In Supernatural TV/Vampire Diaries with The Force as the Chosen One

(Author note: Hello everyone! An 6k words chapter this time- yeah, Kate deserves it. I honestly have been neglecting her too much.

Hope this makes up for it. 

My wrists hurt though- whatever, worth it.

Enjoy!)

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Kate's POV:

The scar beside Lucien's eye was still an angry red, a vertical line that would eventually fade to silver but never disappear completely.

I dabbed antibiotic ointment along it with practiced fingers, my nursing training taking over where motherly tenderness faltered.

He didn't flinch - hadn't flinched once since he'd returned arrived from Roanoke.

"Almost done," I said, my voice too cheerful even to my own ears.

Lucien nodded slightly, his blue eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the bedroom wall.

At thirteen, he should have been complaining about the ointment's sting, fidgeting under my ministrations, eager to escape. Instead, he sat motionless, patient in a way no teenager should be.

From downstairs, John's deep voice carried up through the floorboards - something about vervain supplies, bombs and vampire deterrents.

The familiar timbre sent an involuntary warmth through me that I immediately tried to suppress. After everything, I still responded to him like a lovesick teenager.

Pathetic.

"Dad's worried," Lucien observed quietly.

I capped the ointment tube. "We all are."

"You shouldn't be. I'm fine."

I studied my son's face - the new scar, the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Nothing about him was fine.

"There," I said, ignoring his statement. "Keep it clean. No scratching."

"Yes, Dr. Mom." The ghost of a smile touched his lips before vanishing.

I ruffled his hair, an old gesture from when he was far smaller. He allowed it, though we both knew he'd outgrown such things long ago, despite being so young still.

In so many ways, he'd outgrown being a child entirely.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

----------------------

Flashback:

I remember the first time I met John Winchester. October 1989, night shift at Windom Hospital.

Three patients had died in the east wing that week - all with symptoms that made no medical sense. Cardiac arrest in otherwise healthy bodies, extreme hypothermia despite the heated rooms.

Administration called it a coincidence. I called it suspicious as hell.

He arrived just after midnight, flashing a CDC badge that looked genuine enough, but his eyes gave him away - too alert, too knowing.

He didn't carry himself like a government official. He moved like a soldier in enemy territory.

"Agent Willis," he introduced himself, voice gruff but not unkind.

"Nurse Milligan," I replied, not bothering to offer my first name. "You're here about the deaths?"

He nodded, eyes scanning the corridor with practiced efficiency. "Mind showing me where they occurred?"

I led him to room 237, where the first patient had been found. "Mr. Parker was recovering from routine gallbladder surgery. Stable, good vitals. Then at 3:17 AM, his temperature plummeted to 82 degrees. Cardiac arrest followed. No explanation."

John - Agent Willis then - ran his hand along the doorframe, fingers tracing patterns I couldn't understand.

"Cold spots?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Any areas in the room that feel unusually cold? Even momentarily?"

I frowned. "This isn't an HVAC issue, Agent. Three people are dead."

He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. "I know. And I'm trying to figure out why."

Something in his directness made me pause. "The corner by the window. The night staff complained about it being freezing, but maintenance found nothing wrong."

He nodded as if I'd confirmed something. "And the other victims?"

I was about to answer when the lights flickered. Once, twice, then steady again.

John's posture changed instantly - alert, coiled, ready. "Get behind me," he ordered, voice low.

"What-"

"Now."

I'd never been one to follow orders from strange men, but something in his tone brooked no argument.

I stepped behind him just as the temperature plummeted. My breath fogged in front of me, the sudden cold burning my lungs.

A figure materialized near the window - translucent, flickering like an old television. An elderly man in hospital garb, face contorted with rage.

"That's... that's Mr. Winters," I whispered, recognizing a patient who'd died months earlier. "But he can't-"

"Ghost," John said matter-of-factly, reaching into his jacket. "Vengeful spirit."

