Snuggle for littlesthunter
She was so small and little, and they didn’t know what to do. Dean was numb, nearly in shock as he carried the little girl from the wreckage, Sam right beside him. They got quietly into the car and drove down the road, and it wasn’t until they drove around the bend, what was left of the Roadhouse disappearing behind a stand of trees, that she started screaming.
“Take me back! Take me back!”
Sam was driving, tears rolling down his face, and Dean held onto her as best he could, her fists beating against his chest, his face, clawing at the door. He made soft soothing sounds, didn’t know if they were the right ones, didn’t know what else to do.
“I want Jo! I want my sister! I want Mom! I want my mommy!”
He just pulled her closer as she screamed, until the screams turned into sobs and she retreated into herself, so terribly, awfully small in his arms, and only then did he realize that he was crying, too.
Ellen’s message had been short, painfully blunt. Something’s coming, boys. Don’t know what it is. But it’s bad, and me and Jo, well, we’re not gonna make it. The little one’s seen it and she’s not wrong about these things. Don’t have time to dance around the topic with you, so here it is: her name’s Abigail Rose, she’ll be six next month, and she’s your sister. And don’t get mad, don’t get upset at your daddy because I never told him. It was a one night thing long ago and we were fine, us girls, just how we were. But it looks like we’ve come to the end of our run. So you get up here and you get her and you take care of her, cause I’m not gonna be there to do it.
They’d left immediately, San Diego fading away behind them within the hour, Sam’s face set in the passenger seat beside him, and for two straight days they drove across the country, wearing out their cell phone batteries trying to reach her, but it was nothing doing and by the time they got there whatever the little girl had seen in her vision had happened. And there she was -- tiny and scared and in shock, the rubble and ash around her, waiting.
They got a motel room the next town over. Sam carried the bags and Dean carried Abi, the little girl asleep in his arms, dirty and sooty, her face tear streaked, her thumb in her mouth. Sam made a move to take her once they were in the room but Dean shook his head, sitting down on one of the rickety motel chairs, rocking her gently back and forth while Sam poured the salt lines and pulled out the guns to do the nightly check and did all of those things that they’d done every day for so many years, all the little tasks and chores of settling in, so natural and second-nature that they were easier than thought, small, comforting routines that made up the rhythm of their lives.
But what now? He was silent, his mind drifting from thought to thought with no real direction, still trying to understand, to believe that he had a little sister, to know that Ellen and Jo were dead, to let the idea sink in that he was now responsible for this little girl, so small, so sad in his arms. He looked up, catching Sam’s eye, and he held out his arms to take her but Dean just shook his head again, holding her tighter, not ready yet.
She was small and beautiful and perfect and theirs. Tomorrow they’d start to figure things out. How to be who and what they were, how to finish the fight they were in, how in God’s name they were going to care for a little girl when they were officially dead fugitives, with all of Heaven and Hell gunning for them. Tomorrow he and Sam would start the process of weaving Abi into their lives. And while he had no idea how they’re going to do it, they would. They had to.
Because she’s theirs. She’s family. And if there’s one thing that he knows how to do, it’s take care of family.
“Take me back! Take me back!”
Sam was driving, tears rolling down his face, and Dean held onto her as best he could, her fists beating against his chest, his face, clawing at the door. He made soft soothing sounds, didn’t know if they were the right ones, didn’t know what else to do.
“I want Jo! I want my sister! I want Mom! I want my mommy!”
He just pulled her closer as she screamed, until the screams turned into sobs and she retreated into herself, so terribly, awfully small in his arms, and only then did he realize that he was crying, too.
Ellen’s message had been short, painfully blunt. Something’s coming, boys. Don’t know what it is. But it’s bad, and me and Jo, well, we’re not gonna make it. The little one’s seen it and she’s not wrong about these things. Don’t have time to dance around the topic with you, so here it is: her name’s Abigail Rose, she’ll be six next month, and she’s your sister. And don’t get mad, don’t get upset at your daddy because I never told him. It was a one night thing long ago and we were fine, us girls, just how we were. But it looks like we’ve come to the end of our run. So you get up here and you get her and you take care of her, cause I’m not gonna be there to do it.
They’d left immediately, San Diego fading away behind them within the hour, Sam’s face set in the passenger seat beside him, and for two straight days they drove across the country, wearing out their cell phone batteries trying to reach her, but it was nothing doing and by the time they got there whatever the little girl had seen in her vision had happened. And there she was -- tiny and scared and in shock, the rubble and ash around her, waiting.
They got a motel room the next town over. Sam carried the bags and Dean carried Abi, the little girl asleep in his arms, dirty and sooty, her face tear streaked, her thumb in her mouth. Sam made a move to take her once they were in the room but Dean shook his head, sitting down on one of the rickety motel chairs, rocking her gently back and forth while Sam poured the salt lines and pulled out the guns to do the nightly check and did all of those things that they’d done every day for so many years, all the little tasks and chores of settling in, so natural and second-nature that they were easier than thought, small, comforting routines that made up the rhythm of their lives.
But what now? He was silent, his mind drifting from thought to thought with no real direction, still trying to understand, to believe that he had a little sister, to know that Ellen and Jo were dead, to let the idea sink in that he was now responsible for this little girl, so small, so sad in his arms. He looked up, catching Sam’s eye, and he held out his arms to take her but Dean just shook his head again, holding her tighter, not ready yet.
She was small and beautiful and perfect and theirs. Tomorrow they’d start to figure things out. How to be who and what they were, how to finish the fight they were in, how in God’s name they were going to care for a little girl when they were officially dead fugitives, with all of Heaven and Hell gunning for them. Tomorrow he and Sam would start the process of weaving Abi into their lives. And while he had no idea how they’re going to do it, they would. They had to.
Because she’s theirs. She’s family. And if there’s one thing that he knows how to do, it’s take care of family.