Multi Fandom Writer

Evie goes to hunt Jack at Lambeth asylum. Katherine and her boys stay back, they are still going to join her on her hunt for the Ripper, they're just gonna be behind her. Her teenage son's being more trouble than they already are. They take after their father.

She makes her way to the bottom of the asylum. Where she knows Jack had Jacob locked up, in the cold dark basement. The inmates are running the place, she manages to sneak by unnoticed. She took out whoever was in her way to find her brother.

She walks slowly, carefully through the dark. She doesn't even have a torch. She could do it blind. No one knows this place like her.

Her heart beats in her throat. Her hands shake. She can feel something—power. Dark. Twisted. "Come on, brother," she whispers. "Where the hell are you…?"

The basement air is thick with damp and rot—iron bars line the walls, flickering torchlight casting long shadows. Evie moves like a wraith, silent, blade drawn—every step purposeful. She can hear Jack before she sees him. Humming softly, as if waiting. And then—there.

In a dim-lit cell. Chains hanging from the ceiling. And slumped against the wall, bleeding but still breathing— Jacob.

Jack steps into the light—knife gleaming. "And here I thought you’d bring the whole family.". She doesn’t flinch. “No.". She lifts her blade. "Just me.". And the fight begins.

Meanwhile—somewhere above—Katherine and the boys move in. The Ripper won’t leave this place alive tonight. Jack lunges—knife flashing—but Evie is faster. She twists, dodges, swings her hidden blade—but he blocks with his own. Metal scrapes metal.

"You trained me too well," Jack taunts, grinning behind his mask. "You and Jacob—both so eager to teach."

She grits her teeth. "We didn’t teach you this.”. She feints left—then strikes right. He staggers back—blood dripping from his shoulder. “Oh?" he hisses. "Then who did?". She doesn’t answer, because Katherine quietly sneaks in as Jack and her fight. Revolver in her hand. Samuel and James stay back in the shadows.

He doesn't notice Katherine entering the basement. Her eyes were intense, filled with fire. Her eyes lock onto Jack, the man, the monster who locked up her husband. She raises her revolver—steady, unflinching—and fires.*

BANG.

The shot echoes through the basement. Jack stumbles—blood blooming across his side. He whirls around, mask cracked with surprise. "Who the hell—?!".

She cocks the hammer again, "His wife," she snarls. "And you’re already dead."

Evie doesn’t waste the opening. She lunges—hidden blade flashing—and sinks it deep into Jack’s throat. He gasps. Staggers. Looks down at the blood at his feet—then back up at them both. He rasps—blood bubbling between his teeth. Then his knees give out.

Jack the Ripper falls, at last. Silence. Evie exhales—sharp, shaky then turns toward Jacob’s cell.

Katherine doesn’t even scold him. She just pushes the cell door open and pulls him into her arms. Safe. Finally, She looks down at him, taking in his face after all these months, a slash across where his left eye once was. Her hands tremble as they frame his face gently, like he’s something fragile.

“Jacob," she breathes, voice breaking, “It's okay. I'm here.”. He winces—half-smiling—and reaches up to cover her hand with his own. “I knew you’d come," he rasps. "Never doubted it.". She presses her forehead to his—eyes squeezing shut—and for a moment, the whole world falls away.

Then, behind them—James and Samuel creep forward, hesitant. He blinks up at them—grinning despite the pain. "Boys," he croaks. "Didn’t run off and join the circus yet, I see.". James snorts, then promptly looks like he regrets it when Katherine glares at him. "Not for lack of trying," Samuel mutters. Evie watches them, this broken, beautiful family, and exhales. London is still standing. And so are they. For now.

7 years later.

Katherine and Jacob are still married. 27 years now.

Samuel is now married and has a daughter, Lydia Frye, who is two years old. Him and James are now Master Assassins. They are invited to a family dinner at Winchester manor by Nathaniel, Katherine's father. All of them. Evie included.

But it feels different, she hasn't seen her father in years. She's spoken to her mother many times, when they all sit for dinner, Nathaniel enters the room, hunched over, walking with a cane, a silver mask covering the right side on his face.

He walks as if he were in pain, they all watch him approach the table, the servants help him sit. Katherine, along with her brothers, their wives, children, Jacob and their sons can only blink at him, stunned by how much he’s changed. The once confident, charming, handsome man who always seemed to fill the room with his presence is now a shadow of the man he was. Nathaniel looks almost fragile as the servants help ease him into the chair at the head of the table, he gives them a tight, pained smile of thanks—then looks at everyone else.

"I do... apologize... about my delay" he says in slow, steady breaths, "I... cannot move.. like I... used to.".

