A/N: This story was requested by tamilyn313 - Krissy, from the beginning when the boys bring her to live with them, before her monster. Out of that request this has been born – I hope you like! Set in AU, with components of the show/please be kind and remember I got this request a few years after I wrote Krissy's Monster, so if some things don't meet too clearly at the seams, just go with it Leave a review if you're so inclined. More than anything I appreciate you stopping by and reading. I own nothing Supernatural.
Chapter 1:
Dean ran to the chair Lee Chambers was rag-doll limp in, chin resting on his chest. Krissy bolted across the cold cement floor, only to be stopped in her tracks and lifted by her momentum with Sam's strong forearm. He encircled her waist as she kicked in the air and screamed for her father. Dean looked up at Sam and shook his head. Lee was gone. Krissy shrieked, bent herself backwards (later Sam would wonder how she managed to INVERT herself in such a way), and slippeed out of his grasp. She was twelve years old and incredibly lithe.
"Get the fuck outta my way, Dean! Daddy!" she screamed, sliding down on the floor sideways into her father's silent death-chair. She scrambled up his body and sat on his lap, lifting his head and wrapping her legs around his waist.
Dean put his hand on her shoulder, bringing her attention back to him.
"You! This is ALL your fault! You were too slow! You handcuffed me! I could have helped – I DID help! Don't touch me! He's not dead, he's warm! I hate you!"
She looked back to her father, kissing his cheek and sobbing for him to wake up. The longer she spoke to him with no response, the more frantic her voice became until she was screaming at him to just wake up. She was hysterical and Sam had seen enough. He stepped forward.
"Krissy. Listen to me," he said in his steady voice. She looked up with hope in her eyes. Finally someone who sees.
"Sam. Sam! We need to get him to a hospital! Hurry! I'll untie him so we can get out of here. Come ON!" she begged, crawling down and using her knife to slice through the thick rope he had been bound with. He tumbled forward onto the floor, where she struggled to lift him by herself.
"Are you two gonna just stare or do you plan on actually doing something here?" she panted, sweat beads flying through the air as she whipped her head back and forth between the brothers, red faced from exertion and crying. Dean looked at her somberly.
"Honey, he's gone. He's warm, but he isn't alive. Krissy, I'm so sorry. I … I …" he stammered. He looked down at her, hating the hunting life for the things it made them do. Things like peeling a twelve year old girl off her dead father. He reached down toward her and she held up her knife.
"Don't! Don't you touch him OR me! You stay away! I'll do it myself – I'll get him to the hospital and you'll see. You'll BOTH see!" she spat.
Sam knelt beside her, lifting her dad up so his head was off the cement and on her lap.
"Oh thank God, thank you Sam. Let's hurry! There's still time…"
He didn't try to reason with her this time, knowing it would be impossible to push through her hysterics with words. He took her small hand in his and placed it on her father's neck.
"Do you want me to show you how to find a pulse?" he asked her calmly. God, she was so small. Her lips were blue from the cold and he could see her left eye twitch as she hiccupped though tears.
"I already know how to, you dimwit! I'm twelve, not two!" He looked at her, shocked, as she shook his hand off and placed her index and middle finger on the side of his throat. "It's right here, below…"
She stopped and furrowed her brows, moving her fingers slightly to the right and left. She placed more pressure, looking up into Sam's brown-green eyes. She suddenly grabbed his hand, holding his two fingers.
"Find it, Sam. Find his pulse for me, okay? I know you can. Sam. Please. Please don't give up. He's still warm. STILL FUCKING WARM!" she screamed. Instead, he took his fingers and brought her now freezing hands into his own. He cursed this life, just as his brother had a few minutes earlier.
"Are you ready to listen to me? Try – try your hardest, okay? Look at your dad, Krissy." He waited patiently for her to look down. She recoiled from the sight of her father's face: slack-jawed and open eyed. Dead eyes. Dead like her mother's were. Death all around her. She kissed his cheek and it was cold. (Not happening. This is not happening - oh God where are you? You are nowhere. You are nothing to me. And now I have nobody. I fucking hate you.)
She slumped to the floor and reached for her knife, resigned to her own fate. Even in her state of shock, she was incredibly fast for a girl her age. It was in her hand and pointed at her chest in a flash. If it hadn't been so incredibly dangerous, it would have been impressive.
"This never happened. You never met me. Burn me with my Daddy. I want to be with my Daddy!" she said without tears, the shock finally beginning to settle into her mind and body. She began to push the knife across her chest when Sam lunged forward and lifted her arms up to his brother, who was waiting behind her. He carefully maneuvered her wrist in an arc (much like Sam would do four years later), forcing the knife to clink its way across the floor. Sam could see blood running down the front of her shirt, and her glassy orbs staring back at him. He reached forward and lifted her easily – she had checked out. She was in that space where you go when you shut down and protect yourself. Dean wrapped his jacket around her, tucking it under her small frame lying across his brother. He could see her fingernails were blue now, and she had to get out of that cold, dead room.
