the chaos of the party, his eyes locked onto hers like he knew. And maybe he did because the second he saw her, really saw her, his whole expression shifted. "Hey," he said, his voice lower now, careful. "Come on."

Jovi didn't argue. She let him take her hand, let him guide her through the house, past the laughter and music and people who didn't care, who didn't know.

The second they stepped outside, the cool night air hit her like a slap, making her gasp.

"Breathe," Ares murmured, turning to face her, his hands bracing her shoulders. "Just breathe, Jovi."

She tried. But the alcohol, the weight of everything, it was too much. The last few days — the last few years — it was like all of it had been waiting for this moment, for her to be just drunk enough, tired enough, broken enough to finally crash.

Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, her vision blurred with tears. "Shit," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, shaking her head like she could force it all back, like she could control this, control something—

But Ares was already there.

"I got you," he muttered, his hands steady on her arms, grounding her. "Just let it out, Jove."

And for once in her damn life, she did.

☆

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒆𝒅 down slightly, Ares lead her to a patch of grass a little away from the other drunken teens, the party's distant hum making the night feel almost surreal. Jovi sat down heavily, pulling her knees up to her chest as Ares studied her from the side, concern etched deep into his features.

"What happened?" he asked, voice softer than usual.

She stared down at her hands, twisting the rings on her fingers, trying to keep them from shaking. "I ran into Blake," she admitted, voice raw.

Ares' jaw tightened. "That piece of shit." His hands curled into fists. "Did he do anything?"

Jovi shook her head, but it didn't feel like a victory. "Other than call me a slut and pushing me against a wall? No, I walked away... but I shouldn't have come, Ares. I'm so stupid."

She pressed her hands over her face, the weight of everything finally sinking in, but Ares wasn't having it. He gently grabbed her wrists, pulling them away so he could see her. "No, no, you're not. You're not stupid for wanting to have fun, for wanting to be normal for once."

Her breath hitched, and the first tear slipped down her cheek. "No, I'm stupid for everything," she whispered.

Ares' brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jovi sniffled, looking up at him with glassy eyes. "I-I'm not good for anything, Ares. I couldn't be a perfect girlfriend. I couldn't save my dad. My mom came back, but even then—" her voice cracked, "—the day I was born, she took one look at me and left. She didn't want me. My grandma left. Everyone I care about leaves. And I just—" her breath shuddered out of her, "I'm so tired."

Ares' chest ached at her words, but she wasn't done.

"Kat gave me this outfit, and normally I'd be making a million jokes about how hot I look but..." More tears welled up as she met his gaze, utterly broken. "I-I don't feel pretty."

That hurt in a way Ares hadn't been prepared for. Jovi Winchester was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen — inside and out. She was fierce, sharp-witted, a force of nature. But here she was, sitting in front of him, looking like the world had crushed her.

"I'm not smart like those other girls," she continued, frustration bleeding into her tone. "I can't be one of those perfect prom queen types everyone expects. I'm a freak with freaky ass powers and a gun collection who hunts monsters for a living! No matter how much makeup I put on or how many different lipsticks I try, I'm always gonna be that girl—the one whose whole life got turned into a goddamn fanfiction by God!" Her voice broke, her shoulders trembling. "I can't do this anymore, Ares. I just can't."

It was like a dam had burst, everything she'd been holding back finally drowning her. A storm she could no longer keep at bay.

Ares shifted in front of her, grabbing her hands in his. "Jovi, listen to me," he said firmly. "You are smart. I wish I was as smart as you. And don't even get me started on the pretty thing—are you kidding me? You could look at a guy for two seconds and he'd be on his knees." He shook his head, squeezing her hands. "You're not a prom queen? Good. You stand out. Jov, I've never met anyone like you. No other girl has the coolest witch powers I've ever seen. No other girl can take down a goddamn werewolf with her bare hands. No other girl has fought the freakin' Devil and won. If that doesn't count for something, I don't know what does."

Jovi let out a broken laugh between her sobs, but Ares wasn't done.

