Hey everyone, crap it's been a long while, would you believe me if I said I didn't realize how long until it hit me like a damn truck while trying to write this chapter? Christ, I'm really sorry everyone! Well, I honestly hope this chapter makes up for it, and I'm hoping to get another edited version of the earlier chapters up later this week. I love you all!

"Sit your damn ass down you mook, before you set my damn kitchen on fire!" Bobby snorts, trying to wrestle the bowl of batter away from me.

I laugh, despite the medication and my body trying to heal itself, I woke up - annoyingly - early, after a few failed attempts at trying to go back to sleep I ended up giving up and headed downstairs to grab something to eat. However, when I saw Bobby at the kitchen's stove cooking breakfast - Bobby never cooked, not breakfast anyway - I couldn't help but try to help him, or at least try to help him. That's where we find ourselves, practically covered in flour and pancake batter, the kitchen counter a damn mess, and laughed bodily as we fought over who got to make the pancakes.

"Oh c'mon Bobby, I may be stupid but-"

"No 'buts', that's a full sentence right there," a voice cuts in, Bobby and I look over to the kitchen's entrance and see my brothers enter, Dean's shit-eating grin telling me he was the one to make the smartass remark.

"Oh fuck off," I huffed a chuckle, finally relenting and let Bobby take the bowl out of my grasp.

"Don't make me get my soap out," Bobby jokingly threatens, walking back over to the stove. "Sit yer ass down, and boys make yourselves useful; Dean you get the food onto the dining table, and Sam help me clean this mess up."

Both boys childishly groan, but get to work regardless, Dean taking compensation for setting the food and plates down by stealing a couple of strips of bacon. Bobby notices but knows better than to even bother reprimanding the blond, but Sam has other ideas as he reaches over the kitchen counter to smack Dean upside the head, almost making him choke on the bacon he'd all but scarfed down, I bark a laugh as the duo go off on each other like pair petulant children. Watching the scene, all I could honestly think was this is my family...my fuckin' family. It took me a moment to actually accept that thought, that this wasn't all some kind of cruel dream, or whimsical memory, this was...now, this was all happening and I happily drank in every moment of it. If I'd learned anything over the years it's that moments like these - moment of happiness - never lasted long in the life of a hunter, but I promptly push aside the looming reality and enjoy the moment…actually live in the moment and relish in the almost overwhelming feeling of family for the first time in - what feels like - a damn centuries.

"You okay, Nat?" Dean asks, voice hushed as he sits beside me at the table.

And I smile wide enough for my cheeks to hurt, blinking away my tears, "more than you know."

My older brother grins, leaning forward to plant a wet kiss on my forehead, making me bark a laugh and wipe at my forehead, "ew! You damn meathead!"

"Brat," Dean chuckles, a fondness in his eyes and genuine happiness pulling at his lips that I hadn't seen in so long that it warms my heart.

"Alright, breakfast is served," Bobby says, placing a plate with a pile of pancakes on the table as he takes his seat, the plate of eggs and bacon already waiting thanks to Dean, and Sam sets down a carton of orange juice and a stack of glasses.

"Dig in, lord knows ya idjits need it with the amount of crap you eat all the time," Bobby chuckles, sipping at a mug of coffee.

We all happily did as told, nearly finishing everything on the plates as we piled them onto our own, and least to say Dean happily did finish everything off the plates once we took out share - damn glutton. The four of us ate in a relaxed silence, before Sam snorted and I raised a brow, unable to help but smile at him when his grinning gaze met mine.

"What?" I asked after swallowing a mouthful of syrup drenched pancakes.

"Remember the first time Dean tried making us pancakes?"

It took me all of a split second, but the moment the memory came to mind I barked a laugh while Dean groaned, "yeah, I remember hearing what salmonella was for the first time because Dean, somehow, didn't cook the pancakes through!"

"Oh c'mon, that was one time!" Dean defended, glaring at the two of us, affronted - but I could see the gleam of humor at the memory in his eyes.

"Are you kidding me, you tried passing it off saying that you didn't cook them properly because we needed 'protein'!" Sam laughed, shaking his head.

"Dad almost had a damn aneurysm." I chuckle at the memory of our father coming home, almost having a heart attack and making us throw the - rather large - stack of remaining undercooked pancakes away.

"Hey, you should be thanking me," Dean defends, grinning and continues on in a baby-voice. "Look at how big and stwong you are," the blond cooed, poking at the brunet's bicep only to have his hand smacked away with a snort.

