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CLAIRE HOLDEN WAS born without her biological father knowing a damn thing about it, and that's how it was planned to go.

Alicia Holden didn't exactly want her only child to grow up without a father in her life, it wasn't how she wanted her first pregnancy to go, and it wasn't how she imagined her future to be like. She pictured having children with her husband in her late thirties —— she imagined a nice white picket fenced house in a fancy neighbourhood, having saved up enough money to set up her children's life.
She wanted two boys, and two girls, so each of them had a friend to grow up with, something that she never got to experience herself, as an only child with two parents who only cared about how they looked to the public.

She was a rebellious child. And that's what led her to Dean Winchester —— she wanted to get back at her parents, and what was better than running around with the new kid who had a criminal background? While it was all fun and games, the last thing she expected was to fall pregnant at sixteen years old, and she definitely wasn't planning to keep the baby.
It was when her parents told her to 'abort the abomination', did the girl decide she wanted to give the child a better life than she had.

Now, she hadn't expected Dean to be happy about the news, hell, he was only seventeen himself, no job, bad grades, and a father who was never home, he already had enough on his plate, how would he react being told she was pregnant with his baby, and intended to keep it?

But the last thing she expected, was for Dean's absent father to get in her way and bribe her to leave his son alone —— in his eyes, a baby was a distraction to what was important, finding the thing that killed Mary. He was blinded by hatred, so much so that he didn't see the full picture. John Winchester didn't think his son could be a father, especially not at seventeen years old, so he told Alicia to leave, he paid her off, and he made sure that she stayed out of their way.

He did it strategically, though. He knew that Alicia wouldn't go quietly, which is why he lied. John claimed that Dean knew about the child, that he didn't want anything to do with it, he wanted the girl to abort it, so that it didn't get in his way.

But little did Alicia know that none of this was true.

John knew that Dean would have stepped up to be the best damn dad he could be, he would have ditched the hunting life for his kid, he would have made sure that the baby would have the best life, something that he didn't have himself.
Which is why John couldn't let him know.
He was a selfish man, and deep inside, he hated himself for it.

The pregnant sixteen year old left town with the money John had practically shoved in her hands, not caring that the sixteen year old was crying, heartbroken and what he had told her about Dean, the boy that she had actually grown to care about. She started a new life, tried to push the past behind her and build a new life for her unborn baby. And it ended up working, for the most part.

It wasn't until four years later did everything change.

Claire woke up one night screaming and crying at what was in her room, lurking in the shadows.

Alicia came running to her aid, not realising that it would be the last time she saw her daughter again —— the last time she saw anything again. The woman was murdered in cold blood by a man with bright yellow eyes, the little girl cried, to anyone that would listen to her. But didn't anyone believe her? No.

The girl was marked as crazy, as a child that had witnessed something tragic, a child that had made up a story about her mothers death to help her through.

Alicia Holden's death was a mystery.

And although it was a mystery, no one believed the poor girl.

Claire Holden was four years old when she moved into her first foster home. It didn't end well, as you would expect — she was angry with what had happened to her mother, angry that no one believed her, angry at the world.

The foster system failed her.

The first home she went to was the worst; she was a child who had just lost her mother, and the 'parents' that had welcomed her into their home, expected her to forget about her biological mother, forget that she ever existed, and treat them like her real parents. But she couldn't do it. She was still praying that she was in a bad dream, that she would wake up at any minute and find her mom at the side of her bed, singing her to sleep. But instead she got an angry woman who didn't get the perfect child she wanted.

She lasted three months in that hell.

The foster home with the other children was a lot better than any of the homes that she was forced into. Of course, she was bullied, her things were stolen, she was teased for her mothers death and much more, but all the while, it was still better than having to call strangers mom and dad in order to be fed.