"And your mom?" His voice dropped, dark with anger. "She's a bitch for leaving. But you wanna know something? I'll never leave you. Neither will your dad. Or your uncle. You're not alone, Jovi. Not now. Not ever."

That was all it took.

Jovi collapsed into his arms, her sobs muffled against his shoulder as Ares held her tight, anchoring her as she came undone. They stayed like that for a while, Jovi clinging to him, Ares rubbing slow circles on her back, whispering reassurances only she could hear. Eventually, her cries softened, and she pulled away, quickly wiping at her face. "Thank you," she mumbled, voice hoarse.

Ares gave her a small smile. "No problem."

Then...

"JOVI MARY WINCHESTER!"

Both of them froze. Jovi's breath caught in her throat as her father's furious voice rang through the backyard like a gunshot. She frantically wiped at her face, trying to erase any trace of the tears, but it was useless. She slowly turned, and there he was — Dean Winchester, storming towards her, his face a mix of anger and frustration.

Her bloodshot eyes widened. Ares gulped.

"D-Dad?" she stammered, getting to her feet, desperately trying not to stumble. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Dean stopped in front of her, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his glare unrelenting. "What am I doing here? Should be asking you that!" His voice was sharp, laced with fury. "Sneaking out? Do you even understand how stupid that was? How worried I was?"

Jovi stayed silent, staring up at him with tired, glossy eyes.

"You gonna say something?" Dean added, waiting for her to argue back with him. That was usually how these things went — she'd push, he'd push back, and they'd go in circles until they both gave up.

But instead, Jovi sighed. "What do you want me to say? That I'm drinking my problems away? That's what you do."

Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. For a second, he just stood there, his breath stuck in his throat, his mind scrambling to process what she'd just said. 'That's what you do' That struck a nerve. Because she wasn't wrong.

Here she was — his sixteen-year-old daughter, standing in front of him, mascara streaked down her face, wobbling on her feet, looking for a way to take the edge off her problems.

Just like he always had.

Dean released a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. He'd spent years drowning his pain in whiskey bottles, convincing himself it was the only way to cope. He thought he was doing better, thought he was keeping her safe from it, from him —but all this time, she had been watching. Learning. And now here she was, walking that same road, making the same damn mistakes. His mistakes.

His heart sank, his anger fading into something much heavier. Guilt.

Dean's gaze flickered over her — she looked broken. This was on him.

His hands curled into fists at his sides in anger. Not at her — never at her. At himself. At the man he used to be. At the damage he didn't even realize he'd done. He forced his voice to steady. "What happened?"

Jovi shook her head. "Nothing. Can you just take me home, please?" Her voice was small, fragile, like she was seconds from breaking again.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over."

His eyes shifted to Ares, who was awkwardly standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. Dean wanted to yell at him, grill him for not stopping her, but at the end of the day — Jovi was the one who made the decision to come here.

Instead, he took a sharp breath. "Kid, you got a ride?"

Ares nodded. "Yeah, I'm driving. Only had one drink."

Dean hummed, then turned back to his daughter. "Who'd you come with?" Jovi wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. "Kat."

Dean sighed. "She got a ride?" Jovi hesitated, but Ares spoke first. "I'm driving her home."

Dean gave him a nod before looking back at his daughter. "Alright. Let's go."

He turned to walk away but Jovi nearly faceplanted trying to follow. Dean sighed, quickly stepping back to steady her, wrapping an arm around her waist as she leaned most of her weight onto him. "I got you," he muttered, helping her towards the car.

And as much as Jovi wanted to fight it, she was too exhausted to argue.

As he helped her into the passenger seat and shut the door, Dean took a second to lean against the car, rubbing a hand down his face. This was his kid. His baby girl. And she was hurting.

Not just from tonight, not just from Blake — this had been building for years. He just hadn't seen it. Or maybe he had, and he'd been too caught up in his own shit to do anything about it.

Well, that ended now.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat, starting the car. He didn't know how, but he was going to fix this.

He had to.