The apparition rushed toward us with impossible speed. John shoved me aside and swung something iron through the figure. It dissipated like smoke, the temperature rising instantly.

"It'll be back," he said, helping me to my feet. "We need to-"

The ghost reappeared behind him, its hand - somehow solid - gripping John's throat. I grabbed the iron fire poker John had dropped and swung wildly.

The ghost vanished again, but not before slashing John's shoulder with its fingers.

Blood blossomed through his white shirt. He grimaced but remained focused. "Salt," he ordered. "We need salt. And iron."

The next hour was a blur - John barking instructions as we fortified a small break room, me questioning my sanity while following his lead.

When the ghost appeared again, John was ready. He dispatched it with efficiently, buying us time.

"You're not CDC," I said as I cleaned his wound afterward, the hospital now eerily quiet.

"No."

"Then what are you?"

He met my eyes, something like resignation crossing his face. "I'm a hunter. I track things that hurt people. Things most folks don't believe in."

"Like ghosts."

"Among other things."

I should have been more wary. Should have accused him for impersonating a federal agent. Instead, I found myself asking, "How do we stop it?"

John's eyebrows rose slightly at "we," but he didn't correct me. "Find the remains, salt them, burn them. Breaks the connection to this world."

"Mr. Winters was cremated."

"Then he's attached to something else. Something here."

We spent the rest of the night searching the hospital records, looking for connections between Winters and the recent victims. I found it just before dawn - all three had received transplanted tissue from the same donor. Winters.

John's approval was evident in his slight nod. "Smart work."

"Thanks. Now what?"

"Now I find whatever tissue remains in the hospital and destroy it."

I insisted on helping. By morning, the ghost was gone, the hospital was safe, and I was looking at the world through new eyes. John Winchester had saved lives that night, including mine.

He left with a gruff thank you and a promise to check back if there were any more deaths. I didn't expect to see him again.

Three weeks later, he returned with a dislocated shoulder, bleeding leg and a story about a black dog. I reset the joint, cleaned and patched up his wounds, and somehow ended up having coffee with him in the hospital cafeteria at 2 AM.

That night, I learned about Mary, his first wife. About something having killed her - I think the painkillers made him drunk enough to begin talking about it. The John I know would never open up about that subject willingly.

I noticed his hands - strong, calloused, capable. The way his eyes crinkled slightly when he almost smiled. The careful way he held his coffee cup, as if unused to gentle things.

He came back months later. This time, it wasn't an injury that brought him to Windom.

-------------------------

"Mom?"

Lucien's voice pulled me from my memories. He was watching me with that too-perceptive gaze that always made me feel transparent.

"Sorry, just thinking." I gathered the medical supplies, tucking them back into their case.

"About Dad?"

I shot him a look. "Don't read my emotions without permission."

"I didn't need to," he said with a shrug. "Your face does this thing when you think about him. Always has."

"My face doesn't do a thing."

"If you say so."

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. Bobby's gruff voice welcomed someone - probably Sam and Dean returning from town.

They'd gone for supplies, though I suspected it was really to give Lucien space after everything that happened in Roanoke.

"You should go down," Lucien said. "I'm just going to rest anyway."

I hesitated, studying him. "Are you sure? We could talk about... what happened."

His expression closed immediately. "Nothing to talk about."

"Lucien-"

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

The lie hung between us, but I didn't press. Thirteen years of motherhood had taught me when to push and when to retreat. This was retreat time.

Yet I deep down didn't want to. They told me just the basics. The only reason I didn't break up a storm was because I didn't want to unknowingly make something worse.

"Alright. Call if you need anything."

I closed his door softly behind me, pausing in the hallway to collect myself. The events in Roanoke kept replaying in my mind - Lucien unconscious in a hospital bed, the pictures sent by John of his hands burned beyond recognition, that new scar beside his eye.

The hurried escape when he woke, his insistence that the vampire woman - Katherine - had invaded his dreams.

