CHAPTER 4 | House of the Rising Sun

Some fires are meant to cleanse. But in the ash of a broken life, Nellie wakes to find more than scars—she finds silence, a new name, and a family she never expected. In the quiet aftermath, grief lingers, identities shift, and as old wounds begin to heal, new ones take root. Not all hauntings come from ghosts. Some come from memory.

Word Count: 11.4k

TW: emotional/angst. canon-level violence. depictions of death and fire. mentions of death, abuse, and medical terminology. mild language use.

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Sam drives down the highway, the night stretching out in front of him. The road is quiet, the low hum of the engine almost soothing in contrast to the chaos of the past few hours. His mind drifts back to the Branscomb house, the disturbing absence of Eleanor's body, the house ransacked, and everything eerily silent. He had just left, hoping to get back to Nellie and Roger before things get any worse. He can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. There's a growing sense of dread in his chest, a tightness he can't seem to shake. He considers calling the motel phone, but he knows she's still processing everything. Still trying to make sense of what she just learned.

A distant glow catches Sam's eye, flickering in the night sky, followed by a thick plume of smoke. His heart drops into his stomach, and before he knows it, his foot presses harder on the gas pedal. The headlights of his car cut through the darkness, but they only reveal more smoke rising into the air, thick and black. He doesn't need to think twice. He knows it's the motel. His mind races. What happened? Is Nellie okay? Roger? He can't stop now. He has to get there.

He swerves his car into the motel parking lot, the bright red and yellow glow of fire trucks flashing against the darkness. Firefighters are working fast, spraying down the building, desperately trying to contain the blaze. But as Sam jumps out of the car, his stomach sinks. Nellie and Roger aren't anywhere in sight. His legs carry him faster than his thoughts can keep up. His mind races with a hundred horrible possibilities. Are they still inside? No, he couldn't think like that. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure.

Sam doesn't slow. He bolts toward the nearest crew member, a man streaked with soot and sweat. "There was a woman and a man in there!" he barks. "My daughter and my brother!"

The words came out without thinking — automatic. Old hunter instinct. You lied to survive, lied to protect people you couldn't explain. Right now, those lies keep Nellie and Roger safer than the truth ever could.

The firefighter blinks. "We pulled some people out already, but there's still too much smoke inside. We don't know who's left. You might want to check with the paramedics."

Sam's heart skips a beat as he turns toward the ambulance parked nearby. Paramedics are assessing several individuals, some of whom are covered in soot, their faces grim. His eyes frantically scan the scene—he still doesn't see the pair. Panic starts to claw at him. He knows he needs to act fast. He's not about to let them be some of the missing people. He's not going to let the fire take them. Without a second thought, he pushes past the paramedics, ignoring their calls for him to stop. His instincts take over, and he heads for the burning building.

"Nellie, please be okay," he mutters, his voice tight.

The flames crackle loudly as they consume the structure, the air thick with smoke. Sam's lungs burn with each breath, but he forces himself to keep going. He heads toward the back of the motel, where a window has already burst from the heat. Smoke pours from the jagged frame like breaths from a dying thing. He climbs through, ignoring the glass slicing into his palms. Inside, the air is a furnace. Heat bites at his skin. Smoke fills his lungs.

"Nellie!" he shouts, stumbling forward. "Roger?!"

No response. Just the crack of wood splitting, the howl of fire chewing through walls. Sam makes his way through the thick haze, his heart hammering in his chest. His focus is razor-sharp. He can't afford to waste time.

He calls out for them, his voice breaking through the chaos. "Nellie! Roger! Nellie, are you here?!"

The fire is consuming the building, the heat unbearable. Sam's mind is a blur of images--Nellie, Roger, the way she looked earlier, the shock on her face. He stumbles over debris, barely catching himself. The smoke makes it harder to see anything, but he's driven by one singular thought. His voice cracks as he calls again, desperation creeping in.

Then, through the smoke, he sees a form. Nellie is kneeling in the middle of the room. Her back arching toward her ankles, arms hanging limply at her sides, head tilted back. Her eyes are wide, staring blankly at the ceiling. For a moment, Sam can't tell if she is even breathing.

"Nellie?" he asks, heart pounding. He drops to his knees beside her, gently touching her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, sweetheart, look at me…"

She doesn't move. He follows her gaze upward, his stomach turning. Roger is on the ceiling. Arms splayed, body scorched, mouth frozen in a silent scream of death. Fire blooming around him like it had been waiting. Exactly like Jess. Exactly like Mary.

Sam's breath hitches. He closes his eyes for half a second. No. Not now.

"Nellie, I've got you," he whispers, pulling her close.

Her body is stiff, unmoving. As if she hasn't even registered, he is there.

"I know it hurts. I know. But we have to move, kiddo. You hear me?"

Still nothing.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her up, careful but firm. She doesn't resist. Doesn't help either. Just a ragdoll in his arms, her cheek resting weakly against his shoulder.

"You're okay. I've got you. I'm gonna get you out of here," Sam tells her, his voice cracking.

The fire snapped behind them, devouring the bed. The ceiling groaned — Roger's body gone now in a sudden collapse. Sam doesn't look back. Just as he's about to push through the window, he hears her soft voice.

"Roger…?"

Sam stops, looking down at her. She's breaking out of her trance, but she's fading fast. "Roger's gone, Nellie. We have to go. Now."

The sound of the flames grows louder. He can hear the building creaking under the strain of the fire. But he doesn't care. He shoves Nellie through the window first, shielding her as best he can from the glass. Then he follows, coughing hard as he lands. Outside, the air is cooler but filled with smoke. Sirens wail nearby, echoing through the parking lot.

Sam cradles her in his lap, brushing soot from her face, checking her chest. Still breathing. Shallow. But alive.

"You're safe now," he whispers. "You're safe."

She still doesn't answer. Her eyes stay on the sky, wide and unblinking, like the ceiling is still burning. Her eyes now flutter shut. Sam remains crouched beside her, still catching his breath as the fire rages behind them. He touches her cheek — still warm, still breathing. Barely. Then he hears it. A paramedic shouting, boots thudding through gravel.

"Over here!" Sam waves them down. "She's alive, but she passed out—she needs help!"

Two paramedics rush over with a stretcher, one kneels beside Nellie, checking her pulse, shining a penlight into her eyes.

"How long was she inside?" the woman questions.

"Too long," Sam replies. "The smoke—she couldn't breathe."

"Your name, sir?" the other asks, scribbling on a clipboard.

"James…" Sam catches himself, then finishes, "James Taylor. This is my daughter, Natalie."

The name comes easily. Years of fake aliases and forged IDs had trained his reflexes. Names are masks, and right now, his niece needs a cover more than honesty.

"Okay, Mr. Taylor. She's stable for now, but we need to get her to the hospital," the female medic tells him.