"Oh please, Nat and I upchucked that shit so fast all I really remember was fighting her to the bathroom."

"You're lucky neither of us threw up in the sink," I giggle, stabbing a fork full of scrambled eggs onto the utensil. "Though, it was a close call on Sam's part."

"That's 'cause you fuckin' elbowed me to get to the toilet first!"

"You're lucky that's all I did, I would have happily kicked you in the nads if it meant I got to go first!"

It went on like that, the three of us bickering like children after so long, the sibling rivalry as easy as it had been all those years ago, Bobby chiming in to keep us from starting a food fight when needed - ever the father to us, no matter how much he snorted at the comparison, because somewhere deep down we all know Bobby knew how much we look up to him. After scraping our plates clean, Dean and Sam were left to clean up as Bobby and I - well, more so than Bobby than me really - cooked the breakfast, so the older man and I went and relaxed on the living room's couch; Bobby idly sipping at a beer while I nursed a bottle of water after downing my pain pills for the morning.

After a few beats of silence, Bobby spoke first, "I looked up Banshees a bit more, and despite the lore, I looked into the 'wives tales' a bit more and...I think I may know why the Banshee is following you around, and for starters, I don't think it's actually a Banshee."

That caught me off guard, I sat up a little more in my seat, "what do you mean?"

"Well, this all started after you-" Bobby stops, taking a pull of his beer, "after you came back, right?"

I nodded, "yeah?"

"Thing is, I think when you came back, something came back with you," my mind immediately went to Alexis, but that didn't make sense...she's been there since I was a child. "What do you remember about your mother?"

I pause at that, Bobby knew the answer to that, I never met the woman...I was only a few months old when she was killed, so why-

"I thought so...John never showed you a picture, did he?"

The expression on my face must have been answer enough, because with a saddened sigh Bobby pushes off the couch and heads towards his desk, digging through a few drawers before walking back over to me and hands me a box. I took the old container, running my fingers over it, the wood was sanded down to a smooth surface, over time it was clear the material wilted but still held strong - almost clinging to it's once fresh feel. I carefully undid the small latch, my heart almost in my throat as to what I'd find, but felt the thrashing organ calm - if only slightly - when I was met with a age-worn photo of us; John, Bobby and Dean, Sam and me. I looked at the photo for a few minutes, Bobby didn't rush me as my mind wandered back to that day at the beach, each of us smiling brightly as a stranger agreed to take our picture. Dad was never really one for pictures, but my ten year old self had - somehow - managed to beg him enough into finally giving in, and for a moment I was thankful for small favors. After a few moments, when I could swallow and didn't feel like I was about to choke on the lump in my throat, I dug further through the small box, a couple of trinkets had to be - gently - pushed aside for me to finally see the photo Bobby wanted me to see.

Setting aside the beach photo, my hand picked up the older photograph as carefully as my trembling grip would allow, and my heart broke at the happiness it held. John stood beside a young woman and boy, the three smiling unabashedly as the photo was being taken, and what I would have given to meet this woman; yes, he was gorgeous, but she just looked...like a mother...a mother I would given anything to meet. I sniff, looking skyward as I try wiping away my tears, but knew it was useless and more so that Bobby would understand more than anyone what this fucking gaping hole felt like.

Holding the photo with both trembling hands I smile shakily, my voice wet and rough as I speak, "John only ever told me her name was Sarah and t-that his name was Josh...b-back then I was too shocked...I-I never even thought t-to ask to s-see what she l-looked like…."

I heard the scuffle of shoes against the floorboards, but couldn't bring myself to look away from the photo in my hands, and wasn't all too surprised by the concern in my brothers' voices when they spoke.

"Natalie what's wrong?" Sam immediately asks, rushing over to my side as Dean took the other, but the photo was answer enough I guess as neither pressed once taking a seat.

"Is that…" Dean trails, hand rubbing soothing circles onto my back.

"M-My mom, Sarah-" I stop, my words trailing as a heart shattering realization hits me like a fucking tidal wave; I never even knew her last name.

Swallowing thickly I turn the photo over, the age worn and ever so slightly wilted photograph trembling like a leaf in my grip, and bite back a cry upon finding my answer.

"H-Her name was Sarah Rogers," and I can't help the laugh that escapes me, sounding wet and wrong passing my lips, a twisted noise with no humor that leaves me feeling even sicker.

My teeth grinding to the point my jaw aches with enough force that I idly think it may shatter, "m-my name would- would have been N-Natalie Rogers."