☆

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 to the bunker was suffocating. Neither Jovi nor Dean spoke a word.

She knew what was coming — the storm waiting for her the second they got home — so she did the only thing she could. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold window, hoping sleep would offer some temporary escape.

Dean's grip was iron on the wheel, his knuckles white as he drove through the silent roads. His mind raced, his chest tight with a frustration that wasn't just anger — it was fear. She had snuck out. She had drunk herself stupid. And God knows what else could've happened if he hadn't shown up.

He could've lost her.

Again.

When the Impala finally rumbled to a stop in the garage, Jovi stirred, her bleary eyes blinking open. The bunker's dim lighting felt too harsh, her head already starting to throb with the inevitable hangover.

Dean sighed and climbed out, making his way around to the passenger side. He pulled the door open, crouching slightly to get a better look at his half-asleep, half-drunk daughter. "Come on," he said, voice rough with exhaustion.

Jovi let out a quiet groan, stretching slightly before Dean wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her out of the car.

"We're home?" she mumbled, her words still slightly slurred, her green eyes blinking up at him.

"Yeah, kid. We're home," he confirmed, keeping her steady as they made their way inside. The bunker was quiet, the usual warm glow of the map room lights doing little to ease the tightness in Dean's chest. Jovi leaned heavily against him, her head resting against his shoulder. "I'm so tired," she murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Dean huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. "I bet."

But then she whispered something that made his stomach clench — something he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear.

"So tired of everything."

Dean's brows furrowed, his grip on her tightening slightly. "What do you mean?" Jovi didn't respond, her gaze unfocused as she let him guide her forward. "Jovi." His voice was firmer this time. "What do you mean you're tired of everything?"

A beat of silence and then she slurred

"Already told Ares," Dismissing him entirely.

Dean swallowed hard. That wasn't good. He'd ask her tomorrow. When she was sober. When she had to talk to him.

As they entered the library, Sam sat at one of the tables, his laptop open, exhaustion clear on his face. He glanced up at the sound of their arrival, his tired expression shifting to something more alert when he saw Jovi practically hanging off of Dean.

Before he could even ask what the hell had happened, Jovi perked up slightly. "Sammyyy!" she hiccupped, her arms flailing slightly before she managed a sluggish grin. "I— hic "—missed you!"

Despite the situation, Sam gave her a small, amused smile. "Missed you too, Jov."

But his eyes flickered to Dean's, and he knew. The deep worry in his brother's face, the way his jaw was still clenched tight — this wasn't just a case of Jovi sneaking out and getting drunk. Something else was wrong.

Silently, Sam mouthed, "She okay?"

Dean shook his head.

No.

Not even close.

"Just a bit further, sweetheart," Dean muttered as Jovi let out a small hum, her body still completely leaning into him. They made it to her room, and the second Dean loosened his grip, she collapsed onto the bed.

"Jesus, kid," he muttered, quickly stepping in to help her. He knelt down, carefully tugging off her boots.

"Dad," she slurred, watching him through half-lidded eyes. "I'm sorry."

Dean stilled for half a second before resuming his task. He clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply through his nose. He was mad. How could he not be? She had been reckless. She had lied. And she had put herself in a situation that could've gone so wrong, so fast.

But right now?

Right now, all he cared about was the fact that she was safe. He wasn't going to be like his father — like John, who would've torn him apart at her age for pulling a stunt like this. He knew what that felt like. He knew what it was like to be screamed at when all you wanted was to just breathe.

Jovi needed him to be her dad, not her drill sergeant.

"It's okay," he muttered, pulling the sheets up over her. "Just get some sleep, Jov."

Jovi's brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her tired face. "You're not mad?"

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

Oh, he was furious. And she was going to hear all about it in the morning.

But right now?

Right now, she was staring at him with exhausted, bloodshot eyes, wrapped up in the sheets like a little girl, looking more fragile than he'd ever seen her.
So instead, he reached out, brushing a few strands of hair away from her forehead. "We'll talk in the morning, okay?"