They lift Nellie carefully onto the stretcher. Sam hovers beside them, barely keeping his voice steady. "She—she's going to be okay, right?"

"She's got a strong pulse. Some smoke inhalation. Maybe shock. We'll monitor her closely on the ride."

Sam follows as they wheel her toward the ambulance. His boots drag, body aching from the smoke and cuts. But he stays close. The doors open, and the medics guide Nellie inside, hooking her up to oxygen.

One of them turns to him. "You can ride along since you're her parent."

Sam hesitates for only a second. Then nods. "I'm not going anywhere."

• • •

The waiting room is too quiet. Sam sits hunched in a plastic chair, arm and hands now bandaged, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes. The adrenaline has long since drained out of him, leaving a deep ache in his chest. His eyes stay fixed on the double doors, willing them to open. He hates hospitals. Always has. They are cold, sterile, filled with waiting and bad news. When the door finally opens, he is on his feet before the woman in scrubs has a chance to say his name.

"Mr. Taylor?" she asks, voice gentle but clipped.

"That's me," Sam replies quickly.

"I'm Dr. Lin. I've been overseeing your daughter's care—Natalie?"

He nods. "Yes."

Dr. Lin glances down at her chart, then back at Sam with a mild look of surprise. "She's fortunate. Given the level of smoke in the building, I would have expected burns, second degree at the very least. Still, aside from some superficial irritation on her arms and shoulders, she has no serious external injuries."

Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"But the internal damage was a different matter," the doctor continues. "Her lungs were heavily exposed to smoke. We've got her on oxygen and medication to help her breathe more comfortably. And... she is still unconscious. But it is for the best at the moment."

His expression hardens, barely holding together. "She's stable?"

"Yes," she reassures. "But she's also experiencing what we call TVL—temporary vision loss. It occurs in rare cases when someone's eyes are exposed to excessive smoke or ash particles. The heat and lack of oxygen likely affected the optic nerves. It can range from lasting a few minutes to permanent damage." She pauses, then gives him a softer look. "But in your daughter's case, the damage appears to be minimal. We have placed some bandages over her eyes to help protect them from straining and light. So far, her eyes are reacting well, and we're confident the blindness is only temporary. It'll come back—but it may take some time. Days. Maybe weeks."

Sam blinks, jaw working as he digests the news. "She's going to wake up blind," he says quietly.

"For now," Dr. Lin confirms. "But she's lucky. She's alive—and she's young. That helps."

"Can I see her?" Sam asks, voice low.

The doctor nods. "Of course. You can sit with her."

Sam doesn't wait for an escort. He just follows the hallway Dr. Lin points toward, moving on instinct, the name Natalie Taylor still ringing in his ears like a bell he didn't mean to ring. The hospital room is dim, quiet except for the soft beeping of machines and the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen line. He steps inside slowly, letting the door fall shut behind him. Nellie lies motionless in the bed, her face pale beneath the sterile lighting. A thin oxygen mask covers her mouth and nose. Her breathing is shallow and strained beneath the oxygen mask. Every inhale sounds like it scrapes against raw lungs, and her chest rises just a little too fast, like even unconscious, her body is fighting to hold onto air. Her hair, still faintly smelling of smoke, clings to her temples with sweat. Gauze is wrapped lightly around her hands and arms—nothing serious, just protection from minor burns and irritation. A lighter gauze is wrapped around her head, covering her newly blind eyes. She looks small. Too small for everything she had just gone through. Sam sinks into the chair beside her bed, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on her face —at least, what is visible. She is alive. That fact alone feels like a miracle. No serious burns. Lungs injured, yes—but treatable. The vision loss will heal with time. And still, somehow, that doesn't bring him peace.

His jaw tightens as his mind spirals back to the fire. Roger had been the unlucky one. A civilian dragged into something he could've never seen coming. His death had all the hallmarks of a supernatural execution; suspended on the ceiling, engulfed in flame. It is all too familiar. It isn't random. It is personal. But who? Not Eleanor. Sam had seen her die. He'd witnessed Nellie kill her—felt the weight of that in her silence. Eleanor Branscomb had been a second-rate witch at best. Petty spells, rough sigil work. She was dangerous, but that kind of curse? A fire powerful enough to kill, specifically aimed, and triggered after death? No. She didn't have that kind of power. His brow furrows. So, who did? He leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. He hadn't been gone long—maybe thirty to forty minutes, tops. That wasn't enough time for something like this to spiral. Unless… someone had been watching. Waiting. They aren't out of the woods yet.

He glances back at his niece. Her chest rises and falls steadily beneath the thin hospital blanket. Somehow, she looks so young. Younger than she was when they met. That strength she'd carried, the sharp tongue, the spine of steel, is quieted now, buried under exhaustion and trauma.

Sam reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair from her forehead. "You hang in there, kiddo," he murmurs. "We're not done yet. But I'm not going anywhere."

He lets the silence settle around him. The soft beeping of Nellie's monitor is the only sound for a bit until Sam's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees Eileen calling. He winces, immediately flooded with guilt. In all the chaos, he hadn't called. Not once. She must be going out of her mind.

He answers quickly. "Hey…"

"Sam?" Her voice comes fast, tight with worry. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you all night."

Sam shuts his eyes. He hadn't thought about anything except keeping Nellie alive since the fire. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. Things went sideways fast."

Eileen's tone shifts, still worried, but steadier. "What happened?"

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes drifting to Nellie's pale form in the hospital bed. He lets out a long breath. "I got to the Branscomb house like we planned. The place was torn apart. Eleanor had already grabbed Nellie and a guy named Roger. Apparently, he was Nellie's stepfather or something. She had them tied up in the kitchen."

"Oh my god…"

"Yeah. She wasn't subtle. Looked like she'd been living in her own delusional revenge fantasy for years. When I found them, Nellie was in rough shape. Roger too. I tried to get them out, but Eleanor showed up." He pauses, rubbing a hand across his face. "I tried to talk her down. Didn't work. She came after me. Sigils, spells, the whole thing. She wasn't very good at it, but she was unhinged. Nellie broke free somehow and jumped in to stop her. The two of them fought and—" His voice catches. "Nellie killed her. Self-defense, but it tore her apart."

"My god," Eileen breathes.

Sam exhales shakily, continuing. "I took them to a nearby motel to rest and clear our heads. I left to go back to the house to clean up the scene and grab Nellie some things. But when I got back…" He trails off.

"What?" she asks, alarmed. "What happened?"

"The motel was on fire. By the time I pulled in, the building was going up in flames. Roger was already gone. He died the same way Mom did. On the ceiling. Flames crawling over him like it had been waiting for him."

Eileen's voice comes quieter now, shaken. "Nellie?"

"She was still inside. In shock. Just sitting there, like in a trance. I had to drag her out through a window."