The fear in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide, despite having told me nothing happened, he escaped fast enough.

The other's looks at those words, give a different story.

Downstairs, the men were gathered around Bobby's kitchen table. Maps, books, and weapons covered every surface - the Winchester family business in full swing.

Adam sat in the corner with a comic book, seemingly oblivious to the discussion of vampire hunting techniques happening ten feet away.

At least one of my sons still had some childhood left.

"Kate," John acknowledged as I entered, his eyes softening briefly. "How is he?"

"Pretending he's fine," I answered, helping myself to the coffee Bobby always kept brewing. "The scar's healing well, at least."

Dean looked up from the knife he was sharpening. "Kid's tough. He'll bounce back."

"He shouldn't have to be tough," I snapped, the words out before I could stop them. "He's thirteen."

The room fell silent. Dean had the grace to look abashed. Sam studied his hands. John met my gaze steadily, neither challenging nor conceding.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Got a call from Rufus- we haven't talked in years, but I felt this was necessary. Thinks he might know something."

"What did he say?" John asked, attention shifting back to business.

"Not much over the phone. Wants to meet. Says it's not the kind of information you share on an unsecured line."

John nodded. "When and where?"

"Two days, Billings."

I tuned out their planning, moving to sit beside Adam. He smiled up at me, gap-toothed and innocent. At eleven, he still had the softness of childhood - something Lucien had lost years ago.

"Whatcha reading?" I asked, brushing hair from Adam's forehead.

"X-Men," he replied. "Wolverine's the best."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, he heals super fast and has metal claws and he's basically immortal." Adam's eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

"Sam says Wolverine would totally beat Batman in a fight, but Dean says Batman would have, like, anti-Wolverine spray or something."

I smiled despite myself. "Sounds like an important debate."

"It is! Dean and Sam argue about it all the time." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I think Sam's right, though. Don't tell Dean."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Adam returned to his comic, and I watched him for a moment, marveling at his resilience.

Despite everything - moving to Bobby's, leaving his friends behind, learning about the supernatural world - he remained cheerful, adaptable.

He'd bonded with his older half-brothers immediately, soaking up their attention like a sponge.

Lucien, on the other hand...

My gaze drifted to the ceiling, thinking of my older son alone in his room. Lucien had adapted too, but differently.

He'd embraced hunting with an intensity that sometimes frightened me. Where Adam saw adventure, Lucien saw duty. Where Adam found new family, Lucien found new responsibility.

And now this - an ancient vampire targeting him, being injured so severely - It was too much for anyone, let alone a child.

"Penny for your thoughts?" John had approached without me noticing, his voice low to avoid interrupting the ongoing discussion at the table.

"Just wondering when our lives became a horror movie," I replied, matching his tone.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Around the time our son created a cosmic force by watching Star Wars?"

"That would do it."

John glanced at Adam, ensuring he was absorbed in his comic before continuing. "Bobby thinks we should lay low for a while. Let things cool down."

"And you?"

"I think we need more information. About what happened to Lucien's hands in the hospital, about everything."

I nodded. John Winchester, ever the hunter - always needing more data, more facts, more weapons for his arsenal.

It was what made him good at what he did. It was also what had kept him away from us for so many years.

"And what about Lucien?" I asked. "What does he need?"

John's expression softened. "Time. Space to process."

"He's thirteen, John. He needs his father. Not just a leader."

Something flashed in his eyes - guilt, maybe, or recognition. "I know."

Our gazes held for a moment too long. Despite everything - the secrets, the danger, the years apart - there was still something between us.

Something that had monsters and vengeful ghosts and the revelation of his other family.

Something that had grown stronger these past two years at Bobby's, where I'd seen him not just as the mysterious man who visited occasionally, but as a father, a hunter, a leader.

Where I'd watched him teach Lucien to shoot, Adam to fish, where he'd shown up bloody at 3 AM and let me stitch him without complaint.

