[spn] Dear Frankie
Oct. 1st, 2006 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offbalanceSo, I'm now into Supernatural, thanks to the machinations of many (I'm looking at you, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
antheia & dotfic!) It would appear that I'm now so hardcore, I'm writing fanfic. Buffy crossover fanfic, of course, but fanfic nonetheless. So, here it is. I have to post this public so I can link to the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnnewsletter, but all are welcome to read it (unless you're going to be mean about it. Then I will poke you in the eyes so you can't read ANYTHING. I mean it.).
Title: Dear Frankie
Author: Offbalance
Disclaimer: All are belong to Eric Kripke and Joss Whedon.
Rating: PG
Pairing/Genre: Gen.
Spoilers: Pre-show, hardly any.
Summary: What if Faith (everyone’s favorite rogue slayer) was part of the Winchesters for a brief time? How would that have played out?
California - 2000
The Guard tapped the bars over Faith’s head. She’d been kind of napping (nothing else to do after you get into some shit in the yard) and was annoyed to have been woken up.
“You got a visitor,” the guard said, sliding the cell door open.
Faith followed, but didn’t have a clue who it could be. She’d seen Angel two days ago, and the most he came was once a week, and she couldn’t think of anyone else (Wesley, B) who’d pay her a social call.
The person sitting on the other side of the glass was literally the last person in the world she would have thought of. He looked like he’d been around the block a few extra times since she last saw him, too. His hair was a little grayer, and there were a few more lines on the face, which had a funny look on it when he saw her. He picked up the phone, and she followed.
“Hey Frankie,” he said. His rich, gravelly voice hadn’t changed a bit since she’d first met him.
**********************
Boston - 1992
The demon had tried to give them the slip in an alley, but John hadn’t lost its scent. A few swipes with a the machete, and it was history. Even though it’d been fairly easy to kill, he praised Dean for tracking it. Admittedly, that wasn’t too hard, but he thought the kid needed a little encouragement. John tossed the scaly body into a dumpster behind some apartment buildings and debated what to do next.
“Dad? I thought these things came in threes?” Dean asked.
The kid was right. Damn it. A crash came from an alley nearby.
“Where’s your brother?”
“He was right...”
“Come on, Dean!” John yelled, before taking off after the clatter.
What he found shocked him.
A small, dark-haired girl was standing over the dead demon’s body. Her weapon had been a broken bottle, and she looked as though she was still ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The girl was about Dean’s age, maybe a touch younger. Her face and arms were dirty; and her t-shirt had a small rip in it. John fought the urge to bend down and fix her untied shoelace - he was pretty sure he’d meet the business end of that bottle if he got too close without warning.
Sammy, who was fine (thank God), came running up to them. He was breathless and jabbering up a storm.
“Dad!! She fought him herself! She jumped out of the dumpster and just fought him and I would have helped but she was too fast and and....”
“Woah there, Sammy. One thing at a time!”
The girl had left her place near the body and had gone back to rummaging in the dumpster. Even though she was a skinny little thing, she was capable of hunting on her own, with minimal weapons. John approached with caution.
“Did you do this?” He asked her.
“Maybe.”
“Are you all right?”
“Five by five.”
She pulled a bag of moldy bread out of the dumpster, examined it, and tossed it back inside.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” he asked her.
“I took that thing,” she said. “I could take you.” She looked him over, her eyes filled with a combination of contempt and curiosity. He liked her immediately.
“So, are you just gonna ask me questions all day, mister?” She asked, “‘Cause, I got stuff to do.”
John tried not to laugh. She was a tough little thing, all right.
“Just one more: When was the last time you ate?”
She looked down at the ground, then back into the dumpster, and said nothing.
“My name is John. This is my son Dean.” Dean nodded at her. “You’ve already met Sammy,” Sammy gave her a big, gap-toothed grin.
“My boys have been hunting all night,” he said. “And they’ve done a really good job.”
“Good enough for pancakes?” Sammy asked. There was so much hope lighting up his little face John chuckled.
“You bet!” He said, ruffling Sammy’s hair. Dean looked equally pleased.
John looked over at the girl. “What about you?” She had her hands on her hips, studying the three of them.
“I’m Faith,” she finally said. “And pancakes are good by me.”
****************************************
“Long time, no see.”
“What brings you to these parts, John-boy?” Faith used to promise herself that she wouldn’t be bitter if she ever saw him again. That was when she still hoped, and all that other stupid stuff.
“I came as soon as I heard. I’ve been looking for you, you know.”
“Not that hard, obviously.”
“You’re not an easy one to track down.”
“Neither were you. You know, I tried to find you all before I thought to head out to Sunnydale.”