"Oh my god, Sam—"

"She's alive," he cuts in. "She's in the hospital now. Her lungs are rough, and…" He hesitates. "She's blind from the smoke exposure. Temporarily. TVL. Doctor says it'll come back in time, but right now…"

"That poor girl."

For a moment, they just breathe.

Then Sam adds, "There's more. Eleanor's body was gone when I went back to the house. The whole place had been torn apart. Someone ransacked it. There were sigils—binding ones, emotional manipulation stuff. I don't think she was strong enough to curse anyone from beyond the grave. So, someone else is in this."

"You think someone triggered the fire?"

He nods slowly, even though she can't see him. "Yeah. And I think someone's been watching Nellie for a long time."

Eileen exhales sharply. "So… what happens when she's discharged?"

Sam looks over at the sleeping Nellie again. "She can't go back home. Her house is wrecked and probably not the best place to be right now. Her mother's dead. And she's blind. She has nowhere else to go."

There's a long pause on the other end. Sam can tell that Eileen is processing what he is saying. 

"You want to bring her back here," his wife states.

"I know it's sudden. I know Dean's still little, and we weren't planning on anything like this. But Nellie needs someone. She needs time. A place to heal. And she's my niece, Eileen."

She doesn't respond right away. He can hear her breath, steady and quiet.

"Sam... she's going to need you more than ever. But she's going to need all of us. She's not alone in this, okay? We'll figure it out together."

He nods, "I know. I just... I don't want her to feel like she's a burden. She's been through enough already. But I know she's scared. I think, maybe, if she stays with us for a while, it might help her feel safe—at least, until she gets through the worst of this."

There's a soft exhale on the other end, and Eileen's voice is firm but kind, as if she's already made up her mind about what needs to happen. "She's welcome here. You know that. If she needs time to recover, we'll make sure she has space, a safe place. And... you're not alone in this either, Sam. I'll be right here with you."

Sam's eyes flicker to Nellie's cot. He knows she'll need a lot of healing, not just physically, but emotionally. And though he's not sure of all the answers, he feels sure of one thing: He's not going to let her face it alone.

"Thanks, Eileen," he breathes. "I think it'll mean a lot to her to be with us. But... I don't want to push her if she's not ready."

"She's been through a hell of a lot. Just give her the space she needs. Let her know she's safe with us. And when she's ready, we'll help her figure out what's next."

He knows it won't be easy, but he's committed to helping her through whatever comes next. He's not going to let her be alone, no matter how difficult the journey ahead may be. 

Eileen lets out a relieved sigh. "Well, just stay out of trouble, let me know how she's doing. In the meantime, I'll get the guest bedroom ready for her."

"I appreciate this, sweetheart," Sam says, a small smile forming. "I promise that everything will be okay. The house is warded, so we should be out of sight of anything. Just check the wards just in case, though. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Will do. Oh, and Sam? You did the right thing going after her."

He smiles faintly at Eileen's words. He appreciates her more than ever in moments like this. Her calming presence, even just over the phone, is like a lifeline. They say their goodbyes, and Sam hangs up the call. The hospital atmosphere pulls the smile off his face as the heart monitor fills his ears once more. He knows things are about to change for Nellie. She's in for a hard road, but with Sam and Eileen by her side, she won't have to walk it alone.

• • •

The hospital room is deprived of the now golden afternoon sun, the blinds having been mostly closed, leaving Sam and Nellie in dim lighting. Sam had managed to sleep a few times, waking up when nurses came into the room throughout the morning. He forgot how painful hospital chairs were, his back already having a few sore spots. He occasionally stands up, walking around the room or down the hallway to the cheap coffee machine. It feels all too familiar to him. He can't remember how many times he and Dean had to wait on each other in various hospitals after some particularly nasty hunts. This time is no different. Even though parts of Nellie's face are hidden by the gauze and oxygen mask, he can almost envision that it is his older brother lying on that hospital bed. She isn't the spitting image of him, but the resemblance is there. She definitely looks more like Dean than her mother. Sam can only imagine how much Eleanor hated seeing her daughter favor the features of the absent man in their lives, which only added to her bizarre revenge fantasy.

He's pulled out of his tired thoughts when he notices Nellie twitching. Her body jerks as if waking from a nightmare. She gasps—a weak, rasping sound—and instinctively tries to sit up, but her body won't cooperate. She's surrounded by muffled beeping and a chemical-slick air that burns her throat. Even behind her blindfold, he can tell she is blinking, trying to focus, but can't. She shifts in the bed, her breathing shallow and rapid as she struggles to sit up. Her voice is weak, but desperate as she calls out, her words tinged with panic.

"Roger?" Nellie calls out hoarsely, frightened. "Roger? Where's Roger? What happened? What's going on? Sam? Why can't I see? What's wrong with me?!" The questions spill out in a rushed torrent, her panic escalating as she feels the weight of the unknown press on her chest. She instinctively reaches out, trying to make sense of her surroundings, but everything feels alien, foreign. The confusion, the fear, the disorientation—it's too much for her to handle in her weakened state.

Sam gently moves to her side, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, offering her a calm, steadying presence. "Nellie, hey, calm down. It's Sam. You're okay. You're in the hospital. You've been through a lot. Your eyes... they're going to heal, okay? The smoke got to you, but it's temporary. You'll be able to see again soon. Just breathe."

Nellie's breathing grows even faster, and she starts to hyperventilate, her body trembling as she flails weakly in an attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations surrounding her. She's too weak to sit up, but the panic grips her, making it hard for her to hear anything other than the rush of her own thoughts. Her heart pounds painfully in her chest.

Her voice rises as she throws off the oxygen mask, trying to remove the bandages over her eyes. "I can't see! I—I can't see, Sam! What's happening to me? What happened to Roger? He's not here! Where is he? Please, where is he?!"

Sam's hand tightens on her shoulder, his voice dropping to a soothing, steady rhythm. He knows she's in shock, and he knows she's reacting from the emotional overload of the night's events. But he has to calm her down, or the panic will overwhelm her.

"Nellie, listen to me. Roger... he didn't make it. I'm so sorry. There was a fire in the motel room, and he... he didn't make it out in time. I know you're scared, and I know it's hard to understand right now, but I'm here with you. You're not alone, okay?"

She goes silent for a moment, her body tense and stiff. The words Sam says hit her like a physical blow. Roger is gone. She can't grasp it, can't understand it. The only person she's been able to rely on is gone, and now, in this unfamiliar hospital room, she feels completely, utterly lost. Her breaths are shaky as she tries to process the information, and she slowly sinks back against the pillow. Her chest tightens, and she starts to shake. A low sob escapes her throat, the weight of grief beginning to crash over her. She's silent for a long moment, tears slipping down her face under the gauze. Sam's heart aches for her. He hates how familiar this feels. The pain of watching someone break right in front of him. He saw it in Dean, in himself, in victims over the years. But this is different. This is family. This is his niece, and she's breaking down in front of him with no idea how strong she had to be to survive.

