Jovi Winchester never had a easy life, especially being born into a world of hunting. But her life got flipped upside down when her dad dies once again but this time comes back as a demon and he's nothing but trouble for society.
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆...
𝑱𝒐𝒗𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒇 𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉, legs tucked beneath an oversized black hoodie that nearly swallowed her whole. Her pajama shorts were mostly hidden under a grey fleece throw she shared — somewhat reluctantly — with her mother.
On the TV, 101 Dalmatians flickered across the screen, throwing patches of light across the dim room. Jennifer sat on the other end of the couch, occasionally glancing sideways at her daughter as they watched. It had been Jennifer's idea — they'd been talking about Jovi's childhood, her favorite books, cartoons, food. When the movie came up, Jennifer had said "We should watch it then."
And now they were here.
Jovi should've felt more comfortable. But something was... off. Not bad, just weird. This movie was one of her earliest comfort memories — her and her Dad, curled up on crappy motel beds after long drives, bloodied hunts, or ugly arguments with John. Her Dad never questioned it. He'd just put the movie on, hand her a snack, and sit beside her like a silent wall between her and the world.
Watching it with Jennifer felt like walking through a memory, but the pieces didn't quite line up. Her mother laughed in different spots, made different comments. The familiarity was gone, replaced by a stranger trying to belong in a home she didn't help build.
Jovi didn't know what to make of it yet.
Her phone lit up beside her, vibrating with a familiar name and picture. Her heart skipped.
'Dad'. The contact photo was a blurry, candid snap: Dean pretending to glare while she laughed, whipped cream on her nose from a diner pie contest they'd once won gloriously.
"It's Dad," she said aloud, mouth half-full of popcorn.
She hit answer with a grin. "Hey, Dad."
Dean stood in the living room of a demon's nest, phone pressed to his ear, the metallic weight of a gun heavy in his right hand. Sam was crouched beside him, spraying the final touches of a devils trap under an old rug. Castiel had gone silent in the next room, standing guard. The whole place smelled like sulfur and dust and something worse, something wrong.