John shook his head. “I didn’t know. When?”
“Year ago, maybe?”
“We were tracking something in Texas - practically in Mexico. Frankie, if I’d had any idea what happened to you, I would have helped you, come for you.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Don’t you ‘whatever’ me, young lady!” His voice got sharp, and he looked angry. Then his face got sad, and his voice followed. “You know better.”
*******************************************
John’s heart broke as he watched the raggy little figure scarf down her food, and then what was left of everyone else’s. He’d over ordered a little on purpose, but from the way she lit into what was placed in front of her, he was ready to order her even more food.
In between bites and gulps, he found out that she was exactly between Dean and Sammy in age, didn’t like school all that much, and didn’t live too far from the alley where they’d found her.
“Do you live there with your mom and dad?” Sammy asked her.
“Don’t got a dad,” she said, in between large mouthfuls of pancake.
“What about your mom?” Dean asked. “My dad would be pissed if I was out at night by myself.”
John looked at Dean. He had a point, so he wasn’t about to get on his back about language, or about what had happened in that motel in Wisconsin last month.
“Does your mom work a lot at night?” John asked Faith.
“Nope. She drinks a lot. That’s about it.”
John tried not to jump to any sudden, negative conclusions. Maybe her mom was depressed over a dead husband; he was a wreck after losing Mary. Maybe she loved her daughter but just needed help; someone to set her straight, like Jim had done for him.
“She always yells that I make too much noise, so I go out.”
“All night?”
“Just until she passes out. One time I didn’t come back for a whole day. I fell asleep in an arcade, and she didn’t even know.” John couldn’t believe how matter of fact Faith seemed about this; not even sad.
***************************************************
“People with good parents and stable family lives tend to not wind up in here. Unless they’re screwy in the head,” Faith said. She was trying to sound like a robot. She didn’t want him to know how she really felt. And she really didn’t want him to see her cry.
“I’d hardly call it a stable family life, Frankie. I’ve made more mistakes with the boys than I can count; a lot of things that I regret. I’m not exactly a candidate for Father of the Year.”
*********************************************************
A scream interrupted the conversation about Faith’s home life. The last demon had finally shown itself and was holding the cashier by the neck, her feet dangling above the ground.
Before John could go for his gun, Faith grabbed a dinner knife off of the table, and, with surprising skill, lobbed it across the room, into the thing’s eye. It dropped the clerk and held its head in pain, howling. John then pulled his gun and finished the thing off.
The clerk lifted her head, and began to groan, and mumbled a confused “What the...” before turning her gaze on John. The cook came running out of the kitchen, and crowded John, thanking him for saving her. The cook ran off to make them sandwiches to take with them. When John mentioned settling up the bill, the cashier smiled at him.
“Your money is no good here. But you’re welcome back any time.” John barely was able to gather the kids and usher them outside.
“Who taught you how to throw a knife like that?” Dean asked Faith, sounding almost awestruck.
She shrugged. “Nobody.”
“Dad, wasn’t she good? Didn’t she throw it good?” Dean was as excited about Faith’s ability to throw a knife as Sammy had been about the pancakes. Faith looked at John expectantly, waiting for him to answer.
“It was pretty good. A little sloppy, maybe. Hey, Faith? Do you really want to know how to throw a knife?” Her dark eyes widened, and for the first time, she really smiled.
Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea. Maybe she was a civilian. But if the kid was going to be crawling around dark alleys late at night, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to teach her a little extra lesson in self-defense. Her mouth dropped when she saw the collection of knives in the back of his truck, shining in the one light the alley had available.
She looked at John in wonder. “They’re so pretty!” She exclaimed.
He took a knife down off the rack and showed her the different ways to hold it.
“This way for cutting, this way for stabbing, and this way for throwing. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. See that telephone pole?”
“Uh huh.”
“Give it a throw. Try and hit the number in the middle.” She threw, and landed a bit short.
“Nice. Now, go, and get it and try again. Boys, you too. Take turns with that knife. You need practice.”
John knew that this was probably a terrible place and time for a weapons lesson, but it wasn’t a good idea to take the boys out like this on a hunt in the first place. It wasn’t like he planned to, he’d just been surprised, and had to improvise, as always. There was no use shielding them from the dark; it was better to teach them to fight it. These three looked like they could hold their own against it. Faith was the best of the three. John watched as she alternately bickered with Dean about who was the best and tried to help Sammy improve. In the space of two hours, she’d gone from sarcastic and defensive to sweet and laughing. “Poor kid,” he thought,
She may have a place to live, but she probably doesn’t have much of a home. At least the boys have each other.
Sometimes, they even had him, too.
