Author’s Note: Written for Medie for Christmas 2008. Only Dakota is mine; Carolina and Henry Jones the Fourth belong to Medie, Sam Winchester to Kripke/the CW/etc. and the Jones family as a whole to George Lucas and Steven Spielberg.
There was a time when Carolina Jones would’ve sworn that nobody could worry her more than her grandfather. He was the one, after all, who’d disappeared into the Guatemalan jungle when she was thirteen and gotten kidnapped by a vengeful ex-boyfriend of hers who wanted her to find Excalibur when she was pushing forty.
She knew better now. Not that she’d ever seen herself as the maternal type, but then neither had Marion and look how well that turned out. Besides…accidents happened. Especially the way she and Sam tended to go at it: it was probably more of a miracle they’d only had the one.
Scrubbing one hand across her face, Carolina flopped down into an overstuffed chair in her living room with a frustrated sigh. “May you have children just like you,” she muttered under her breath. She was beginning to think it was a Jones family curse: there was at least one in every generation.
From his seat on the couch across from her, her brother Henry gave her a knowing look. “She’s her mother’s daughter,” he said. “She won’t stay captive for long.”
Carolina scowled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Sure enough, barely a minute later they heard the soft tread of stealthy ten-year-old feet padding down the stairs. Carolina was out of her seat like she’d been fired from her grandfather’s pistol.
“Dakota Marion Jones-Winchester, you get back up there right now and finish your homework, before I decide to tie you to the chair!”
Dakota stared at her mother in dismay, her face crestfallen. “But, Mom–!”
Carolina cut her off. “If I see you down here one more time before every ‘i’ is dotted and every ‘t’ crossed, you’re staying behind with Uncle Henry next time we go to Peru.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Complete with your very own guardian angel to make sure you don’t get any ideas about sneaking out and following us.”
The mention of Gramps finally did it. White-faced, Dakota turned and practically flew up the stairs.
Behind her, Henry laughed. “I told you locking her in wouldn’t do any good,” he pointed out a little too cheerfully.
Carolina threw a pillow at him.