Twelve years later, the girl had grown strong, she had thick skin, and she was holding on until she was eighteen, where she could finally leave the house that kept her tied down. Around twelve more parents fostered her, some even considered adopting her, but when the girl finally opened up about what she saw the night her mother died, they dumped her back on the foster care homes doorstep like she was a bag of rubbish.

The nightmares didn't die down, either.

Some nights she would wake up screaming, gasping for air like she had been starved —— being on the top bunk in the fostering home was the worst, having to wake up and look up at the ceiling was torture, seeing her mom there, staring down at her wide eyes, blood pooling in her stomach as she slowly died, before fire erupted around the body, finally allowing the girl to wake up and come back down to Earth, where she had to keep telling herself that she merely imagined it, it wasn't real, it was a freak accident, a freak fire that she somehow miraculously survived.

She wished she hadn't.

Sixteen years old, no home, no parents, no friends, and nightmares that sometimes kept her awake for days. She was miserable.

Claire had started to blame the father that was absent from her life —— her mom didn't like to talk about the man when she was alive, she didn't say much about it, just that they didn't need him, they were fine without him, and he didn't deserve her.
If her biological father were around, she wouldn't be stuck in this hell, she may even have a house where she could live a normal life. People may not look at her like she was a freak, and hell, she may have even had friends.

But none of that was true. She didn't have a dad. She was a freak. And she didn't have any friends.

As Claire laid in her top bunk in the fostering home, she couldn't help but wonder what her life would have been like if her mother didn't die. She would still be living in the small but spacious two bedroom apartment with her mom, she would still be going to her school in her old town, and she would still be loved. She didn't even know the feeling anymore..

"Yo, Holden." One of the boys called from across the large, shared room. Gaining her attention and pulling her from her thoughts as she looked over at him, standing next to some of the other boys, "We're heading downtown to steal some alcohol. You in?" He asked, as Claire looked back up at the ceiling with a longing look.

She wouldn't consider any of the kids that lived here her friends, they were mere acquaintances whom she had to share a bedroom and bathroom with —— that she would also occasionally drink with. Claire would mostly hang out with them when she wanted to distract herself from the rest of the world, and most importantly from her past. It helped, for a while, but it never stuck, and when she was back in her bunk bed, staring at the ceiling, it was as if nothing had changed, and she still felt as lonely as ever.

"I'm okay, thanks Ollie." Claire replied, giving the boy a small smile as he looked quite disappointed she had refused his invitation, but none the less, moved onto the next girl to ask if she would like to join the boys, instead. Claire didn't care, she wasn't in the mood to hang out with any of them at the moment —— they weren't friends, half of them were turning eighteen soon anyway, which meant they would be moving out and going at life on their own, something that Claire personally couldn't wait to do herself.

Only a few more years.

Nights like these dragged, she scribbled in her notepad, making up drawings that looked like a black figure with yellow eyes — sometimes she didn't mean to draw the thing, she would start a daze, and once she was in it, she couldn't stop drawing it.
To anyone else, they looked like black scribbles of a mad girl, but to certain people, it looked like a demon. The girl made sure that no one saw this book, she hid it under her mattress, and during the inspections she would hide it elsewhere until it was safe to be put back.

Looking down at her drawing, the girl sighed lonely, closing the book and shoving it back under her pillow, until a few days time where she will probably pull it out and draw the exact same thing.

Over the years, her mind had slowly been erasing the night her mother died —— but deep down, the face still remained. The smile in the shadows, the bright yellow eyes, and the knowing look he gave her. Like what he was doing was according to his plan, and it was all working well accordingly.

If it wasn't for the Winchester's killing him, he would have had great plans for Claire Holden. Great. But because of them, she will never know such powers like her uncle's.

The girl got into bed, lying her head down on her pillow as her eyes were struggling to stay open, watching a few other roommates of hers do the same thing, some sitting with music playing through their headphones, some still doing their homework with small flashlights balancing on some contraction that they had made. Claire was envy of them, they could sleep peacefully without a nightmare plaguing her whole body.

She was broken. And everyone knew it.