Bobby cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. "If you two lovebirds are done making eyes at each other, we've got planning to do."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. John just smirked, unembrrassed.

"Coming, Bobby," he said, but his hand brushed mine briefly as he turned away.

Adam looked up, his expression innocent but his eyes too knowing. "Are you and Dad gonna kiss again? 'Cause Dean says it's gross when old people kiss."

"Dean said that, did he?" I ruffled Adam's hair. "And how would Dean know what we do when he's not around?"

Adam shrugged. "He says he can tell. Says Dad gets all dopey after."

"Dopey?" I couldn't help the laugh that escaped.

"His word, not mine."

"Well, you can tell Dean to mind his own business."

"Yes, ma'am." Adam returned to his comic, but not before adding, "I think it's okay if you kiss Dad. He seems happier when you do."

Out of the mouths of babes.

------------------------

I remember the day Lucien was born - 6th of June 1988. Eighteen hours of labor, John pacing the delivery room like a caged animal, alternating between fierce protectiveness and absolute terror.

"It's a boy," the doctor announced, and John's face - normally so guarded - transformed with wonder.

They placed Lucien on my chest, this tiny perfect being with a shock of dark hair and eyes that seemed too aware for a newborn.

John stood frozen at my side, staring at his son as if he couldn't quite believe he was real.

"Do you want to hold him?" I asked.

John's hands - capable of such violence - trembled as he took the bundle. "Hey there," he whispered, voice rough with emotion. "I'm your dad."

Lucien's tiny hand wrapped around John's finger, and I saw something break open in this hardened hunter. For a moment, all the darkness he carried receded, replaced by pure, uncomplicated love.

Later, when the nurses had gone and Lucien slept in the hospital bassinet, John sat beside my bed, his usual stoicism cracked wide open.

"I'll keep you both safe," he promised, his hand warm around mine. "Whatever it takes."

"I know you will."

He kissed me then, gentle in a way I hadn't known he could be. When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously bright. "He's perfect, Kate."

"He is."

John stayed for three days after Lucien was born - the longest stretch he'd ever been in Windom.

He changed diapers, walked the floor with a colicky baby, made midnight formula runs. He was a natural father when he allowed himself to be.

But I could see the restlessness growing in him, the way he checked his phone for messages, how he scanned newspaper headlines for signs of supernatural activity.

The morning he left, he held Lucien for a long time, memorizing his face. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"We'll be here," I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. I'd known this was coming - had known from the beginning that John Winchester could never be a full-time father, not while the thing that killed Mary remained alive.

"Kate." He cupped my cheek, eyes intense. "This isn't what I want. If things were different-"

"But they're not," I finished for him. "I understand, John. I do."

He kissed me goodbye, kissed Lucien's forehead, and walked out the door. I stood in the window, watching his truck disappear down the street, wondering when I'd see him again.

Two months later, he returned with a broken wrist and stories about a hunt gone wrong in Michigan.

A year after that, a weekend visit that resulted in Adam's conception... And so it went - John appearing and disappearing from our lives like a ghost himself, present enough that the boys knew their father, absent enough that they never fully depended on him.

It wasn't ideal, but it was ours. And for nine years, it worked. We were happy, in our way. Safe.

Until the night Lucien screamed.

--------------------------

A crash from upstairs jolted me from my memories. I was on my feet and halfway up the stairs before conscious thought caught up, maternal instinct driving me forward.

John was right behind me, with Sam and Dean close on his heels.

I found Lucien in his room, surrounded by books that had fallen from his shelf. He stood in the center of the chaos, hands extended, face pale.

"I didn't-" he began, looking at the scattered volumes. "I was trying to-" He broke off, frustration evident in the set of his jaw.

"The Force?" I asked gently.

He nodded, dropping his hands. "It's not responding right. It's like... like trying to tune a radio with gloves on."

John stepped forward, surveying the mess. "What were you trying to do?"