“Come on. Let’s get you back. Your mom’s probably worried.”
Faith’s face fell. “I doubt it.”
John loaded the boys into the back of the car, put Faith in the front seat, and pulled around to the front of the building. He told them to lock the doors and wait, he’d be right back. All the way, Faith was pleading with John to take her with him. “You know, you could use me! I’m good with a knife! I can fight! I could help you!”
John insisted that he couldn’t take her, but he’d see if her mom would let her write to the boys. After all, her mother was probably worried. He hoped she was, anyway. He tried to hope for the best as he brought her home that night. Kids didn’t always understand everything about what was going on over their heads.
His hopes vanished the minute they found Faith’s mother passed out on the floor. Faith ran to her, calling “Mommy!” and trying to get the woman to wake up. The apartment reeked of rotting food, cigarettes, stale liquor, and what John guessed were rat droppings. When the mother finally came to, she started screaming.
“You fucking brat! What did I fucking tell you about waking me up!” She pushed herself back onto her ankles, and before John could intervene, backhanded Faith. He caught Faith before she hit the ground, and she gazed up at him, eyes large with surprise.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Faith’s mother screamed. “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” She swung again, but missed, as John yanked Faith out of harm’s way and shoved her mother to the ground. The woman spit in his face and then passed out again. That was enough.
“Get your things, Faithie. You’re not staying here.”
Faith threw her few possessions in a small backpack. She didn’t say goodbye to her mother, and never looked back.
In the hallway, a neighbor peeked through the chain lock at John.
“Are you from child services?” She asked him.
“Yes,” he lied.
“About damn time someone called you people,” she said, before slamming the door.
****************************************
“So, congratulations! You rescued a kid from a bad home. What, you didn’t get your medal?”
“Frankie, listen to me. I did everything I could. I never should have let you go, and I’m sorry that I did. I thought I was doing right by you. That’s all I ever wanted to do. I loved you like one of my boys.”
Faith gulped back a lump that was growing in her throat.
“I’m not Frankie, “ She said, bitterly. “I never was.”
“You were,” he said. “And you still are.”
***************************************************
For the first month or two, John was a little edgy about the new addition to the family. Money was tight enough, and he wasn’t looking forward to a kidnaping charge. But as the months went by on the road that summer, it became clear that no one was going to come looking for this little girl.
As they traveled the country, her bruises faded and her guard came down. She loved jokes and stories, and loved having an audience to tell them to. Her smile didn’t take a lot of coaxing now. She could (and would) play as rough as the boys, and with the boys, who loved having her as a new playmate. She hardly ever complained about the times when they had nothing but cereal and Spaghettios for dinner, or having to get uprooted from one school and start at another. She and the boys were crazy about each other, and as long as they were around, she was content.
She wasn’t perfect by any means. She was stubborn as hell. At the beginning she’d still go off and do things when she wanted to without asking permission, like the time she went to get Sammy twizzlers late one night. Faith responded fairly well to structure, but chafed at too much authority. John sometimes felt like he had a wild thing on a leash, but others it almost was like she was asking him to reassure her that she would be allowed to stay.
Faith trained right alongside Dean and Sammy, at her own insistence. She was scary with a knife, dead on with a crossbow, and nearly fearless. She’d happily train for hours, then she’d read Sammy a story and put him to bed. After that, she’d either train more with Dean (John had never seen him so interested or focused on training before), or they’d watch tv together, waiting for John to come back from a hunt.
After she’d been with them for seven moths, she started to call him “Dad.” The first time had been an accident. They were having breakfast in the little house he’d rented and she said it while thanking him for the salt. Her eyes got wide when the words left her lips.
“I’m sorry...I meant John.” She said, looking up at him with her huge brown eyes.
“It’s okay. You can call me dad if you want to.” She smiled at him.
“So, is Faith our sister now?” Sammy asked. Dean reached for Faith’s hand under the table, probably to squeeze it, as three pairs of eyes demanded an answer from him.
“If she wants to be, I can’t see why not.” From the way the three of them looked at one another and smiled, he was pretty sure they’d planned the entire thing, and John tried his best not to let on that he’d figured this out (or that he’d noticed that Faith and Dean were still holding hands).
****************************
“You can’t sit there and try to tell me that you weren’t happy, Frankie.”
“Happiest time of my damn life. So what? Stuff like that never lasts. Hey, all good things come to an end, right? A couple of happy years, kidding myself that I could be part of your merry little band forever. Some joke, huh?” Until the guard looked over at her, Faith hadn’t realized that she’d been yelling.
“Frankie, I had no choice...”
“Stop. Calling me. Frankie! I’m not Frankie!” The whole place went quiet, and she lowered her voice again.
