Because it replaced the empty ache of a father that was just a collection of stories now and the idealized memory of a little girl still in pigtails. ...nowing John Winchester had a hand in Bill Harvelle's death gave her something new to hold onto, the right weapon to wield in the direction of the man whose tug and pull in her thoughts was starting to scare her. She couldn't get her hands on John Winchester, couldn't take him to task for the years she spent with a grieving and sour mother, for. ”“Of course, mistress.”“And stop calling me Mistress!”“Sorry, master, I mean, Melissa. It’s just that he leaves today!”“We’ll see him again soon.”“Okay,” I pouted, and I went to kiss her. She pulled my head back by my hair right before our lips touched. “What did you say?” she demanded.“Yes.”“Yes what?”I swallowed hard, and said, “Yes, Master.”“Mmm, I kinda like that.” She pulled my hair harder, and spat the word out again into my face, “Master.”“Yes, Master,” I moaned out again in my. More

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