#frederick abberline

"Phillip!" she calls out, for a moment, Katherine hesitates, torn between letting him go and following him inside, "Damn it…". She takes off at a run, heading toward Whitechapel. Philip, she decides, is a problem for after she finds her sons. She gets on a carriage and tells the driver to take her to Whitechapel.

Meanwhile at Lambeth asylum. Jacob is still in his cell. Jack makes his way down the stairs to continue his torment on him. The stone walls of Lambeth Asylum drip with dampness. The air is thick with the smell of rust, sweat, and something darker—fear. Jacob sits on the cold floor of his cell, back against the wall, wrists raw from chains. His coat is torn. His face—bruised. But his eye? Still sharp. Still burning. Then… footsteps echo down the stairs.

Slow. Deliberate. "Well," a voice sings from the shadows, "Look who’s still breathing."

Jack steps into view. Mask half-covered in blood and soot. Smile wide beneath the sack mask. "Did you miss me?"

He glares at him with his good eye. "Heard the whole family is in town." Jack tells him, "Your boys finally met your sister... and Katherine? Heard she was wandering the Strand going to Whitechapel." Jacob’s breath hitches—just for a second. But it's enough. "You lay one finger on her," he growls, voice low and dangerous, "and I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands."

He laughs—a sharp, broken sound that echoes through the stone chamber. "Oh, but Jacob… she’s already on her way to Whitechapel."* He leans closer. "Alone. Scared. Hunting for you... just like a good little wife should."

Jacob surges forward in his chains—snarling, eyes blazing. "I swear to God… if you hurt them…"

He steps back, chuckling. "Too late.". He tosses a portrait of the family into his cell before leaving. The photograph lands face-up on the damp concrete floor—Katherine, James, and Samuel. Taken just last spring at home. All smiling. Safe. Jacob stares at it. Then slowly—painfully—he reaches out with one chained hand and pulls it close. Dirtied fingers trace Katherine’s face. "You should’ve stayed away…"* he whispers.* "Damn you… damn you all…". But beneath the anger?. Fear. And love.

So much love that it breaks him to think of them walking into Jack’s nightmare. And then he does something he hasn’t done in years.

He closes his eyes and prays. Meanwhile, Evie and the twins are in a safehouse in Whitechapel. Getting off the street away from the eyes of Jack's men. The safehouse is small—hidden above a tailor’s shop. Rain taps on the windows as Evie lights a single oil lamp, casting long shadows across cracked walls. James paces. Samuel watches the window, tense.

"We can’t stay here long," Evie says. "Jack knows this area like his own knife."

"Then where do we go?" James snaps. "You said it yourself—he owns London!". Evie turns to him—calm, but fierce. "No. He owns fear. Not loyalty. And not this family.". She pulls a small blade from her coat. "Now sit down, both of you. We’re not moving until I know you’ll survive five minutes without me watching your backs."

Outside, the wind howls. Closer than they know… so does she. Katherine is coming.

She makes it to Whitechapel. Stopping at a church nearby. Seeking shelter inside. The church is old and quiet, candlelight glowing through stained-glass windows. Rain beats against the windows—so hard the whole building seems to shiver. In the darkness, the statues of angels stare down from the shadows. Alone, she stands in the center of the church. She closes her eyes, hands pressed together. "Dear God. My sons… my husband…" she whispers. "I would give my life for you to be safe together tonight.". She wasn't religious, despite growing up in a somewhat strict Catholic family, and having an Irish mother. She didn't go to church as much unless it was for a wedding or a funeral, or if she wanted to go to mass on a random Sunday.*

Outside, the wind is stronger. The rain is more violent. But the church feels safe, a quiet respite from the world outside. With the world shut out, it almost feels like a haven. Peaceful. Until she hears the door open and someone steps inside. She doesn't look back. She sits still. Slow, careful footsteps on the church floor. Getting closer.

Then, a voice—quiet, "Katherine Winchester?".

She stiffens, "Who is it?" she demands, voice low, fingers clutching her purse. "Name's Abberline," the man says, stepping into the dim light. "Inspector Frederick Abberline. I knew your husband—Jacob." He stops a few paces away, hands visible. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here because Evie sent me."

She looks back and sees him. "How does Evie know me?. I've never met her."

"Shes met your boys." He tells her. Confusion flashes across her face. "My sons? She knows them?"

Abberline nods, "She's with them now. She sent me to find you."

"And you were able to find me that easily?." She asks. He smirks—tired, but sharp.

"You're not the first Winchester woman to storm into Whitechapel looking for family. Evie said you’d come here—churches draw hunters, even ones who don’t pray.”. He taps his temple.

"And once I knew where to look? A lady in black with a gun in her purse doesn’t exactly blend in."

"Take me to my boys." She tells him. Abberline hesitates. "It's not safe—".

"I don’t care,"* she cuts in, rising to her feet. Her voice is steel wrapped in fire. "Take me to my sons.”. Outside, the wind howls like a warning. He stares at her—really sees her—and something flickers in his eyes. Respect.

"Right then," he says softly. "Stay close. And keep that gun ready.".

He turns toward the door. And into the storm walks a mother who has run out of waiting. Time to hunt. He takes her to where Evie has her boys. He leads her down street after street, passing alleys that smell like danger and fear and death. The rain gets harder, the wind even darker. Finally, he stops in front of a run-down old building. There’s a light in the window. "This is it," he says quietly. "In there." Katherine storms in, and sees her twins boys.