"Just basic telekinesis. Moving a pencil." Lucien kicked at a fallen book. "Before, I could lift a three cars if I concentrated hard enough. Now I'm so... I just can't concentrate."

I moved to his side, motherly concern overwhelming everything else. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Just... frustrated." He looked at the books with disgust. "I need to be stronger. I need to control it better."

"You will," John assured him. "It'll take time."

"We don't have time," Lucien snapped, an edge to his voice I rarely heard. 

The room fell silent at his outburst. I exchanged glances with John, seeing my own concern reflected in his eyes.

"Lucien," I said carefully, "you're thirteen. No one expects you to fight these battles alone."

"I already did," he replied, eyes flashing. "In the cellar with Damon. Against them. In my dream with Katherine."

Each word hit like a physical blow. I'd known the basics of what happened, but hearing him say it so bluntly-

"That's enough," John said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We'll figure this out together. As a family."

Lucien looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he just nodded, the fight draining out of him. "Sorry about the mess," he muttered, bending to pick up a book.

"Leave it," I said. "Come downstairs. You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Wasn't a request."

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face at my tone. Then, unexpectedly, a small smile. "Yes, ma'am."

As the others filed out, I helped Lucien straighten his room, picking up books and returning them to shelves. We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"I know you're worried about me."

I paused, a heavy tome on demonology in my hands. "That's my job."

"You don't have to be. I can handle this."

I set the book down harder than intended. "Handle what, exactly? Ancient vampires? Cosmic entities? Dream invasions?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes. "All of it."

"Lucien." I moved to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at me. "You're a child."

"I haven't been a child since I created the Force," he countered.

"That doesn't make you an adult. It makes you a child with an enormous burden."

He shook his head. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

For a moment, I thought he might open up.

Something vulnerable flickered across his face -the little boy who used to crawl into my lap during thunderstorms peeking through the hardened hunter-in-training.

But then the wall came back up.

"It doesn't matter. I'll figure it out." He shelved the last book. "We should go down before Dad sends a search party."

I wanted to push, to demand he talk to me, but I knew that approach wouldn't work with Lucien. Never had. So I nodded and followed him downstairs, worry gnawing at my insides.

-------------------------

The kitchen was a flurry of activity - Bobby at the stove stirring something that smelled like chili, Dean setting the table, Sam chopping vegetables Adam sat at the table, carefully folding napkins into triangles the way Dean had taught him.

"There you are," Bobby said, glancing up. "Thought I'd have to send the hounds after you two."

"Just cleaning up," I replied, washing my hands at the sink. "Need any help?"

"Nah, we've got a system. You just park it and relax for once."

I wasn't good at relaxing - never had been, even before the supernatural invaded our lives. But I took a seat beside Adam, watching my makeshift family move around each other with ease.

John entered from the study, a thick book tucked under his arm. His eyes found mine immediately, a silent question in them. I gave a small shake of my head - no breakthrough with Lucien.

Dinner was a surprisingly normal affair - Bobby's chili was excellent, Dean told outrageous hunting stories sanitized for Adam's ears, Sam corrected his brother's exaggerations, and John watched it all with quiet amusement.

Even Lucien seemed to relax slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as the meal progressed.

This was what I'd wanted for my boys - family, belonging, safety. We had the first two, at least. The safety part remained elusive.

After dinner, Adam convinced Dean and Sam to play a board game with him. Bobby retired to his study with a glass of whiskey and a thick tome on ancient Greek entities. John disappeared outside, probably to check the property's wards for the third time that day.

I found myself alone in the kitchen with Lucien, who was drying dishes as I washed them - a routine we'd established in our first weeks at Bobby's.

"You don't have to help," I told him. "Go join the game. It might be fun."

"I don't mind," he replied, carefully drying a plate. "Besides, Monopoly brings out Dean's competitive streak. It gets ugly."

I smiled, remembering the last game night that had ended with Dean flipping the board after Sam bought Boardwalk. "True enough."