He speaks as if it hurts for him to speak. Everyone is silent, watching him, their eyes flicking from his face to the cane in his hand to the mask covering his right eye. Even the servants are quiet as they watch him struggle to sit there and act like everything is fine.

Finally, James looks down at his plate, unable to look him in the eye. Samuel just scowls. And Katherine… her jaw is set, knuckles white as she grips her fork.

Nathaniel reaches for his mask, taking it off, moving his arm up pains him. He places it on the table. The right side of his face, nearly gone. "Leprosy" he says, "The doctor says... I have very little time left... a few years perhaps.. maybe sooner."

"I don't want pity, or fuss." He adds, he looks over to Jacob, "I know... I spent years... disapproving your marriage..to... to Katherine... I never... hated you."

He takes a breath, speaking for too long causes him pain, "I never trusted you... because of your work... hunters and assassins, should never... mix.... but, you've proven me wrong. You've made two fine boys... and gave Wendy and I... a wonderful great granddaughter.”

Jacob exhales—slow, measured—before leaning forward, elbows on the table. "Never thought I'd hear you say that," he admits, voice rough with honesty. "But... thank you.".

Katherine doesn't speak. Her gaze is locked onto Nathaniel—her father—her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she sets her fork down.

"Is that why you called us here?" she asks quietly. "To tell us you're dying?".

Nathaniel meets her eyes, "No," he rasps, "To ask... for forgiveness."

A heavy silence falls, aside from the babbling coming from baby Lydia. Samuel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. James stares at his plate like it holds all the answers.

And Katherine. Her breath hitches just once. Wendy reaches next to her and takes Nathaniel's hand.

No words. Just that. Some wounds take time to heal. But they can heal.

The servants begin to serve the family their food, everyone eats, some of them pick at their food.

Nathaniel sits there, his breath heavy as he looks around at his family. His wife, his kids, his grandkids and great granddaughter.

He looks over at Katherine and Jacob, who is adjusting his eye cover, for a brief second before looking over at Wendy.

The clink of silverware fills the quiet. Nathaniel watches—really watches as his family eats, speaks in hushed tones, or simply sits together.

Lydia—tiny and bright-eyed—sits on her mother’s lap. Samuel feeds her bits of bread when she reaches for it.

James talks quietly to Evie about something Brotherhood-related; they share a rare moment of camaraderie over wine.

Wendy keeps glancing at Nathaniel with soft sadness in her eyes. She reaches over and squeezes his hand again without a word.

Nathaniel takes a slow sip from his glass… then pushes the plate slightly away. He can't eat much these days—the pain makes swallowing hard.

Samuel hands Lydia to Katherine. Her face lights up as she holds her granddaughter. She tries to reach for Jacob’s eye cover.

Jacob tenses instinctively—his hand flies up to shield the eyepatch, a reflex from years of hiding it.

But then Lydia giggles, tiny fingers poking at his face with no fear. She doesn’t see damage—she sees Papa’s Papa, and that’s all that matters.

Katherine softens instantly, shifting so Jacob can relax. With her free hand, she gently pulls him away from the patch… and lets Lydia explore.

The little girl pats the leather carefully—then suddenly grabs it with both hands like she's trying to yank it off for fun. Katherine can't help but laugh.

Jacob huffs—half startled, half amused—as Lydia tugs with all the strength of a two-year-old. The patch shifts slightly, but doesn’t come off.

“Oi," he grumbles playfully, "That’s not a toy, you little demon."

Lydia just laughs louder—delighted by his reaction—and keeps pulling.

Katherine is still laughing beside him. It's been ages since she heard Jacob sound so… lighthearted. So unbothered.

Nathaniel watches them from across the table—the way Katherine cradles their granddaughter, how Jacob allows this small invasion without anger for once… and something in his chest aches differently than the leprosy does.

She leans in close, only enough for Jacob to hear, "Maybe we should try for another" she teases him.

He shoots her a look, "Absolutely not" he responds, but there's no real heat behind it, he isn't interested in having another kid. She laughs at his reaction.

Jacob's face does something complicated—part horrified, part *old man who’s already done this twice.

"We’re grandparents," he mutters under his breath, "That means we're done. Finished. Retired from the baby business."

Katherine grins—that wicked, teasing smile that always means trouble for him.

Nathaniel catches the exchange and raises an eyebrow. Wendy elbows him gently—like she knows exactly what Katherine just suggested.

Around them, dinner continues: James laughing at something Evie said; Samuel passing Lydia a piece of fruit; Nathaniel quietly sipping water like it's medicine now instead of wine… but for once? The house feels warm. Full.

After the dinner, the families go to their homes.

Katherine kisses Lydia goodbye.

Katherine presses soft kisses all over Lydia's chubby little cheeks, making the toddler squeal with laughter.