"God, you fool." She tells James. James flinches like he’s been slapped. He feels his whole body go numb. "Mum—"

"Don’t," she snaps, stepping forward—eyes blazing, voice trembling with fury and relief all at once. "Don’t you ‘mum’ me. You think I crossed half of London for this? So you could get yourself killed in some stupid act of rebellion?!". She grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into a crushing hug. "You don’t get to scare me like that," she whispers, voice breaking, "Not ever again."

Samuel looks away, blinking fast. Evie watches—quietly smiling. Some things never change. Mothers always find their children. She turns and sees Evie. This is the first time they've met. Her and Jacob have been married for 20 years, and she's never met her sister-in-law. Her husband’s twin.

Katherine steps back, still breathing hard. Her eyes lock onto Evie—really look at her. The same sharp jawline as Jacob. The same quiet fire in her gaze. Twenty years of marriage... and she's never seen the woman who shaped him. "You're Evie," she says—flat, testing.

“I am," Evie replies, holding her ground. "And you must be the woman who tamed my brother."

A beat. Then she lets out a short, sharp laugh—despite everything. "Tamed? No. I just stopped him from getting himself killed every other Tuesday." Evie smiles—genuine this time. "Then we’re already on the same side." And just like that? The hunt gets stronger.

"I assume you're here because of the Ripper." Katherine says. Evie nods.*

"He's been terrorizing the women of Whitechapel for months. Worse this week. Three dead." Her voice sharpens, gaze hardening. "Men like Jack never stop. We have to find him. Tonight."

"So you’re hunting him too," Katherine says, it wasn’t a question, but more of a statement. But Evie answers anyway. “I am.”

"How do we find him?." she asks. "I'm working on that." Evie tells her. She raises an eyebrow, "Working on it?"

"Look," Evie snaps. "It's not easy hunting someone who knows these streets like they were made for him. I'm doing the best I can."

"The Ripper's not invincible, Evie," Abberline cuts in, "We just have to find a weakness. Some crack in the armor. Something to lure him in.". Evie goes silent, thinking, then turns back to the window, staring out into the storm. "Something he wants… "

James hesitates, "His men have been chasing me all morning." He tells them. "They were gonna take me to him if they caught me.”. Katherine frowns. Her hands ball into fists, white-knuckled—the tension in the room suddenly thick, heavy. "You were going to let them take you?"

"No." He tells her, "I thought they wanted to kill me. So I ran.". She doesn't take her eyes off of him. She's trying to hide it, but he can read her—always has. Beneath the anger? Worry. Fear. Love. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"What was I supposed to do?." He asks, "Let them take me? Or kill me?. It was smart of me to run." Samuel sits on a chair in the corner, he closes his eyes as his mother and brother go back and forth with each other. He starts to get visions, a dark basement. Stone walls. "It was reckless!. You could've been caught. Or—God forbid—killed!"

"Well, I wasn't," he retorts, jaw set. "I'm right here."

"Barely!"

Samuel gasps, eyes flying open—heart pounding. "Stop," he whispers. Then louder, "Stop!". Everyone turns. His face is pale. Hands trembling.

"I saw him… father… He’s in a cellar. Underground. Cold stone, chains—smells like blood and rust…". Katherine stares at him. "How do you know that?"

"I don’t know!" Samuel snaps, voice cracking, "But it’s real—I felt it! He's trapped… and hurting… and he knows we're coming."

A heavy silence falls, Katherine realizes her eldest son is showing signs of being a dreamer, seeing things in real time, premonition-like. Evie steps forward slowly. "That sounds like Lambeth Asylum," she says quietly, "The old underground cells."

Her eyes meet Katherine’s, "He wants us to come.", Katherine doesn't flinch. She just reaches into her purse—and pulls out her revolver. "Then let's give him what he wants."

And hope we’re not too late. Outside, the storm continues to rage—wind howling, rain pounding. And somewhere in Whitechapel, Jack waits. In the basement, the air is thick with tension. Everyone stares at each other in the half-light—waiting. Evie stands beside the trapdoor that leads upstairs, one hand on the latch—her face is calm. But her heart feels like it might hammer through her chest. "Are you all ready?" she asks quietly.

Meanwhile, Jack was only luring Evie to him. He wasn't expecting Katherine or her sons to get involved. When word got out, he knew he had to get them, use them as bait for Evie. She starts to have second thoughts about Katherine coming with her, knowing she could get hurt or worse. "I think... you should stay." Evie tells her.

"What?." Katherine responds.

"I know you're armed, but Jack can and will over power you." She tells her, "He could really hurt you, and he won't hesitate to kill you.”. Katherine's eyes narrow—sharp as steel, just like her voice. "And let you face him alone?."

"I know him better than you do." She responds, "He's an assassin. Trained by Jacob and I.”

"Then I'd say he learned from the best,"* Katherine says, stepping forward until she’s toe-to-toe with Evie, "and if he got that far—maybe I should see just how well you both trained him."

Her voice doesn't waver, "I'm not losing my husband. Not after twenty years. Not while there's breath in my body.". She pulls a second revolver from her coat. "Now… are we going to stand here debating who gets to die first? Or are we ending this?"

Evie stares at her—then, slowly, a smirk curls at the edge of her lips. "...Remind me not to get on your bad side." The trapdoor opens.