We worked in silence for a few more minutes, the running water and clinking dishes the only sounds between us.

I watched Lucien from the corner of my eye, noticing the way he favored his left hand slightly - the scar by his right eye still an angry red, possibly hurting, which is why he's closing that eye so much.

Something he thinks I'm not noticing.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," I said finally, handing him another plate.

He looked up, his expression carefully neutral. "Pretend what?"

"That you're okay."

Lucien sighed, setting the dish towel down. "Mom, I appreciate the concern, but you need to stop worrying about me."

"That's not how motherhood works," I replied, shutting off the water. "Worrying is part of the job description."

"Well, maybe you should focus that energy on Adam instead," he said, the words casual but something in his tone making me pause.

I turned to face him fully. "Adam is fine. He's playing Monopoly and collecting properties like nothing happened. You're the one who almost died, Lucien."

"I didn't almost die."

"Your hands were burned to the bone," I countered, my voice rising slightly. "You were unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours. And now you're having nightmares you won't talk about."

He wouldn't meet my eyes. "It's nothing I can't handle."

Something about his dismissal - the way he so casually brushed aside trauma that would break most adults - ignited a spark of frustration in me. I grabbed his shoulders, crouching to meet his eye level.

"Why would you say that about Adam?" I asked, searching his face. "Why would you think I should focus on him instead of you right now?"

Lucien's expression flickered, uncertainty crossing his features before he masked it again. "He's younger. He needs you more."

"That's not it," I pressed, a foreboding feeling settling in my stomach. "You know how serious this situation is. You're mature enough to understand that. So why would you think I wouldn't be more concerned about you right now?"

He remained silent, eyes fixed on a point beyond my shoulder.

"Lucien," I said softly, dread building, "you do know that I would care for you more in this situation, right? That as your mother, seeing you hurt like this is tearing me apart?"

His continued silence was answer enough. I felt as though the floor had dropped out from under me.

"You think I care about Adam more than you..." I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

Lucien winced but didn't deny it.

"Lucien, that's not-"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "Please don't lie to me. I hate being lied to. You should know that by now."

I pulled back, stunned. "I'm not lying-"

"It's okay, Mom," he said, a sad smile touching his lips. "I don't blame you. I never have. You deep down on some level resenting me is... Natural."

"In your eyes, I took away every sense of normalcy in your life that you fought so hard to keep despite what Dad is. It's okay to feel that way - really. You're always trying your best, and you loving Adam more isn't a bad thing. I want Adam to be loved."

"Lucien, that's not true," I insisted, feeling as though I was suddenly drowning. "I love you both equally-"

"With how I've changed," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "I've become more distant from Adam, so him being closer to you is honestly a good thing."

I reached for him again, but he stepped back. "Lucien, please-"

"I can sense your feelings whenever I wish, remember?" he said, that sad smile still fixed in place. His hand touched the scar by his eye briefly. "I should get some rest. Goodnight, Mom."

Before I could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the hallway, his words echoing in my mind like accusations.

--------------------------

I don't know how long I stood there, frozen in place by my son's words. Eventually, I found myself moving downstairs in a daze, the sounds of the Monopoly game still drifting from the living room.

"Park Place! Pay up, Sammy!" Dean's triumphant voice carried through the house.

"That's highway robbery," Sam protested. "Those hotels shouldn't be legal."

Adam's giggles followed, the sound so carefree it made my heart ache as I compared it to Lucien's weary resignation.

I wandered into Bobby's study, needing somewhere quiet to think. The room was empty, Bobby having joined the game after dinner.

John's leather jacket hung over the back of a chair, and beside it lay his journal - worn, weather-beaten, and filled with the horrors he'd encountered.

I'd never read it before. John's journal was his private record, a hunter's log of creatures and cases.

But tonight, something pulled me toward it - the need to understand what my son had faced, what John might have written about Roanoke.