He leans in a bit closer, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. "I know it's hard, Nellie. I know this is a lot to handle. But I'm here. You're not alone. And I promise you—no matter what, I'm not going anywhere."

Nellie trembles at his words, still struggling to come to terms with everything. She's lost so much in such a short amount of time, and the world feels like it's crashing down around her.

Her voice is shaky, barely a whisper. "I... I can't do this, Sam. I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what's real anymore. I can't even see... He shouldn't... He didn't deserve that. I can't lose anyone else." The pain in her voice is raw, the despair clear.

Sam's heart tightens for her, but he holds his ground, staying calm. "Nellie, you don't have to do this alone. You don't have to do anything right now except focus on getting better. And when you're ready, when you're able, we'll figure out the rest. But for now, just focus on healing. I'm here for you. You're family now."

He watches as Nellie continues to cry softly, her body trembling from the weight of everything she's been through. She may not be able to see right now, but she can feel the truth in his words. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance to start healing, a chance to find a place in the world again. She finally nods weakly, her body still shaking but slightly more relaxed now that his presence feels like something she can hold onto.

After a minute, Nellie lets out a shaky breath, turning her head in the general direction from which she heard Sam's voice. Her lower lip trembles like a leaf in a rainstorm. "Did I cause the fire, Sam?"

It was a question he had a feeling she would ask, but it still hurt to hear it. "No. You didn't."

"How do you know?" Nellie asks pointedly. "You weren't there when it started. How do you know it wasn't those… abilities? For all you know, I could've killed Roger."

"Because that is not the first time I've seen someone die the way he did."

She freezes, the trembling in her body even stopping.

"My mother was killed in that very same way," Sam continues slowly. "When I was a baby. A demon had come into our house, and she got in the way. The second time was over 20 years later. My girlfriend from college. The same demon killed her after Dean and I went looking for our father. And I couldn't save her." He swallows hard. "The only two things I can think of that could kill someone like that are demons and witches."

"Did my mother do it? She was a witch, wasn't she?"

"If she were one, she clearly wasn't very good. She was good enough to keep you there and to hold you hostage. Although I wonder if the reason she even garnered enough power to do the spells was through you. According to the lore, covens draw their strength from something that they serve, like a demon or a powerful supernatural being. If your mother wasn't part of a coven, she had nothing to draw her power from. Except from you. I wonder if she had an inkling that you had some power but never realized how much."

"How could she have known, though?" Nellie sighs, a puzzled look on her face. "I mean, as far as I know, I never exhibited the things you asked me."

"Maybe something that happened when you were a baby," Sam answers. "I guarantee that her leeching off some of your power stopped the signs from showing. That would explain why you didn't experience anything until now."

"So, then who—or what—caused the fire?"

Sam shakes his head. "I'm not sure. And don't think there is much left of the motel to check for evidence." He sits back down in the chair beside her bed, knowing that they need to discuss other important things. "Nellie, I need you to listen to me. Clearly, something or someone was watching you. I don't know for how long, but long enough to retaliate. Or leave a message. I don't know who or what, but I can promise you this: I will help you. You aren't alone in this. I know this is going to be hard. But right now, you are safe. And once we are discharged, you are coming home with me."

Nellie's breathing picks up. Sam can tell that her panic is rising as the idea of being with strangers, people she barely knows. He relates to her not wanting to feel like an outsider. She doesn't want to be a burden, but at the same time, the weight of her grief, her injuries, and her uncertainty is too much to bear alone.

She tries to sit up slightly; her voice filled with desperation and disbelief. "I... I don't even know you, Sam. Not really. I don't know anything about you or your family. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm... I'm a stranger. I can't just... impose on you guys like that." Her voice cracks with emotion, a mixture of fear and guilt filling her. 

Sam feels the weight of that in her words, the hesitation in her voice. He can hear the vulnerability, the fear that she might be too much for anyone to handle. She is unsure whether she can trust this offer. She's not used to people being kind to her.

He squeezes her hand reassuringly, leaning forward slightly as he speaks again, his voice low and sincere. "You're not imposing, Nellie. I'm not asking you to just accept it. I'm asking you to take the time you need. You need a place to heal, to figure things out. And right now, that's all we want to do for you—help you heal. You're part of our family now, whether you want to believe it or not."

His words hang in the air between them, and for a moment, Nellie is silent. She thinks about it. She thinks about the house that's no longer safe, the life she had that's now been reduced to ashes. She thinks about Roger's death and the gaping hole in her chest. And yet, in Sam's words, she feels the faintest flicker of something she hasn't felt in a long time: hope. Maybe, just maybe, she doesn't have to face all this alone.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of uncertainty, Nellie lets out a shaky breath and nods her head slowly, the smallest of acknowledgments. "Okay. I... I'll stay," she agrees solemnly. "I'm gonna be honest, Sam, I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

Sam smiles, his voice soft and reassuring, trying to ease her fears. "We'll figure it out. One step at a time. You don't have to have all the answers right now. Just take it easy. My wife, Eileen, she's already getting a room ready. And our son, Dean, he's only four. He'll probably like having someone new around to fuss over him."

She doesn't respond immediately, but the tension in her posture loosens. Her shoulders lower slightly, and her breathing becomes a little steadier. It's not much, but it's something. The weight of everything that's happened still presses heavily on her, but Sam can tell that his promise gives her a small sliver of peace. For now, it's enough.

"Now, there is one last little thing I need to talk to you about," he says, unsure of how Nellie is going to take what he is about to say next. "I had to lie to get you here safely. I told them you were my daughter."

Nellie's head cocks to the side, waiting for his explanation. 

"Old habit—Dean and I used fake names all the time when we were hunting. It's second nature now. I just needed a way to keep you off the radar. Back then, we mainly used it to gather information, play bit parts, all in the name of completing a hunt. We did it to protect innocent people from getting pulled into the supernatural world. Considering the circumstances, after what we went through at your house, I figured it was the best option, just until you are discharged and we head back to Kansas. So, while we're here, I'm James Taylor, and you're my daughter, Natalie. You think you can handle that?"

A small smile breaks out on Nellie's face, framed by her tear tracks. "Easy. Lying to stay out of trouble? You forget, I lived with a psychotic woman." At the mention of Eleanor, she pales, the smile now gone. "Sam, what about…"

"Already taken care of," he reassures her quickly. He knows that he should tell her about her mother's missing body, but right now, her health is priority. He honestly doesn't know how to tell her that it was gone when he arrived back at the house.
 

"Do you think anyone will find out?" Nellie asks, panic now returning to her voice.

"If they go looking, there isn't going to be anything really to find. Do you have any other family or people who would check up?"

She shakes her head slowly. "No. Which, I guess, is a blessing in this case." A pause. "She didn't deserve that, Sam. She didn't deserve to die that way."