“Faith. I would have adopted you if I could’ve. This woman - this watcher - I couldn’t fight the clout she had. She seemed decent. She said you had a calling, and it fit. I always knew you were special. This just proved it.”
“Bull.” She was trying even harder not to cry now. “You wanted me out of the way. You didn’t want me with Dean.”
“Dean still hasn’t forgiven me for making you go. I don’t doubt he would have married you one day. I would have had to walk you down the aisle to some Metallica song, but I would have been proud to do it..”
Faith began to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Is he here?”
John shook his head. “No. I told him I was going to the library.”
“He hates libraries.” Faith snorted and brushed a tear away with her knuckles.
“What about Sammy?”
John’s face fell. “We had a big fight. He wanted to go away to school. I didn’t want to lose another one, and it all came out wrong. Made me think about things, I guess. Then I tracked you down. We had one hell of a fight, and I regret it. Sound familiar?”
********************************************************
It had been 4 years since they’d first been in Boston. Frankie was doing well. She was happy, healthy, and growing into quite a young woman. Sometimes John had to remind himself that she really hadn’t been his and Mary’s. The only thing that concerned him was Dean. He’d gotten older, too, and he’d definitely noticed Frankie. They loved the same kind of music, they loved Sammy, and each other. John also noticed that they had some kind of private joke about not being related, which he ignored until he saw a hickey on Dean’s neck one morning. It was the same morning that a British woman approached him in a hunting supply store and introduced herself as a member of the watcher’s council.
**********************************
“I didn’t want to let you go.”
“But you did. And you never told me why.”
“I did so. You just didn’t want to hear it. And you can’t sit there and tell me that you didn’t love being a slayer.”
She smiled. “You’d know I was lyin’. I just wish you’d told me.”’
“I’m telling you now.”
*****************************
Frankie threw her bag against the wall. John had never seen her so angry.
“This is because we were kissing!” She yelled.
“No.”
“You’re lying! You told me vampires didn’t exist!”
“These aren’t real vampires - they’re some kind of bizarre demon/human hybrid with vampiric tendencies. They multiply like roaches. Never seen anything like ‘em. And this watcher can show how to hunt them, hunt anything, better than I can.”
“That’s not true!”
“I’ve checked my sources. This watcher’s council is the real thing. They fight what we fight - we’re all on the same side.”
“Then I can still fight with you!” Frankie’s voice was desperate.
“Not anymore.”
Frankie picked up her bag and stuffed the clothes back inside of it.
“So you’re just done then, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s it? Had enough of me? I was cute when I was a kid, now I’m too much trouble?”
“No.” John knew he had to say more, but it was too hard.
“Then what?” She wanted some kind of answer, and he didn’t know what to say to her.
“It’s just what has to be.”
She said nothing when she left. Her expression was stricken, hurt, and furious. It was the same look Dean would give him for years after, whenever her name came up.
*************************************
The guard let them know they had another minute.
“So,” she said.
“So,” he said, “I’m glad I got to see you Frank..I mean...”
“No, it’s okay. You can still call me Frankie. If you still want to.”
A slow smile spread across John Winchester’s face.
“You know I do. Listen, are you allowed to get mail here?”
“Yeah, but they’re pretty hip to the whole cake-with-a-file thing.”
“Frankie, if I baked a cake, that would be the weapon.”
She laughed. “I remember!”
“I tried. Listen, I’m not much for letters. I hope postcards will do.”
Faith nodded. “It was good to see you.”
“I’ll try to come back again, as soon as I can.”
The guard announced visiting hours were over. John started to hang up the phone, and Faith called out to him as he pulled the phone from his ear.
“Dad?”
John picked up again. “Yes?”
“Don’t tell Dean about ....you know.”
“I won’t.”
A week later, true to his word (he was always a man of his word, if nothing else), a postcard arrived. It was addressed to Faith, but began with the words, “Dear Frankie.” They came every week, and Faith kept every single one.
*************************************
Sometimes when John was driving, he would remember the day after the day Faith started to call him “Dad.” It was late. The boys were asleep in the back, but Faith, who barely needed any sleep at all, was in the front seat. Since it seemed as though she hardly ever needed to sleep, she’d usually keep him company on the drive.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you and...did you ever think you were going to have a girl?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What would you have named her?”
“Knowing Mary and her taste? Probably Francesca. Frankie for short.”
Faith bit her lip and fiddled with the stitching on her sleeve.
“Could I be Frankie?”
“Would you like that?”
A grin “Yes.”