"Bye-bye, my sweet angel," she coos—her voice uncharacteristically tender. "Be good for Mama and Papa."

Samuel scoops her up carefully, kissing her forehead before turning to Katherine.

"We’ll visit soon," he promises. James nods beside him—they both know their mother hasn’t been around her father in years… and this reunion was heavy. Especially with the heart stopping news of his illness.

The weight of it lingers—thick and suffocating—as they say their goodbyes on the manor’s grand steps.

Nathaniel stands at the doorway, watching them leave. His breathing is labored even just standing there. Wendy hovers behind him, her arm supporting his back.

Jacob hesitates before turning to go. He looks at Nathaniel—not with anger anymore (that died years ago), but something quieter… sorrow? Respect?

A silent nod passes between them. No words needed. Just ‘I’m sorry this is happening to you.’

The night air is cool as Jacob and Katherine walk back to their home—just a short distance away, but it feels miles tonight.

They don’t talk right away. The silence isn’t tense—just heavy with everything they’ve heard, seen… the man who once disapproved of them now facing death quietly, dignified.

Katherine sighs first, linking her arm through Jacob’s as they turn down the lane. The streetlamps flicker above them like distant stars.

"He looked so small," she finally says softly.

Jacob exhales through his nose, his arm tightening around hers instinctively.

"Yeah,"* he murmurs. The Nathaniel Winchester he knew—broad-shouldered, commanding, a man who could fill a room with just his presence—was gone. What was left was… fragile.

He thinks about the mask on the table—the right side of Nathaniel’s face destroyed by illness—and feels something twist in his gut.

Their steps slow as they near their front door. He fishes out the key with one hand while she leans into him slightly, her head resting against his shoulder for just a second before she pulls away to unlock it herself.

"Leprosy," she whispers, "How long did he have it?"

It wasn't a question. She wondered when he was diagnosed and how something like that happened to him.

He doesn't answer right away. He steps inside first, holding the door for her—then lights a lamp on the hall table. The warm glow spills across their familiar home.*

He knows exactly what she’s thinking: Her father was always strong. A hunter his whole life—hardened by battles, survival, tracking monsters in dark woods… not some slow decay of flesh.

"I don’t know," he admits finally, "But it's been eating him alive for years." A pause. "Probably didn't want anyone to see."

The unspoken part hangs heavy: Especially not us. Especially not Katherine—the daughter who left after marrying an assassin against his wishes.

Nathaniel Winchester passed away in his sleep in 1897 at the age of 79 due to complications of leprosy.

All of his assets and businesses were passed on to his eldest son Theodore Winchester.

He was survived by his wife Wendy Stevenson-Winchester, his sons Theodore, Philip and Oliver, and his daughter Katherine. His youngest son Charles passed away from illness in 1884 at the age of 21.

The funeral is quiet—solemn, dignified. Nathaniel Winchester was a man of tradition and order, even in death.

Wendy wears black from head to toe, her face composed but grief-stricken. Theodore stands beside her as the eldest son—the weight of inheritance heavy on his shoulders now.

Philip and Oliver arrive together; they haven’t seen each other in years but stand united for their mother’s sake today.

Katherine walks between Jacob and Evie (who came with Henry). She hasn’t cried yet—not openly—but her eyes are red-rimmed when she looks at the casket being lowered into the ground.

The priest speaks softly—words about legacy, faith, family—but Katherine isn’t really listening.

She remembers her father as a strict man. A hunter who expected obedience. Who once glared at Jacob like he was the devil incarnate.

But she also remembers him reading to her as a child before bed… the rare times he’d smile when she showed him her drawings… how fiercely protective he’d been of all his children.

A single tear slips down before she can stop it.

Jacob feels it—his hand finds hers and squeezes without looking away from the casket being lowered into earth. The cool autumn wind carries the scent of damp soil and autumn leaves as the casket is lowered. The sound of dirt hitting wood echoes—final, irreversible.

Wendy doesn’t cry. Not yet. She stands perfectly still beside Theodore, her hands clasped tightly together like she’s holding herself upright through sheer will.

Philip sniffles quietly into his handkerchief; Oliver keeps an arm around him—older brother mode activated despite their estrangement. The priest finishes his prayer, then steps back to give the family space for their goodbyes—the last moments before they walk away from Nathaniel forever.

The grave is filled in. The headstone—simple, carved with Nathaniel’s name and dates—is marked by fresh flowers: white lilies from Wendy, dark roses from the family.

One by one, they turn away.

Wendy walks back to Theodore’s side; Philip and Oliver follow her silently. Katherine lingers for just a second longer at the edge of the gravesite… then Jacob gently nudges her forward with his shoulder—a wordless ‘come on’.