Sam puts a hand on her shoulder again. "Hey, no. You did what was right. She could've killed three people, including you. You were protecting me and Roger. You stood up to her. And that takes guts. Sure, it isn't an easy thing to get over. Trust me. But your mother made her decision a long time ago. This is what happens when people meddle with things they don't fully understand, especially when other people are on the line."

Nellie's head faces towards her closed hands on her lap, and a shaky exhale runs through her body. A thought strikes Sam. He did not know why it popped into his head, but it could be something to comfort her.

"Your dad would have been proud of you," he states softly.

She whips her head back towards his voice, her lower lip starting to tremble. "Really?" she breathes.

Sam nods slowly, his throat tightening as he watches her. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "Really."

Nellie turns her face down again, as if she's trying to hide the reaction she can't quite control. A shaky breath escapes her, but Sam catches the faint quiver in her chin, the way her fingers clench at the blanket.

"I didn't even know him," she whispers. "All I had were those papers. I don't know what kind of man he was. I don't know if he would've cared."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the bed. His voice comes softly, carefully. "He would've cared. More than you could know."

She swallows hard, silent again. So, Sam keeps going, the words tumbling out with the kind of reverence only shared by someone who's still grieving too.

"Dean was… rough around the edges," he admits, chuckling quietly. "Smartass. Impulsive. Thought he could handle anything by himself. But he had the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. He would've done anything to keep the people he cared about safe—even if it meant putting himself in the line of fire." He pauses, watching her face. "You remind me of him."

Nellie's brows draw together. "How?"

Sam shrugs a little, a fond smile ghosting his lips. "You're stubborn. Brave. You're smart in all the ways that matter. And when it came down to it, when it was life or death, you acted. You protected people. That's exactly what Dean would've done."

Her lips part slightly, as if she's about to say something, but no words come out. Her throat works in a silent swallow, and a tear breaks free from under her gauze, trailing down her cheek.

"I didn't think I'd make it out," she confesses. "I didn't even mean to do what I did. I just... reacted. And it all happened so fast. I—I didn't want to be like her. I don't want to be like my mom."

Sam's expression softens. He reaches out and retakes her hand, gently squeezing it. "You're not."

She sniffles, shoulders trembling again. "But I killed her."

"I know," he says softly. "But that doesn't make you like her. You didn't kill for power or control. You didn't enjoy it. You did what you had to do to survive. To save someone else. And that's what makes the difference."

Silence stretches between them again, but it's no longer weighted entirely by grief. There's something gentler about it now. Still heavy but laced with comfort.

"If Dean had been here," Sam adds, his voice nearly cracking, "he would've been the first person in that house. He would've gotten between you and your mother without hesitation. And if he saw what you did, what you went through, he'd be proud. He'd call you tough as hell, probably crack a joke just to see you roll your eyes. But he would've been proud."

Nellie manages a fragile, wet laugh, one hand brushing at her cheeks under the gauze. "Tough as hell, huh?"

Sam smiles. "Winchester blood. It doesn't know how to quit."

And for the first time since everything happened, Nellie lets herself breathe. Not a full breath. Not a peaceful one. But enough. Enough to believe—for just a moment—that maybe she isn't broken. That perhaps she belongs.

A light knock came at the door, and a nurse stepped in, her voice soft and professional.

"Oh, you're awake," she says, smiling gently at Nellie. "I'll let Dr. Lin know."

Sam gives her a slight nod, watching as she exited quickly, the door clicking softly behind her. Nellie shifts slightly, still getting used to her surroundings—and her new condition.

He gently squeezes her hand again. "You good?"

"As good as I can be," she murmurs, still a little raw.

"You remember the names?" he asks with a faint smile.

She gives a soft snort, almost a laugh. "Natalie and James Taylor. Yeah. Got it."

Dr. Lin enters a few moments later, clipboard in hand, her eyes scanning Nellie with a touch of warmth.

"Good to see you awake, Natalie," she says with a smile, nodding toward Sam. "And Mr. Taylor."

Sam gave a small, polite nod. "Doctor."

Nellie tilts her head slightly toward the voice. "Hi, sorry. Still adjusting."

"That's completely understandable," the doctor replies, coming to the side of the bed and glancing at the monitor. "You gave us a bit of a scare. But I'm happy to say you're stable and on the mend."

Sam watches as Nellie settles effortlessly into the role—her posture softening, her voice more unsure, more gentle than usual. She is still herself, but wrapped in the image of a young, injured daughter leaning on her father. It catches him off guard. The girl who'd just broken down has now slipped into this role with alarming ease. He can't decide if he is impressed or a little heartbroken.

Dr. Lin continues, glancing between them. "Natalie, your lungs were affected by the smoke. We've been treating that with oxygen therapy and close monitoring. You were very lucky. Most of the burns were superficial and light, more akin to abrasions. But the vision loss, what we call TVL, or temporary vision loss, was our biggest concern. Smoke exposure can cause it, and in your case, the loss is temporary. It could last days or weeks, depending on how your eyes heal."

Nellie nods slowly, lips pressing together. "Okay." Her voice carries a trembling edge of uncertainty.

Sam leans in a little closer. "She's been handling it really well," he says, directing it toward the doctor, but means it as reassurance for Nellie.

The woman smiles again. "I can tell. Strong young lady." She turns to Sam with a more clinical tone. "Now, when she's discharged—which will likely be in two or three days—we're going to get her set up with a follow-up care plan. That'll include respiratory therapy for the lungs and ophthalmology to monitor her eye function. She'll also get a home regimen for mobility and sensory adaptation. I'll have my nurse go over all the paperwork before discharge day."

He nods, absorbing every word. "Sounds good. Whatever she needs." He glances at Nellie—no, Natalie—and gives her a small smile, reassuring and a little proud.

Nellie leans subtly toward Sam's voice and asks, "Dad, you'll be there for all that, right?"

His heart tugs at the word. It is an act, but the vulnerability in her tone isn't. "Every step, sweetheart," he replies, his voice gentle and sincere.

Dr. Lin looks between the two with a small, approving nod. "You're in good hands." She closes her chart. "I'll let you rest. A nurse will come by later to update your meds and check your vitals."

As the door closes behind her, Nellie exhales deeply.

"You handled that like a pro," Sam says, watching her with a mix of admiration and quiet concern.

She lets out a soft breath, her lips curling into a small, sardonic smile. "You learn to wear masks when it keeps you safe."

His chest tightens at that. He reaches over and gently squeezes her hand again. "Well… for what it's worth, I saw right through it. But you still pulled it off."

Her smile falters slightly, and she nods slowly. "Guess I've had too much practice."

"Yeah," he acknowledges softly, "But you don't have to do that with me. Not anymore."