“Okay, Frankie. Why don’t you pick the next tape?”
antheia & dotfic!) It would appear that I'm now so hardcore, I'm writing fanfic. Buffy crossover fanfic, of course, but fanfic nonetheless. So, here it is. I have to post this public so I can link to the spnnewsletter, but all are welcome to read it (unless you're going to be mean about it. Then I will poke you in the eyes so you can't read ANYTHING. I mean it.). Title: Dear Frankie
Author: Offbalance
Disclaimer: All are belong to Eric Kripke and Joss Whedon.
Rating: PG
Pairing/Genre: Gen.
Spoilers: Pre-show, hardly any.
Summary: What if Faith (everyone’s favorite rogue slayer) was part of the Winchesters for a brief time? How would that have played out?
California - 2000
The Guard tapped the bars over Faith’s head. She’d been kind of napping (nothing else to do after you get into some shit in the yard) and was annoyed to have been woken up.
“You got a visitor,” the guard said, sliding the cell door open.
Faith followed, but didn’t have a clue who it could be. She’d seen Angel two days ago, and the most he came was once a week, and she couldn’t think of anyone else (Wesley, B) who’d pay her a social call.
The person sitting on the other side of the glass was literally the last person in the world she would have thought of. He looked like he’d been around the block a few extra times since she last saw him, too. His hair was a little grayer, and there were a few more lines on the face, which had a funny look on it when he saw her. He picked up the phone, and she followed.
“Hey Frankie,” he said. His rich, gravelly voice hadn’t changed a bit since she’d first met him.
**********************
Boston - 1992
The demon had tried to give them the slip in an alley, but John hadn’t lost its scent. A few swipes with a the machete, and it was history. Even though it’d been fairly easy to kill, he praised Dean for tracking it. Admittedly, that wasn’t too hard, but he thought the kid needed a little encouragement. John tossed the scaly body into a dumpster behind some apartment buildings and debated what to do next.
“Dad? I thought these things came in threes?” Dean asked.
The kid was right. Damn it. A crash came from an alley nearby.
“Where’s your brother?”
“He was right...”
“Come on, Dean!” John yelled, before taking off after the clatter.
What he found shocked him.
A small, dark-haired girl was standing over the dead demon’s body. Her weapon had been a broken bottle, and she looked as though she was still ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The girl was about Dean’s age, maybe a touch younger. Her face and arms were dirty; and her t-shirt had a small rip in it. John fought the urge to bend down and fix her untied shoelace - he was pretty sure he’d meet the business end of that bottle if he got too close without warning.
Sammy, who was fine (thank God), came running up to them. He was breathless and jabbering up a storm.
“Dad!! She fought him herself! She jumped out of the dumpster and just fought him and I would have helped but she was too fast and and....”
“Woah there, Sammy. One thing at a time!”
The girl had left her place near the body and had gone back to rummaging in the dumpster. Even though she was a skinny little thing, she was capable of hunting on her own, with minimal weapons. John approached with caution.
“Did you do this?” He asked her.
“Maybe.”
“Are you all right?”
“Five by five.”
She pulled a bag of moldy bread out of the dumpster, examined it, and tossed it back inside.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” he asked her.
“I took that thing,” she said. “I could take you.” She looked him over, her eyes filled with a combination of contempt and curiosity. He liked her immediately.
“So, are you just gonna ask me questions all day, mister?” She asked, “‘Cause, I got stuff to do.”
John tried not to laugh. She was a tough little thing, all right.
“Just one more: When was the last time you ate?”
She looked down at the ground, then back into the dumpster, and said nothing.
“My name is John. This is my son Dean.” Dean nodded at her. “You’ve already met Sammy,” Sammy gave her a big, gap-toothed grin.
“My boys have been hunting all night,” he said. “And they’ve done a really good job.”
“Good enough for pancakes?” Sammy asked. There was so much hope lighting up his little face John chuckled.
“You bet!” He said, ruffling Sammy’s hair. Dean looked equally pleased.
John looked over at the girl. “What about you?” She had her hands on her hips, studying the three of them.
“I’m Faith,” she finally said. “And pancakes are good by me.”
****************************************
“Long time, no see.”
“What brings you to these parts, John-boy?” Faith used to promise herself that she wouldn’t be bitter if she ever saw him again. That was when she still hoped, and all that other stupid stuff.
“I came as soon as I heard. I’ve been looking for you, you know.”
“Not that hard, obviously.”
“You’re not an easy one to track down.”
“Neither were you. You know, I tried to find you all before I thought to head out to Sunnydale.”
John shook his head. “I didn’t know. When?”
“Year ago, maybe?”
“We were tracking something in Texas - practically in Mexico. Frankie, if I’d had any idea what happened to you, I would have helped you, come for you.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Don’t you ‘whatever’ me, young lady!” His voice got sharp, and he looked angry. Then his face got sad, and his voice followed. “You know better.”
