Little Girl on the Road
By Morgana Ravenheart
A/N: Hi, guys. So I was playing around with one of my OCs and I came up with this. Normally I hate sisfics and I don't read them but this just popped up. Title is subject to change.
AU: John is already dead. Dean was 19 and Sam was 15. Now Dean is 21 and Sam is 17.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. Wish I did, but I don't. My name is not Kripke.
NOTE: This is a fictional town called Tugria. Pronounced "Too-gree-ah"
Dean Winchester flipped his ringing mobile open. "Hello?"
"Is this John Winchester?" a female voice asked, clipped and to the point.
"I'm afraid he passed away almost two years ago now. I'm his son, may I help you?" Dean asked, immediately alerted by something in the woman's voice.
"How far away from Ohio are you?" the woman asked. It sounded like she was biting her lip.
"I can get there in three days. Two, if I drive all night," Dean answered. He gathered that this was urgent.
"When you get here, find The Cherry Tree children's home," the woman replied and rung off without a goodbye
Dean looked at his phone bemusedly. "What did you get into now, Dad?" he asked himself quietly.
"Sweetheart? The doctor's come to look at your ouchie. Will you let him take your top off?" Mrs. Audrey Ball asked the little four year old girl. The girl nodded and the doctor entered the dorm, and he gently pulled the pink, flowery t-shirt off.
Doctor George Clarke gently pulled the gauze patches away from the girl's collar bone and inspected the thin line that marred her body. "The wound is healing well. I expect that it will be fully healed in a couple of weeks, but it will scar," he said and reached into his bag for some new gauze patches to re-bandage the wound.
"We've found a relative and he's traveling here as we speak. I'll inform him of the situation," Mrs. Ball replied, as the doctor replaced the gauze patches and the girl's t-shirt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bar of chocolate.
"Here you go, sweetie, for being such a good girl," he said and patted her head before walking swiftly out of the dorm room.
The little girl sat cross-legged on her bed and munched on the chocolate, humming to herself.
Dean parked the Impala on the curb outside The Cherry Tree Children's Home and he straightened his clothes, feeling like this was important. He walked up the steps in trepidation, feeling uneasy. He closed a hand around the short silver flick-blade in his pocket. It was just a caution, he wasn't exactly going to go in 'naked' was he?
"Can I help you, sir?" a young girl at the reception desk asked, her eyes conveying her immediate attraction to Dean.
Dean gave her an award-winning, panty-dropping smile. "I was asked to come here by someone. They didn't give their name," he explained, leaning on the desk.
The receptionist, who was called Andrea, batted her eyelids and she leaned forward to accentuate her cleavage. "What's your name?" she questioned.
Dean gave a wolfish grin. "Dean Winchester," he said. Andrea blinked. Then she picked up her phone and dialed an internal number.
"Mrs. Ball? I have John Winchester's son at the front desk," she said and hung up. "Take a seat, Mr. Winchester, Mrs. Ball will be with you shortly," Andrea reverted from flirtatious to professional in a millisecond. Something that flew right over Dean's head and he did as asked without question.
About ten minutes later, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a beige skirt suit walked through to the reception area. "Hello, Mr. Winchester, I'm Audrey Ball. We spoke on the phone," she said, holding her hand out.
Dean stood up quickly and he shook her hand. "Dean Winchester," he said, taking on his professional demeanor that usually only comes out when he's investigating a hunt.
"If you'll come to my office, I'll explain the situation," Mrs. Ball said and she led Dean into an office that was clearly being cleared out and/or remodeled. They took a seat opposite each other over the desk.
"As you can see, Mr. Winchester, we have recently come under new management. They have their own children and we need new homes for the children that we have here," Mrs. Ball started off, lacing her fingers delicately.
"I understand, Mrs. Ball, but I'm not entirely sure as to how this concerns me," Dean said, confused.
"Ah, I was getting to that. On the 13th of March, 1996, a young woman named Sophia Cullen gave birth to a baby girl in this very establishment. She died hours later, living just long enough to name her daughter and give a contact number for the father. Her instructions were to only contact the father should the situation call for it," Audrey explained.