• • •

The highway stretches endlessly ahead, painted in hues of golden sun and muted asphalt. The soft hum of a car engine rumbles under the two travelers, steady and familiar, like a heartbeat. The open road has always brought Sam a strange kind of clarity, room to think, to reflect. And right now, there is no shortage of that. In the passenger seat, Nellie sleeps. Her head leans slightly toward the window, her dirty blonde hair tousled and half covering the bandages that still cover her eyes. Her breathing is uneven, but not panicked; it's deep and heavy with exhaustion. There still is a tremble to her exhales, her lungs still having a hard time retaining air fully.

Sam keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the edge of the seat, his gaze drifting between the road and his niece. His niece. Even now, that word strikes him. So much has changed in such a short time. And yet, Nellie has taken it all—blindness, trauma, grief—and endured. That feels like something Dean would've done. He exhales slowly and glances again at her sleeping form. She hadn't stirred much the whole drive from Texas. The silence has been a balm after the whirlwind of hospital rooms and hushed phone calls.

While he appreciates the quiet, it gives his thoughts too much space. He thinks of his older brother. How would Dean have reacted to all of this? Sam can almost picture it: Dean charging into that motel fire without hesitation, yelling Nellie's name like it was the only thing that mattered. And if he'd seen her now—fragile, blind, trembling in a hospital bed—he knows his brother would've moved heaven and earth to make it right. He would've cracked a joke, nudged her shoulder, called her "kid" in that affectionate way that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. God, he would've loved her. Sam swallows hard. Dean had missed out on so much. On her growing up, on the chance to know his daughter. And Nellie, despite her tough exterior, had missed out on a father who would've laid down his life for her without hesitation. Would she ever feel that connection now? Would she ever understand how fiercely her dad would have loved her?

Sam's grip tightens on the wheel. If he is honest, there is guilt knotting deep in his chest. Guilt that he hadn't found her sooner. That he hadn't known. That she'd grown up in a house with Eleanor Branscomb instead of with the kind of family Dean would have given her. And now, Sam is the one bringing her home—to a house full of love, yes, but also full of ghosts. He doesn't know what the next chapter looks like for Nellie. There are still questions without answers, and threats that have yet to reveal themselves again. But at least for now, she is safe. She isn't alone. And that must count for something.

He looks over at her again, a faint crease of worry on her brow as she sleeps. Sam reaches out and gently adjusts the edge of her blanket over her lap.

"We're almost there, kid," he murmurs, voice low and filled with something that straddles the line between hope and regret. "We're gonna figure this out. I promise."

As the miles pass, Sam finds himself wondering again who she really is. Not Eleanor's daughter, not the girl chained by guilt or fear or survival instincts, but Nellie. The version of her that might exist if she didn't have to look over her shoulder. He'd seen glimpses of that version: flashes of sarcasm, a sharp wit, tiny cracks in the carefully built walls she keeps around herself. But they never last. They slip out, then vanish like a scared animal retreating back into the brush. Conditioned silence, he thinks grimly. The kind you learn when you're punished for being too loud, too curious, too yourself. But now that she is free… will she ever feel safe enough to be that version again?

Nellie stirs at last, shifting under the seatbelt with a quiet groan. "Ugh… What time is it?"

Little after six," Sam says, glancing her way. "You slept through most of the ride. We're about thirty minutes from the house."

She rubs a hand across her face, fingers tracing over the gauze. "Sorry."

"For what?" he asks, amused. "It's been a long few days. You earned the nap."

She smirks faintly at that, but it doesn't quite reach her whole face. "Yeah. Guess so."

Sam hesitates a beat before asking, "You nervous?"

"A little," she admits quietly. "I don't really… I don't know what to expect. I've never really met your family before. Or any family, I guess."

"Well," he replies gently, "it's not a huge crowd. Just Eileen and Dean. But they're both excited to meet you."

"Tell me about them?" Nellie's voice is soft, genuinely curious.

Sam smiles, relaxing into the wheel a little. "Eileen is… incredible. Smart. Grounded. She's deaf, partially, but she speaks and signs. She's patient, but she also has a sharp edge when needed. I met her through the hunting life, actually."

"She's a hunter, too?"

"Was. We both sort of… stepped away from that life when my brother passed. Wanted to raise our son in something quieter."

She nods slowly. "And Dean... your son?"

A fond smile touches Sam's lips. "Dean is four going on ten. Smart, wild, and full of energy. He wears a cape almost every day and insists he's some kind of superhero. He likes to climb everything in sight, and he thinks Brussels sprouts are evil."

A small laugh escapes Nellie's lips, short but genuine. Sam glances over, a flicker of something warming in his chest at the sound.

He adds gently, "I think you'll like him. And I think he'll like you too."

"Yeah?" Her voice is small, almost tentative.

"Yeah," Sam states firmly yet softly. "You've got more in common than you think. Resilience, for one." There is a beat of quiet before he asked, "Oh, and how are you with dogs?"

"Dogs?" she echoes, clearly not expecting that.

"We've got one. Terrier mix. Miracle's his name."

"That's… a weird name for a dog."

"Yeah, well. He used to belong to your dad."

Nellie stills.

"He found Miracle not long before he died," Sam clarifies gently. "Took him in. The dog stuck around after everything. Now he sleeps at the foot of Dean's bed and tries to boss him around."

There is a pause. "So, Miracle knew him?"

He nods, though she can't see it. "Yeah. He was there. And he stayed with us. That counts for something."

Nellie leans her head against the window. She doesn't speak for a while, and Sam doesn't push her. The silence between them isn't awkward; it is thoughtful, layered with everything they haven't said yet. But as they near the final stretch toward Lawrence, he can sense her thinking, bracing herself for something she isn't sure how to prepare for.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

She takes a moment. "I think so. I just… I don't want to mess this up. You're all being kind. I'm not used to that."

"You're not going to mess anything up," Sam says, his voice steady. "And it's not about you having to earn being cared for, Nellie. You already matter. You already belong. The rest… We'll figure it out together."

She doesn't reply right away. But she gives the smallest nod, and he can see it, the way her body relaxes just a little more into the seat. They drive on in soft quiet, the sun dipping lower, painting the road home in warm gold.

It is quiet for the last stretch, and now, as Sam eases the car up the long driveway, the house comes into view. Warm porch lights spill across the walkway, the gentle creak of the wind chimes just audible through the cracked window. The place looks peaceful, lived-in, and welcoming. He feels a small knot of tension in his chest loosen at the sight of it. He glances over at Nellie. She hasn't spoken for the last thirty minutes. She is still, her hands loosely folded in her lap, her head turned toward the sound of the wind outside. Even though the blindfold remains secure over her eyes, Sam can tell by the furrow in her brow and the slight downturn of her mouth that her thoughts aren't peaceful. She is bracing herself.

Sam shuts off the ignition. The silence that follows is almost oppressive, filled with everything neither of them had said yet. He leans back in his seat, just watching her. She hasn't moved. No dramatic sighs, no whispered comments. Just... stillness. The kind of stillness that speaks volumes. He recognizes that kind of quiet. It isn't peace. It is fear wrapped in reflection.