*******************************************
John’s heart broke as he watched the raggy little figure scarf down her food, and then what was left of everyone else’s. He’d over ordered a little on purpose, but from the way she lit into what was placed in front of her, he was ready to order her even more food.
In between bites and gulps, he found out that she was exactly between Dean and Sammy in age, didn’t like school all that much, and didn’t live too far from the alley where they’d found her.
“Do you live there with your mom and dad?” Sammy asked her.
“Don’t got a dad,” she said, in between large mouthfuls of pancake.
“What about your mom?” Dean asked. “My dad would be pissed if I was out at night by myself.”
John looked at Dean. He had a point, so he wasn’t about to get on his back about language, or about what had happened in that motel in Wisconsin last month.
“Does your mom work a lot at night?” John asked Faith.
“Nope. She drinks a lot. That’s about it.”
John tried not to jump to any sudden, negative conclusions. Maybe her mom was depressed over a dead husband; he was a wreck after losing Mary. Maybe she loved her daughter but just needed help; someone to set her straight, like Jim had done for him.
“She always yells that I make too much noise, so I go out.”
“All night?”
“Just until she passes out. One time I didn’t come back for a whole day. I fell asleep in an arcade, and she didn’t even know.” John couldn’t believe how matter of fact Faith seemed about this; not even sad.
***************************************************
“People with good parents and stable family lives tend to not wind up in here. Unless they’re screwy in the head,” Faith said. She was trying to sound like a robot. She didn’t want him to know how she really felt. And she really didn’t want him to see her cry.
“I’d hardly call it a stable family life, Frankie. I’ve made more mistakes with the boys than I can count; a lot of things that I regret. I’m not exactly a candidate for Father of the Year.”
*********************************************************
A scream interrupted the conversation about Faith’s home life. The last demon had finally shown itself and was holding the cashier by the neck, her feet dangling above the ground.
Before John could go for his gun, Faith grabbed a dinner knife off of the table, and, with surprising skill, lobbed it across the room, into the thing’s eye. It dropped the clerk and held its head in pain, howling. John then pulled his gun and finished the thing off.
The clerk lifted her head, and began to groan, and mumbled a confused “What the...” before turning her gaze on John. The cook came running out of the kitchen, and crowded John, thanking him for saving her. The cook ran off to make them sandwiches to take with them. When John mentioned settling up the bill, the cashier smiled at him.
“Your money is no good here. But you’re welcome back any time.” John barely was able to gather the kids and usher them outside.
“Who taught you how to throw a knife like that?” Dean asked Faith, sounding almost awestruck.
She shrugged. “Nobody.”
“Dad, wasn’t she good? Didn’t she throw it good?” Dean was as excited about Faith’s ability to throw a knife as Sammy had been about the pancakes. Faith looked at John expectantly, waiting for him to answer.
“It was pretty good. A little sloppy, maybe. Hey, Faith? Do you really want to know how to throw a knife?” Her dark eyes widened, and for the first time, she really smiled.
Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea. Maybe she was a civilian. But if the kid was going to be crawling around dark alleys late at night, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to teach her a little extra lesson in self-defense. Her mouth dropped when she saw the collection of knives in the back of his truck, shining in the one light the alley had available.
She looked at John in wonder. “They’re so pretty!” She exclaimed.
He took a knife down off the rack and showed her the different ways to hold it.
“This way for cutting, this way for stabbing, and this way for throwing. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. See that telephone pole?”
“Uh huh.”
“Give it a throw. Try and hit the number in the middle.” She threw, and landed a bit short.
“Nice. Now, go, and get it and try again. Boys, you too. Take turns with that knife. You need practice.”
John knew that this was probably a terrible place and time for a weapons lesson, but it wasn’t a good idea to take the boys out like this on a hunt in the first place. It wasn’t like he planned to, he’d just been surprised, and had to improvise, as always. There was no use shielding them from the dark; it was better to teach them to fight it. These three looked like they could hold their own against it. Faith was the best of the three. John watched as she alternately bickered with Dean about who was the best and tried to help Sammy improve. In the space of two hours, she’d gone from sarcastic and defensive to sweet and laughing. “Poor kid,” he thought,
She may have a place to live, but she probably doesn’t have much of a home. At least the boys have each other.
Sometimes, they even had him, too.
“Come on. Let’s get you back. Your mom’s probably worried.”
Faith’s face fell. “I doubt it.”
John loaded the boys into the back of the car, put Faith in the front seat, and pulled around to the front of the building. He told them to lock the doors and wait, he’d be right back. All the way, Faith was pleading with John to take her with him. “You know, you could use me! I’m good with a knife! I can fight! I could help you!”