He handed Sam the keys.
"You go and get Baby warm and I'll take care of the mess here. I'll bring Lee and we can wrap him in a blanket for the funeral. She's freezing and in shock. And bleeding. Go see what you can do and I'll be along as quick as I can. These hags'll be an easy cleanup," he said with the confidence of years of cleanup.
Sam felt Krissy's shallow breath on his neck and gave his brother a nod. He was out the door and warming the Impala in a matter of minutes, laying her down in the back seat and rolling up her shirt to see the damage. She had sliced just under the left side of her chest – meaning business. Grabbing one of their numerous kits, he began tearing large gauze pads from their sterile enclosures and pressing them into her wound.
She stirred as he pressed, moaning for her Daddy over and over to the point that Sam just finally gave in, kissing her temple and telling her that he was right there.
"Daddy's here baby. Shhh… hush… you're gonna be fine. Gonna fix you up, so be a good brave girl for me, okay?" He felt terrible lying to her, but the odds were she wouldn't remember any of this.
"Bad dream, Daddy. So bad. So tired," she whimpered, trying to curl onto her side.
"Baby, you have to stay on your back for now, understand? Stay right there for me, and I want you to take these for me to help with the pain." In truth they were gonna knock her the fuck out and help with the pain. He was looking at least eight stitches and didn't want to fight her, and he had a feeling she was a fighter. He heard Dean in the trunk and realized he had wrapped Lee and placed him there.
"Too tired. Don't wanna drink pills, Daddy," she said pitifully. "Hurts."
Dean opened the back door and helped his Sam lift her up so she could take the pills. He raised an eyebrow at hearing her call his brother daddy.
"Dude, I dunno, just go with it. She's out of her mind with grief and shock and blood loss," he explained. He turned his voice toward Krissy and said firmly, "Krissy, open and take these pills for Daddy right now. You need them to get better or you'll have to go to the hospital and get a big shot." He hoped twelve year old hunter girls were afraid of shots. He got lucky.
"No, no hospital, Daddy. Remember they tried to take me away from you the last time? No shots. I'll be good," she answered groggily. She dutifully opened her mouth and Sam put the pills on her tongue and placed the water to her mouth.
"Easy, sweetie – nice, slow drinks. Here, drink some more," he murmured. "That's my good girl," he praised. He checked her mouth and took a minute to put his hand on her cheek. Good. She was finally warming up and her head was in Dean's lap.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to hold the light while I do this. You got it?" he asked, passing the bright flashlight to Dean without waiting for an answer. Dean cradled her head in his lap, running one hand through her hair absentmindedly while holding the light with the other. He wanted to keep her like this, calm and sleeping. He didn't look forward to her waking up to death and pyres. Not this young. It fucking sucked.
"Yeah, do your thing, Sam. Let's get her patched up and get moving."
Sam had already threaded the needle, and was ready with water for irrigation and antiseptic. He also wanted her out cold for this. He didn't want to hurt her; she was just a little girl, really. Barely twelve, going on twenty five from the mouth on her. The mouth of a truck driver named Gus. He kinda liked that name. Gus.
He had a feeling Lee allowed her to help him with hunts and wasn't much of a disciplinarian, both of which Sam strongly disagreed with. He could tell just in the time they had been together that she ran her father, and not the other way around. "One thing at a time, Winchester" he thought.
He cut her bloody shirt off, and began stitching her, moving methodically and making every curve of the needle count. Nine in all. He tied off the end and neatly cut the extra thread, then placed a sterile covering on it. He planned to check it twice daily until he took the stitches out, just to keep her safe from infection. They pulled a clean tee shirt over her head and pushed her arms through. Dean was hit with a memory of helping Sam get dressed the same way when he was small. It was crystal clear and he smiled.
Sam came to take Dean's place, and Dean did what he did best – hit the road and wasted no time.
He heard her once, saying "I love you, Daddy, don't ever leave me," and he winced. Then he heard Sam's low, steady voice reply that he would never leave her and that he loved her, too. "Now rest your eyes baby, go to sleep. We're on our way home now and you'll be feeling better soon. I promise. So brave tonight."
Dean saw it. She WAS brave. Smart mouthed, rude, and incredibly brave. She should fit in fine.
They never even discussed keeping her. It was just an unspoken decision they made together in Baby that night. They knew she had no relatives. They knew what CPS would do. She was too young to be on her own. They felt responsible for her. They would keep her, love her, teach her, and protect her. She would come through this changed, but safe. Sam caught Dean's reflection in the mirror and nodded in agreement. He leaned his head back to rest on Baby's leather and allowed himself to close his eyes. He didn't wake up until they were home.
A/N: Anything special you would like to see in this Prequel – just PM me. Thanks!