He clears his throat gently, keeping his voice low and easy. "We're here."

Nellie gives no immediate response, but the way her fingers curl slightly tells him she'd heard.

"I know this is... a lot," he continues, still observing her. "New place. New people. And you've had your whole life flipped on its head in the last few days."

Still nothing. Not really. Just a barely perceptible shift in her posture.

"You're temporarily blind, dealing with injuries, grief—and now you're pulling up to a house filled with strangers you're supposed to call family. That's a lot for anyone, Nellie. You're allowed to be nervous."

A quiet breath escapes her lips. He thinks she might be holding back tears, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling altogether.

"But I need you to hear this part too," Sam says, a bit firmer now, leaning in slightly. "You're going to be okay. This—us—we're not strangers in the way that matters. Not anymore. You're in good hands. Eileen's incredible. And Dean... well, he's a little wild, but you'll love him. You don't have to be anything but yourself here. Or figure everything out today. Just breathe, one step at a time."

He watches Nellie as his words settle, seeing the tension in her shoulders slowly release, like she is letting go of some invisible weight. Her fingers, still laced in her hoodie, loosened just slightly. He gives her a moment longer before unbuckling his seatbelt and quietly stepping out. He moves around to her side of the car and opens the door with care, crouching beside it. Nellie doesn't flinch, but her head turns toward the movement.

"You ready?" Sam asks gently.

Nellie's voice is soft, barely audible. "No. But I can try."

He smiles and offers his hand. "That's all I need."

She reaches out, fingers brushing his before settling into his palm. He helps her out of the car, steady and patient, and together, they take the first steps toward the house. The porch light glows gently above the front door as he guides his niece up the last step. Her fingers are now looped carefully through the crook of his arm. She is steady on her feet, but tense, her body holding onto invisible weight. Even now, days out from the fire, her grip doesn't quite relax, like her mind still hasn't convinced her body that safety is real.

"It's just a couple more feet," Sam says, voice soft. "You're doing great."

She just nods in response.

The door opens just as they reach it. Eileen stands in the entryway, barefoot and warm-eyed, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She doesn't say anything at first, just scans the two of them, and Sam sees it: that shift in her features when she sees Nellie. A flicker of empathy and welcome. Dean stands beside her, clinging to her leg with one hand and clutching a plastic toy car in the other. He peers around the doorframe, his eyes wide and curious.

"Daddy!" he chirps, breaking into a grin.

Sam's face lights up with a smile. Nellie flinches slightly at the sound but doesn't pull away. He feels her fingers tighten just a little on his arm.

"That's Dean," Sam whispers. "If you couldn't tell."

The little boy runs forward at full speed and collides with his father's knees in a hug.

Sam chuckles and gently pats his head. "Hey, buddy."

Dean stares up at Nellie with wide eyes. "Who's that?"

Sam crouches slightly so Nellie can sense the change. "This is Nellie," he says clearly. "She's staying with us for a while, remember?"

The little boy tilts his head, thoughtful. "Is she okay?"

He feels a slight ache in his chest. "She will be."

Dean nods solemnly, then leans over and gently touches Nellie's arm. "Hi, Nellie," he says shyly.

That small gesture seems to pull something from her. Nellie turns slightly toward the boy's voice, her lips twitching faintly. "Hey there," she murmurs.

Sam catches the shift; the slightest flicker of personality peeking through, quick and instinctive. But as always, it slips away just as fast, like she's realized it and tucks it back into herself. Dean, blissfully unaware, runs back toward the living room, yelling something about his toys.

Eileen steps forward. "I'm Eileen," she says, speaking as clearly as she can. "It's so good to finally meet you, Nellie."

Nellie stands straighter at the sound of her voice, and Sam can tell she is trying to process everything. Voices, names, warmth that don't come with sharp edges.

"You too," she answers quietly.

Eileen's smile deepens. "Come on in. You've had a long few days. Let's get you settled."

They step inside together, Nellie keeping close to Sam's side as they cross the threshold. She doesn't say anything, but he doesn't miss the way her head turns toward every sound; Dean's small feet running on hardwood, the creak of a chair, the jingling tags from the dog collar deeper in the house.

Miracle trots up almost on cue, nails clicking against the floor. The terrier mix pauses at Nellie's side, giving a few quiet sniffs before pressing his head gently against her leg in greeting. Her hand lowers automatically, fingers brushing over his wiry fur. 

"Hi, Miracle," she says softly, giving Miracle a small scratch behind the ears. "Good dog."

Sam watches the exchange, feeling something knot and loosen in his chest at the same time. There is something about the calmness in her voice that strikes him. It isn't bright or bold, but it isn't frightened either. Just… gentle. And maybe a little curious.

Eileen comes to stand beside them, reaching out to gently touch Nellie's arm. "Would you like me to help you get settled in your room?" she offers.

Nellie hesitates, then nods. "Okay. Thank you."

As Eileen guides her down the hall with careful, deliberate instructions, Sam stays back for a beat and watches them go. His wife and his niece, two strangers bound by something more than blood. Nellie's movements are still cautious, still small. But Sam sees it: the way she tilts her head slightly when someone talks to her like she matters. The way her fingers curl at her sides like she is trying not to reach for more. She is still unlearning survival. Still waiting for the catch. But she is here. And she isn't alone.

"There's a small step here," Eileen says, pausing briefly before the guest room. "And now we're in your room. It's the second door on the right. The bathroom's just at the end of the hall. Our room is upstairs if you need us. Okay?"

Nellie nods, her grip brushing against the doorway's edge as they step inside. The air inside is warm and clean, faintly smelling of linen and lavender. Though she can't see it, the room is simple but inviting; a soft bed tucked under the window, a dresser, and a nightstand with a small lamp that Eileen had already turned on. A folded blanket lies at the foot of the bed, and a few folded shirts and sweatpants are stacked neatly on the dresser.

"I picked up a few things for you," Eileen continues as she guides Nellie to sit on the bed. "Some clothes—just for now. We can figure out more later, once you're settled and feeling up to it."

Nellie's fingers brush over the blanket and then the edge of her jeans, uncertainty showing in her furrowed brow. "Thank you," she whispers. "I didn't… I didn't expect any of this."

"You don't have to say thank you," the other woman replies with a smile, crouching beside her. "You're family. This is what family does."

The quiet moment is quickly interrupted by the rapid patter of small feet and the louder click of paws. Dean appears in the doorway, eyes filled with excitement, his plastic car now forgotten in one hand.

"Is this her room?" he asks, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Can I come in?"

Eileen glances over her shoulder and holds up a calming hand. "You can, but remember what we talked about, okay? Nellie's still feeling sick, so we have to be gentle."