John insisted that he couldn’t take her, but he’d see if her mom would let her write to the boys. After all, her mother was probably worried. He hoped she was, anyway. He tried to hope for the best as he brought her home that night. Kids didn’t always understand everything about what was going on over their heads.
His hopes vanished the minute they found Faith’s mother passed out on the floor. Faith ran to her, calling “Mommy!” and trying to get the woman to wake up. The apartment reeked of rotting food, cigarettes, stale liquor, and what John guessed were rat droppings. When the mother finally came to, she started screaming.
“You fucking brat! What did I fucking tell you about waking me up!” She pushed herself back onto her ankles, and before John could intervene, backhanded Faith. He caught Faith before she hit the ground, and she gazed up at him, eyes large with surprise.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Faith’s mother screamed. “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” She swung again, but missed, as John yanked Faith out of harm’s way and shoved her mother to the ground. The woman spit in his face and then passed out again. That was enough.
“Get your things, Faithie. You’re not staying here.”
Faith threw her few possessions in a small backpack. She didn’t say goodbye to her mother, and never looked back.
In the hallway, a neighbor peeked through the chain lock at John.
“Are you from child services?” She asked him.
“Yes,” he lied.
“About damn time someone called you people,” she said, before slamming the door.
****************************************
“So, congratulations! You rescued a kid from a bad home. What, you didn’t get your medal?”
“Frankie, listen to me. I did everything I could. I never should have let you go, and I’m sorry that I did. I thought I was doing right by you. That’s all I ever wanted to do. I loved you like one of my boys.”
Faith gulped back a lump that was growing in her throat.
“I’m not Frankie, “ She said, bitterly. “I never was.”
“You were,” he said. “And you still are.”
***************************************************
For the first month or two, John was a little edgy about the new addition to the family. Money was tight enough, and he wasn’t looking forward to a kidnaping charge. But as the months went by on the road that summer, it became clear that no one was going to come looking for this little girl.
As they traveled the country, her bruises faded and her guard came down. She loved jokes and stories, and loved having an audience to tell them to. Her smile didn’t take a lot of coaxing now. She could (and would) play as rough as the boys, and with the boys, who loved having her as a new playmate. She hardly ever complained about the times when they had nothing but cereal and Spaghettios for dinner, or having to get uprooted from one school and start at another. She and the boys were crazy about each other, and as long as they were around, she was content.
She wasn’t perfect by any means. She was stubborn as hell. At the beginning she’d still go off and do things when she wanted to without asking permission, like the time she went to get Sammy twizzlers late one night. Faith responded fairly well to structure, but chafed at too much authority. John sometimes felt like he had a wild thing on a leash, but others it almost was like she was asking him to reassure her that she would be allowed to stay.
Faith trained right alongside Dean and Sammy, at her own insistence. She was scary with a knife, dead on with a crossbow, and nearly fearless. She’d happily train for hours, then she’d read Sammy a story and put him to bed. After that, she’d either train more with Dean (John had never seen him so interested or focused on training before), or they’d watch tv together, waiting for John to come back from a hunt.
After she’d been with them for seven moths, she started to call him “Dad.” The first time had been an accident. They were having breakfast in the little house he’d rented and she said it while thanking him for the salt. Her eyes got wide when the words left her lips.
“I’m sorry...I meant John.” She said, looking up at him with her huge brown eyes.
“It’s okay. You can call me dad if you want to.” She smiled at him.
“So, is Faith our sister now?” Sammy asked. Dean reached for Faith’s hand under the table, probably to squeeze it, as three pairs of eyes demanded an answer from him.
“If she wants to be, I can’t see why not.” From the way the three of them looked at one another and smiled, he was pretty sure they’d planned the entire thing, and John tried his best not to let on that he’d figured this out (or that he’d noticed that Faith and Dean were still holding hands).
****************************
“You can’t sit there and try to tell me that you weren’t happy, Frankie.”
“Happiest time of my damn life. So what? Stuff like that never lasts. Hey, all good things come to an end, right? A couple of happy years, kidding myself that I could be part of your merry little band forever. Some joke, huh?” Until the guard looked over at her, Faith hadn’t realized that she’d been yelling.
“Frankie, I had no choice...”
“Stop. Calling me. Frankie! I’m not Frankie!” The whole place went quiet, and she lowered her voice again.
“Faith. I would have adopted you if I could’ve. This woman - this watcher - I couldn’t fight the clout she had. She seemed decent. She said you had a calling, and it fit. I always knew you were special. This just proved it.”