Sam and Dean always joke about how their father is a compulsive writer- having to write everything down about a hunt to come back and analyse it again whenever he wishes.

My hand hovered over the cover. This was an invasion of privacy, but... was it really wrong for a mother to want to know what had happened to her child?

Decision made, I sat in Bobby's chair and opened the journal to the most recent entries. John's familiar handwriting filled the pages - neat but hurried, the words sometimes pressed harder into the paper when emotions ran high.

I found the Roanoke entry and began to read.

June 15th, 2001 - Roanoke

What was supposed to be a simple checking and dealing turned into a nightmare. I've faced European vampires before, but Damon was something else entirely. Stronger than his age should allow. And Lucien... God, my son faced him alone.

Dean and I were separated when the floor collapsed. By the time we found a way down, it was too late. Lucien had engaged the vampire in single combat. A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD BOY against a centuries-old predator.

The security footage Sam recovered from the mansion's old system shows fragments of the fight. Lucien used telekinesis to throw knives, block attacks, even crush stone. The vampire moved faster than human eyes could track, but somehow Lucien anticipated his movements.

When we finally reached the sublevel, we found Lucien on his knees, hands burned black from channeling what he calls "Force Lightning" - some kind of energy discharge that nearly killed the vampire. The strain almost killed him too.

I should have been there. I should have protected him. Instead, I was trapped above, useless, while my son fought for his life.

I felt sick, my hands trembling as I turned the page. This was far worse than the sanitized version they'd given me.

Lucien hadn't just "overexerted his powers" as they'd claimed - he'd been in mortal combat with an ancient predator while his father and brothers were trapped elsewhere.

The next entry made my blood run cold.

June 17th, 2001

Lucien explained today. In his tiredness, he spoke about the Fates - actual goddesses of destiny, apparently. From what I can piece together, these beings tried to kill him.

They pulled him into some cosmic realm and attempted to "unmake" him because he's changing destinies that should be fixed.

My son BROKE THE CHAINS OF FATE. The actual chains that bind human destiny. No mortal has ever done this before, according to what Lucien overheard.

These Fates are now actively working against him, blocking his precognitive abilities. As if he didn't have enough enemies already.

What am I supposed to do with this? How do I protect my son from cosmic entities that control destiny itself?

I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a gasp. The Fates had tried to kill Lucien? I'd been told they simply "didn't like his future sight so they blocked it after confronting him in his mind."

The magnitude of what my son had faced - was facing - hit me like a physical blow.

With shaking hands, I turned to the final entry.

June 19th, 2001

Lucien finally told us what happened with Katherine. I had to step outside afterward, put my fist through the hospital wall just to keep from screaming.

This 500-year-old vampire invaded his dreams while he was unconscious. She came to him as "Sarah" from the fair, but quickly revealed her true intentions.

She believes Lucien is some kind of god. Worships him.

But her version of worship is twisted. She tried to seduce him - a THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD. Touched him inappropriately.

Told him age means nothing to gods. Attempted to create a sexual connection she could exploit later.

I've seen a lot of monsters in my time, but this... this makes my blood boil. The way Lucien described it, clinical and detached, but I could see the fear in his eyes.

Real fear - the first I've seen from him since he created the Force.

He tried to hide it, but his hands were shaking. My son, who faced down a vampire in single combat and made cosmic entities retreat in fear, was terrified by this violation.

And I couldn't protect him from it. I wasn't there.

Katherine is now officially my primary target - Yellow Eyes be damned. I'll take care of that son of a bitch later. First that whore needs to go.

I don't care what deals I have to make or what it costs me.

That monster will never touch my son again.

The journal slipped from my numb fingers, landing on the desk with a thud that seemed to echo in the suddenly too-quiet room. Bile rose in my throat as the full horror of what Lucien had experienced washed over me.

My son had been sexually assaulted in his dreams by an ancient vampire. He'd fought for his life against a monster while his family was trapped elsewhere. Fate itself had tried to unmake his very existence.