Dean slows down immediately, nodding with a solemn little expression that clearly took the directive very seriously. "Okay. Gentle."

He pads in on socked feet, Miracle trotting close behind, tail wagging as he sniffs around the edges of the room. He makes a beeline for the bed and climbs up carefully, sitting beside his new cousin with exaggerated caution like she might break.

Nellie, startled but not upset, gives a breath of amusement as the bed shifts. "Hey there."

"You can't see me yet," the little boy announces matter-of-factly, "but I'm sittin' next to you."

She tilts her head toward his voice, a ghost of a smile forming. "Thanks for the update."

Eileen chuckles softly. "That's Dean for you. Narrating his life."

From the hallway, Sam watches all of it with a quiet fullness in his chest. He hadn't followed them in, choosing instead to lean against the wall just out of sight, giving his wife space to be with his niece. But his eyes never leave the room. The light laughter, the gentle movements, the way Eileen's hand stays anchored lightly on Nellie's shoulder. It all grounds him. He can still see the young woman Nellie had been at the hospital—shaking, grieving, blindfolded and terrified. That woman is still here, but in this moment, he sees a little more than that. He sees someone slowly breathing through the fear. Someone trying to believe in safety, even if it is foreign. She still looks unsure, like every sound is a test and every kind word a trick. He takes a quiet breath, grateful for his wife's steady presence, for Dean's childlike kindness, for this house full of calm strength. It won't fix everything. But it is a start.

Eileen stands from her crouch beside the bed and gives Nellie a soft smile. "Let's get you changed into something more comfortable, yeah? I picked out a couple of things in soft fabrics. Figured you might be sore still."

Nellie nods wordlessly, her fingers resting on the hem of her shirt as if uncertain where to begin.

"I can help, if you want," the older woman offers gently. "Only if you're okay with that."

There is a pause, hesitation rippling through Nellie like she has to search for the right answer. It isn't that she doesn't want help. It is that she doesn't know what it means to receive it without a catch. But Eileen's tone isn't commanding or expectant. It is just… there. A simple offer. Safe.

"Okay," Nellie whispers finally.

Eileen glances back at her husband, gesturing at their son. Sam, knowing her silent order, gently gathers up Dean and takes him out of the room, closing the door behind them. Eileen moves with quiet efficiency, helping Nellie out of the clothes the hospital gave her and into a clean set of pajamas, soft cotton that is light and loose against the irritated skin near her arms. Every motion is slow, respectful, as if Eileen instinctively knew how not to make her niece feel small. She explains each step before doing it, giving her the space to protest or redirect. But Nellie never does. The sensation of being taken care of without suspicion is foreign. Strange. A lump forms in her throat that she doesn't quite understand.

"There we go," Eileen murmurs as she tucks the edge of the blanket over Nellie's lap. "Water's on the nightstand to your right. Phone charger too—though I'm guessing you haven't looked at a phone in a few days."

A faint, unsteady chuckle escapes Nellie. "Not exactly my top priority."

"Well," the older woman responds with a little smile in her voice, "when it is, we've got a spare you can use. And I left a hairbrush and toothbrush in the drawer closest to the bed. Bathroom's just down the hall—first door, right side. We'll go over the layout again in the morning, but you can always ask."

The young woman nods slowly, absorbing it all like she is storing it for survival. "Okay."

Eileen gives Nellie a final once-over, checking for the little signs Sam had warned her about: tension in the jaw, the guarded way she flinches from kindness. But still, she sees how she didn't pull away. Didn't recoil. That is a start.

"I'll let you get some rest," Eileen says softly. "We're just down the hall if you need anything, okay?"

Nellie hesitates, then nods. "Thank you… Really."

Eileen reaches out and gives her hand the lightest squeeze. "You're welcome. We're glad you're here." With that, she pads slowly out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

• • •

The house has settled into a soft, restful stillness. Dean is finally asleep, tucked beneath his superhero-themed blanket, clutching his stuffed dog under one arm. The only sounds now are the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant creaks of an old house settling for the night. In the master bedroom, Sam sits on the edge of the bed, his posture loose but weary. The long, shallow cut on his forearm, from Eleanor, and the minor cuts on his palms, left by shattered glass and fire-charred debris of the motel, are in the slow process of healing. Eileen stands in front of him with a small first aid kit open on the nightstand, gently peeling away the old gauze wrappings on his arms. He winces slightly as she dabs antiseptic across a red, healing welt.

"Sorry," she murmurs, brushing a hand over his shoulder as she works.

"Don't be," he says. "Honestly, this is the least painful part of this week."

She gives him a small, knowing smile as she pulls out a fresh roll of gauze. "I know that tone. You're still spiraling."

Sam sighs. "I can't not spiral, Eileen. Nellie—she's twenty-one. Barely out of the hell her mom put her through, and now she's blind, grieving, and living with strangers who are technically family."

Eileen's hands pause as she meets his eyes. "You're not a stranger to her."

"Not yet. But we're still catching up to a life she lived without us." He looks down at his hands, flexing the newly wrapped fingers. "She's been alone for so long. And I keep thinking… what if we'd found her earlier?"

She sits down beside him, reaching for his other hand. "You didn't know. None of us did. And from what you've told me, Eleanor made sure no one ever could. You can't carry the weight of years you didn't even have the chance to change."

"I know," he replies quietly. "But it doesn't make it easier watching her flinch every time someone tries to help. She's used to love being a trap. It's gonna take time to undo that."

Eileen starts wrapping his arm. "And we'll give her that time. However long she needs."

Sam watches her fingers move with practiced gentleness, bandaging the cuts like she had a hundred times before on hunts that nearly went wrong. But this is different. This isn't just another hunt. This is his niece. This is Dean's daughter.

He swallows hard. "I keep thinking about what Dean would've done if he'd been there. If he'd seen her in that motel room. He wouldn't have hesitated. He would've run straight through the fire."

She pauses for a moment, then resumes wrapping. "Sounds like someone else I know."

He smiles faintly. "Yeah, well… he probably would've had a better plan. Or at least less third-degree burns."

She leans her head lightly on his shoulder. "He would've been proud of you, Sam. And proud of her."

There is a long pause between them, filled with unspoken grief and love for the brother he'd lost and the family he is just beginning to piece together.

"She doesn't know who she is yet," Sam says, voice low. "She's been hiding so long, I think she forgot. I've seen pieces of it—quick little flashes when she forgets to be afraid. But they vanish just as fast."

"She'll find it," Eileen murmurs, now signing softly. "Especially with you here. With us here."

He turns his head and presses a kiss to her hair. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I've been told," she says, teasing lightly. Then softer. "We've got her now, Sam. She's safe. It's not going to be perfect, but she's not alone anymore."

He lets the words settle in, grounding him more than he realizes he needed. They sit like this for a while longer, the night quiet around them, the storm of the last few days easing into something almost calm. At least for now.