“Bull.” She was trying even harder not to cry now. “You wanted me out of the way. You didn’t want me with Dean.”
“Dean still hasn’t forgiven me for making you go. I don’t doubt he would have married you one day. I would have had to walk you down the aisle to some Metallica song, but I would have been proud to do it..”
Faith began to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Is he here?”
John shook his head. “No. I told him I was going to the library.”
“He hates libraries.” Faith snorted and brushed a tear away with her knuckles.
“What about Sammy?”
John’s face fell. “We had a big fight. He wanted to go away to school. I didn’t want to lose another one, and it all came out wrong. Made me think about things, I guess. Then I tracked you down. We had one hell of a fight, and I regret it. Sound familiar?”
********************************************************
It had been 4 years since they’d first been in Boston. Frankie was doing well. She was happy, healthy, and growing into quite a young woman. Sometimes John had to remind himself that she really hadn’t been his and Mary’s. The only thing that concerned him was Dean. He’d gotten older, too, and he’d definitely noticed Frankie. They loved the same kind of music, they loved Sammy, and each other. John also noticed that they had some kind of private joke about not being related, which he ignored until he saw a hickey on Dean’s neck one morning. It was the same morning that a British woman approached him in a hunting supply store and introduced herself as a member of the watcher’s council.
**********************************
“I didn’t want to let you go.”
“But you did. And you never told me why.”
“I did so. You just didn’t want to hear it. And you can’t sit there and tell me that you didn’t love being a slayer.”
She smiled. “You’d know I was lyin’. I just wish you’d told me.”’
“I’m telling you now.”
*****************************
Frankie threw her bag against the wall. John had never seen her so angry.
“This is because we were kissing!” She yelled.
“No.”
“You’re lying! You told me vampires didn’t exist!”
“These aren’t real vampires - they’re some kind of bizarre demon/human hybrid with vampiric tendencies. They multiply like roaches. Never seen anything like ‘em. And this watcher can show how to hunt them, hunt anything, better than I can.”
“That’s not true!”
“I’ve checked my sources. This watcher’s council is the real thing. They fight what we fight - we’re all on the same side.”
“Then I can still fight with you!” Frankie’s voice was desperate.
“Not anymore.”
Frankie picked up her bag and stuffed the clothes back inside of it.
“So you’re just done then, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s it? Had enough of me? I was cute when I was a kid, now I’m too much trouble?”
“No.” John knew he had to say more, but it was too hard.
“Then what?” She wanted some kind of answer, and he didn’t know what to say to her.
“It’s just what has to be.”
She said nothing when she left. Her expression was stricken, hurt, and furious. It was the same look Dean would give him for years after, whenever her name came up.
*************************************
The guard let them know they had another minute.
“So,” she said.
“So,” he said, “I’m glad I got to see you Frank..I mean...”
“No, it’s okay. You can still call me Frankie. If you still want to.”
A slow smile spread across John Winchester’s face.
“You know I do. Listen, are you allowed to get mail here?”
“Yeah, but they’re pretty hip to the whole cake-with-a-file thing.”
“Frankie, if I baked a cake, that would be the weapon.”
She laughed. “I remember!”
“I tried. Listen, I’m not much for letters. I hope postcards will do.”
Faith nodded. “It was good to see you.”
“I’ll try to come back again, as soon as I can.”
The guard announced visiting hours were over. John started to hang up the phone, and Faith called out to him as he pulled the phone from his ear.
“Dad?”
John picked up again. “Yes?”
“Don’t tell Dean about ....you know.”
“I won’t.”
A week later, true to his word (he was always a man of his word, if nothing else), a postcard arrived. It was addressed to Faith, but began with the words, “Dear Frankie.” They came every week, and Faith kept every single one.
*************************************
Sometimes when John was driving, he would remember the day after the day Faith started to call him “Dad.” It was late. The boys were asleep in the back, but Faith, who barely needed any sleep at all, was in the front seat. Since it seemed as though she hardly ever needed to sleep, she’d usually keep him company on the drive.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you and...did you ever think you were going to have a girl?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What would you have named her?”
“Knowing Mary and her taste? Probably Francesca. Frankie for short.”
Faith bit her lip and fiddled with the stitching on her sleeve.
“Could I be Frankie?”
“Would you like that?”
A grin “Yes.”
“Okay, Frankie. Why don’t you pick the next tape?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-02 05:56 am (UTC)(Sidenote: did you get the title from the movie, Dear Frankie? 'Cause I love that movie, too!)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-02 01:55 pm (UTC)(Actually, I'd had the title rattling around my head from multiple viewings of In America, which is a favorite movie of mine. I have meant to see Dear Frankie for awhile, though.)