the front door. A hiccup came from her swollen lips, and her disheveled hair covered most of her face.  Joseph could no longer be angry at the woman he had wed less than a decade ago. He could not be frustrated with his dear Maria. He was simply tired. She groaned, as her stomach pained her from the amount of alcohol and peanuts she’d consumed. The skin on her face felt heavy, and much of the ground was swimming in her vision. 

“Maria, time for bed,” Joseph said, as he did every night. Maria sighed, felt her loving husband’s hands hook under her knees and back as he so carefully carried her to the bedroom. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, feeling the scruff of hair that was effect of his not shaving in a week. She had missed it, missed him. But she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to. All she wanted was another sip of Moonshine. And the moon shone through the blinds, creating a pattern on the quilted bed sheets. Joseph saw that the quilt has already been pushed back, and all he could think about was Dana and how she understood the life her mother sadly lived. He never wanted his children to understand. Then he lay Maria beneath the covers and looked to the nightstand, seeing a washcloth submerged in a bowl of water, a fairly large cooking pot, and a tall glass of seltzer. Dana couldn’t find a bucket, and the trash can was full. He felt tears spring up in his eyes. His daughter knew. Joseph wrung out the cloth and lay it on his wife’s hot forehead.

“What have you done?” he asked Maria, though her snoring indicated that she was no longer able to answer him. “Do our daughters deserve this?” his voice broke. He pushed her onto her side and left her in her track pants and blouse. He couldn’t remember the last time she was home to change into her nightgown and complete her nightly routine. It was years ago. Joseph left the bedroom, the door making a silent click. Dana waited in the kitchen, her tired eyes scanning a book that was assigned for school. The clock read 11:24. He looked at his daughter, at seven years old she was so responsible, so mature. He wanted her to relish in her youth, but he saw then and there that it was too late. 

Dana felt happiness whenever she saw her father. His voice shook when he sighed, seeing her at the dining table, the Judy Blume book folded at the top right corner. She felt content, grateful, and pleased to see that she still had a parent who was there for her. Dana still loved her mother, just not as much as her father. She had always loved her father the most, with his kind eyes, scraggly chin, and large hands that would warm hers no matter the season. Her mother was absent, and the times she were at home, she was sleeping. Dana wished her father could be home all the time, to spend with her and Samantha.