And he'd told me none of it.

Worse - John had kept it from me too.

Rage boiled up, sudden and white-hot. I snatched the journal and stormed into the living room, where the Monopoly game was still in progress. John had joined them, sitting beside Adam and helping him count money.

"Adam," I said, my voice tight with controlled fury, "go to your room, please."

My tone brooked no argument. Adam looked between me and John, confusion evident on his face, but he gathered his game pieces and slipped away without protest.

"Kate?" John questioned, rising to his feet.

I held up the journal. "You lied to me."

The room went silent. Dean and Sam exchanged glances, clearly recognizing the storm brewing.

"You all lied to me," I continued, my voice rising. "About what happened to Lucien. About everything."

John's expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "Kate, we didn't lie. We just-"

"Didn't tell me that my son was sexually assaulted by a vampire?"

I threw the journal at his chest. He caught it reflexively. "Didn't mention that he fought for his life while you were trapped elsewhere? That cosmic goddesses tried to unmake his existence?"

"Miss Kate," Sam started, standing slowly, "we were trying to-"

"To what?" I demanded, rounding on him. "Protect me? I'm his mother! How am I supposed to help him if I don't know what he's facing?"

Bobby had appeared in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. "Kate-"

"No," I cut him off. "Don't 'Kate' me. My son - he's carrying all of this alone because you-" I jabbed a finger at John, "decided I couldn't handle the truth."

Dean stood now too, hands raised placatingly. "Kate, that's not-"

"You should have told me," I said, my voice breaking. "All of you. I deserved to know what happened to my son. I deserved the chance to help him through it."

John stepped toward me, his expression pained. "You're right."

His simple admission took some of the wind from my sails. I'd expected defensiveness, justifications.

"I should have told you everything from the get go," he continued. "I thought... I was trying to spare you the worst of it. Wait till it blew over a bit. That Lucien could open up about it himself again. But you're right. He's your son too."

"He's a child, John," I said, tears finally breaking free. "A thirteen-year-old child who was assaulted by a monster and didn't tell me because he didn't want to worry me."

Bobby cleared his throat. "We all made a mistake here, Kate. Thinking we were protecting you both when what you needed was the truth."

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly exhausted. "How do I help him? How do I protect him?"

No one had an answer.

-------------------------

Later that night, after the confrontation had died down and the house had gone quiet, I found myself alone in the kitchen.

The weight of everything I'd learned pressed down on me like a physical burden.

My son had faced horrors I couldn't imagine. Had been violated in ways that would traumatize a grown man.

And through it all, he'd kept silent about it to me - his OWN mother.

Was there truth to what Lucien had said?

That I loved Adam more than him?

That I- that I resented him for our normal life being in gone? The loss of my career? My friends? That we have been thurst into the heart of this monster world?

The questions circled in my mind like vultures.

A dark whisper in my mind suggested maybe I did. Maybe I truly did resent Lucien for bringing this supernatural chaos into our lives.

For forcing us to leave our home, our normal life.

The thought made me physically ill.

I sank to my knees on the kitchen floor, the cold tile pressing against my skin. Sobs built in my chest, breaking free in gasping waves that I tried to muffle with my hands.

What kind of mother was I, that my son believed himself less loved? That he'd faced such horrors alone, believing I wouldn't want to know, wouldn't want to help?

Had I failed the child who needed me most?

As tears streamed down my face, I heard Lucien's words again: "I can sense your feelings whenever I wish, remember?"

And I wondered, with a fresh wave of grief, what feelings he'd sensed from me that had convinced him of such a terrible untruth.

And whether I truly had them, and never understood.

------------------------

(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.

Do tell me how you found it.

It took me HOURS to write, so hope it was good.

I had to rewrite a lot of stuff, since the direction I at first went was far too... wholesome.

Didn't want that.

So went with this,

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)