I feel Dean's arm tighten around me, and despite the pain surging through my side I shove my face against his chest, the bone deep ache of bruised and broken bones thrums through me, but the pain grounds me - an unhealthy thought, but why lie? I clutch onto my eldest brother's shirt, uncaring of the damp spot I create, and wonder why the hell did Sarah have to suffer the way she did; was it because of me? She was so happy, her and her little boy - my brother, Josh - living an ordinary life until I came along...tearing them apart, literally - I'd laugh at the realization if the reality of it wasn't so fucking grotesque. However, why else was I alive? I caused their deaths, or had a hand in it somehow...and I try not to listen to the taunting voice in my head from weeks ago, but to no avail as the words trail through my mind like a poisonous wind; you're a monster, Natalie, and you know it.

"Natalie, you'll always be our little sister...no matter what," Dean says, voice kind but careful, and it almost makes me want to scream that he'd think I'd ever believe otherwise.

"I-I know," I gasp out, pulling back to wipe my face with jerking motions. "Y-You'll all always be my family, af-after everything don't ever doubt that but...they just-"

"They're still your family, too," Sam offers and I turn, replying with a the best smile I possibly can through my tears and nod. "I understand, Nat...I know how it feels to be willing to give up anything, everything, if it meant you could meet your mom," taking my trembling hand in his larger one and squeezes, "I never lost my brother, and I don't know what I'd ever do without you and Dean...but I know one thing for damn sure," Sam pauses, carefully taking the picture from me and holds it up for me to see.

"I know without a shadow of a doubt that Sarah and Josh would be damn proud of who their daughter and little sister grew up to be, just like Dean, Bobby and I proud of you."

In that moment, it was so easy to almost forget that Sam never met Mary, or even had a remote memory of his mother like Dean and John had before she was taken from them; Sam had been nothing but an infant when a large part of him was ripped away, before he could even begin to comprehend just what he had lost. I shift, and reach over to wrap my arms around the brunet, honestly beginning to realize for the first time in a long time - or maybe even ever - just how similar Sam and I were, in so many ways and it was damn devastating realization to have.

I stay like that, wrapped up in Sam's arms until my breathing regulated and I no longer shook, the calm thu-thump of my brother's heart helping me find my way back to a sense of calm, and finally pulled away once I had a better grip on everything. With a stuffy-nosed sniff, and a wipe to damp cheeks, I stare down at Sarah and Josh, and hope beyond hope that Sam's words were true - even if only slightly - and that they really would be proud of the person I had become.

After a moment I let out a slow and - if only slightly - shaky exhale, before looking at Bobby, "w-why bring this all up now?" I ask, but feel like my choice of words my come across as bitter and quickly add. "I mean, t-thank you for showing me this Bobby, really...thank you, but...w-what does this have to do with Banshees?"

At that, Sam and Dean share a look of confusion before looking between Bobby and I, a strange sibling synchronization between them as they both blurt out, "Banshees?"

"Is this about how you knew...y'know?" Sam asks, trying to be as vague and non-pressing as possible.

"Even if it is, what does this have to do with Natalie's mom?"

Bobby stares between the three of us, aged-eyes swirling with a mixture of unreadable emotions before letting out a long sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and meets my gaze head on.

"That's why I wanted to show you a picture of your mother, Natalie...I think this thing- this death omen, or hell, guardian angel, might be...it might be your mother, Natalie," Bobby slowly explains, trained-eyes watching intently for my reaction.

My brows knit together, this doesn't make any sense...how could my mother be a Banshee?

"Bobby I thought you said that Banshees haunting families was just an old wives tale?"

The elderly man nods, "I know, but that got me thinkin'...this thing, whatever it is, only started poppin' up after you died and never actually hurt you. Since it first showed up it's been tryin' to do nothin' but warn you about the deaths of those you love," he explains, and must see me about to object as he adds, "and the deaths of those loved by the ones you love."

"But...m-my mother never even knew me," I say, voice only just above a whisper.

"I know sweetheart, but just...look at the picture, the old woman you've been seein', does she look anythin' like your mother?"

I let out a breathy laugh and shake my head, this was ridiculous because not only did my mother not know who I was when she was killed but- oh God...no, no, no! However, I knew Bobby was right the moment I thought of the old hag and looked at the picture of my mother; the image distorted into the being that had warned me of the death of my best friend and Jess, beauty turned into a horrifying distortion by death and it became clear….

"M-My mother's a Banshee…"

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