Jovi studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod before closing her eyes. "Love you, Dad," she mumbled sleepily, curling into the blankets.

Dean exhaled slowly, the anger in his chest momentarily softening. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. "Love you too, kid."

And within seconds, she was out, her soft snores filling the room. Dean stayed for a moment, just watching her and the slow rise and fall of her chest as she slept. She looked peaceful now, curled up under the blankets, but he knew better. He knew the kind of weight she carried, the kind that didn't disappear just because she was asleep.

Sighing, he carefully shut the door behind him and made his way down the hall, rubbing a hand down his face. His body was running on fumes, exhaustion creeping in, but his mind wouldn't shut off. By the time he reached the kitchen, his feet had already made the decision for him.

He pulled the fridge open, the cool air brushing against his face as his hand instinctively reached for the familiar weight of a beer bottle. The cap was cold against his fingers, the condensation dampening his grip as he pulled it out.

This was routine. Muscle memory.

Drink to take the edge off. Drink to forget. Drink so he didn't have to feel so damn much. But as he stood there, gripping the bottle, flashes of Jovi from an hour ago hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

Her glassy eyes, her wobbly stance. The way her voice had cracked when she said, "That's what you do."

The words replayed in his head, over and over, slicing through him like a blade. That was what he did. And now she was doing it. Because of him.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. His grip on the bottle loosened. For years, he'd told himself it was fine. That it was just his way of dealing. That it didn't affect anyone but him.

But that was bullshit, wasn't it?

Because now, his sixteen-year-old daughter — his kid — had turned to the same damn thing. And she'd learned it from him.

The thought made his stomach churn.

He exhaled sharply and, without another second of hesitation, shoved the beer back into the fridge and slammed the door shut. Leaning against the counter, he braced his hands on the cool surface, his head hanging low as he tried to push back the guilt clawing at his chest.

This had to stop.

Jovi needed someone to set a better example. She needed someone to show her that drowning in a bottle wasn't the answer, and Dean needed to be that someone. Because she deserved better than the man standing in this kitchen, staring at a beer like it was both his best friend and his worst enemy.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath.

Then, with one last glance at the fridge, he turned and walked away.

☆

𝑱𝒐𝒗𝒊 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒅 as the dull ache in her skull yanked her from the depths of sleep. The dim light seeping through her curtains felt like tiny daggers stabbing straight into her brain. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nausea to fade, but it clung to her like a second skin — just like the guilt from last night.

She had known better.

Drinking that much had been a mistake— not just because of the pounding headache, the dry mouth, and the way her stomach twisted at the slightest movement — but because of everything else. Because she had broken down in front of Ares. Because she had let the weight of everything she'd been bottling up come crashing down. Because her dad had to come and get her.

Jovi groaned again, turning her head slightly — bad idea. The movement sent her stomach flipping all over again.

She barely remembered last night. But she did remember the way her dad's face had looked when he showed up — the way he had stormed toward her, his eyes dark with something between anger and fear.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to sit up, cradling her head in her hands. Her limbs felt heavy, her body sluggish under the weight of exhaustion and regret. She glanced at the bedside table and found a glass of water and some aspirin waiting for her.

Her chest ached at the realization.

Her dad must've left them for her.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she reached for them, wincing at how her hands trembled slightly. She popped the pills into her mouth and drained the glass, the cool water doing little to ease the pounding in her head.

For a moment, she just sat there, staring at nothing, trying to piece the night together. The memories were disjointed, blurry — flashes of loud music, fake laughter, and then... him.

Blake.

Seeing him again had been the final straw, hadn't it? It had been enough to send her spiraling, enough to make her grab another drink, enough to make her lose whatever grip she had left on herself. And now, in the unforgiving light of morning, the weight of it all felt suffocating.

She barely had time to pull herself together before there was a soft knock at the door. It creaked open before she could respond.

Dean stepped inside, his expression unreadable — somewhere between concern and that familiar dad look that made her feel like a kid again.

"Hey," he said quietly, leaning against