❝Listen kid, Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days.❞
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Elle Singer has lead a relatively normal sixteen years of life. For the longest time, it was just Elle and her aunt and her grandfather, with her father and half-brother...
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THE CRIES OF ELEANOR WINCHESTER would not be so easily silenced. The smoke in the air made it difficult for those in close vicinity to the burning house to breathe without coughing hysterically. Rachel Singer stood across the road, fighting tears herself as she waited. Who was she waiting for? Her niece's father. The fire had started at midnight, April 2nd, 1990, and at five in the morning that same day, it burned on, though was dying down. After all, they lived in the middle of nowhere, outside of Sioux Falls. The fire department had arrived not thirty minutes earlier. Bobby Singer pulled up in his old, rusted pickup, jumping out as soon as it came to a stop, running over to his girls. He was fuming, upset. It was evident that he'd been crying on the drive there. "Where is he?" He practically hissed.
"He's not here yet." Rachel stated, bouncing her infant niece on her hip. "He had just left for Nebraska last night. I called him around one, it sounded like he and the boys had just gotten into Beatrice." The sixteen year old bit her bottom lip, looking towards the house, in ruins, and back her father. "They said there was no sign of the body. But I saw her in there, Daddy. I saw them both. She handed me Elle and told me to run." Now both his girls were in tears, and Bobby embraced his youngest daughter, placing a kiss on the top of Eleanor's head.
"The two of you are safe. Let's just focus on that, okay?" Rachel nodded in response, letting out a sob, the pair watching the road stretched out for miles in front of them, Bobby standing in front of Rachel and Eleanor. They heard the roar of the Impala before they saw it. It was peeling down the road at lightning speed, screeching to a halt as John exited the vehicle swiftly. Bobby Singer hated John Winchester. Around Elle, he put up a front. Bobby had followed the wishes of his eldest, now late, daughter, to be civil. He would be civil for the sake of the boys, too, but his daughter was dead. To hell with civility.
"Where's Eleanor?" Were the first words from his mouth, expression stoic and tinted with anger and worry. Bobby scowled at him, storming towards him.
"She's fine! What in the hell took you so damn long?!" Bobby shouted, shoving John's chest, watching the man stumble back.
"Calm down! I was dropping the boys off at Jim's. You think I want them to see this? Get out of the way and let me see my damn daughter." John pushed Bobby out of the way, Bobby trailing angrily after him.
Rachel glowered at the oldest Winchester, holding the screaming infant close to her chest chest. "This is your fault, John. You said it was safe! You said we'd all be safe! She's dead, John. Rebecca is dead!" Rachel spat at him.
"You would have been safe if you'd done what I'd told you to do!" John barked back, stopping in front of her. "But clearly, you didn't." He snapped. Arms outstretched, he stated firmly, "Give me my daughter, Rachel." Rachel remained silent, still. "Now!" He yelled.
Rachel held back a sob as she allowed John to take his daughter. Bobby, however, was fuming. "Do not speak to my daughter like that." Bobby spat. John brushed him off, walking back towards the Impala, opening the door and placing the six-month old in her car seat, fastening her in. "Where do you think you're taking her?" Bobby snapped at him. John swiveled around, gaze sharp as he glared at Bobby.
"Where the hell do you think?" John asked, "Rebecca and I had an agreement. Anything happens to her, and I take Elle. So that's what I'm doing." Eleanor would still wail as John slammed the door shut, "I'm taking my daughter, and getting back to the boys." And Robert Singer was stunned. No emotion, no indication of grieving had come from the man. It looked to be like another day, another angry day in his life, but what else could Bobby expect from John Winchester?
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THE LONELY ROAD SEEMED A little less lonely with his daughter in the back seat, having self-soothed her upset, John glanced into the back with the rearview mirror to see if she was alright now and again. It took him four hours to get to their motel in Beatrice, Nebraska and from there, he called Jim to let him know that he'd pick up the boys tomorrow. For now, he wanted to focus on Elle. John had run to the store with Elle on his hip, buying a collapsible wooden crib, which was now sitting in front of the TV, some children's cartoon playing in the background as John held his daughter in his arms.
He would pick up the boys and tell them about Elle, about Rebecca's passing. Elle was safe now, safe with John, safe with him and the boys. Bobby did his best, and he was a damn good Hunter, but he and Rachel weren't what was best for Eleanor. He could argue that maybe even with Rebecca there, Elle never would have been truly safe from Yellow Eyes. No, John's family was better off with him, where he could see them.