Dean nodded, still confused as to how this traced back to him and his father.
"Unfortunately the home came under a new manager soon after the child was settled in here. He was abusive towards the child, both verbally and physically. Though not sexually, I believe that he was waiting until she was older for that. He was recently prosecuted and jailed for these actions, after the child told her friend's foster-mother, who was visiting her here," Audrey continued.
Dean sat straighter. The abuse of a child, whether or not that child was his kin, was something that he did not, could not and would not condone.
"The child has several injuries, past and present, and they are healing well according to the doctor," Audrey looked at the time. "She should be waking up now; her pain meds knock her out for an hour or so. Would you like to meet her?" she asked.
Dean frowned. "I'm still confused, Mrs. Ball. What has this child got to do with me?" he asked, not moving.
"The child's name is Lydia Cullen-Winchester and John Winchester was her father," Audrey stated.
Dean's face was a picture of shock. He had a sister? A baby sister at that? What on Earth had his dad gotten him into?
Lydia Marie Sophia Elizabeth Cullen-Winchester sat up, stretching and yawning. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and pushed the blanket back. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and she slowly and gently pushed herself to the floor, shivering when her bare feet touched the cold linoleum. A knock on the door made Lydia look up. It opened and Mrs. Ball popped her head in.
"Lydia, sweetie? Are you okay, do you want some help?" she asked kindly. Lydia nodded and the middle-aged woman helped the four-year-old into a pair of denim jeans and a t-shirt of Lydia's choosing, which was a black cotton garment patterned with cartoon female skulls. Her chestnut hair was brushed gently and a bright sapphire ribbon was tied into it. It accentuated her eyes and she smiled up at Mrs. Ball, her eyes conveying her thanks. She didn't speak. It wasn't because she could speak, but because she wouldn't. She hadn't spoken since the previous month, when she was severely injured.
"Lydia, sweetie. There's someone here to see you. He's waiting in the Playroom, would you like to meet him?" Mrs. Ball asked, smiling at the little girl.
Fear sparked in four-year-old Lydia's eyes and she shrunk away. Frightened, you see, of any male stranger, lest he hurt her like the nasty old manager did.
"Don't worry, darlin'. He won't hurt you, Hetty will be with you. She's looking after you and the babies during playtime today," Mrs. Ball consoled. Lydia thought for a moment before nodding eagerly.
Dean sat in the Playroom, looking around at the off-white walls with the patch of mould in the top-right corner, the mismatched children's furniture and the old, partially working toys. An exasperated 18-year-old girl tried desperately to calm the child she was cradling in her arms while three other little girls, aged about two-five years old ran riot around the small playpen they were confined to. The door opened and Mrs. Ball walked in with a small, dark-haired and blue-eyed girl attached to her hand. Dean gasped; the girl was the spitting image of Sam when he was that age.
"Lydia, this is Dean. Dean, this is Lydia," Mrs. Ball said. She made sure that the attendant was briefed in security measures and then left the two alone.
Dean crouched down to the little girl's level. "Hey there, squirt," he said with a friendly grin. He didn't want to scare the girl, after all.
Lydia blinked at him, a solemn look in her bright blue eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched for a second before she ran off to a small, circular table with paper and wax crayons spread out on it.
"She won't speak," the attendant called, rocking the baby in her arms to and fro. Dean looked up at her.
The girl, Hetty Willis, had dark blonde hair and light brown eyes. A stunner when she was older, for sure.
"She won't? Why?" Dean asked as the baby stirred slightly, wailing quietly. He was unaware that Lydia was watching him closely.
"Shushhh, Amanda. Shushhh," Hetty murmured to the child. "Ever since she got that cut on her neck, she hasn't spoken a word. I suspect it's something to do with her abuser," she continued.
Dean flashed Hetty a quick smile before going and sitting with his baby sister. "What'cha drawin' there, kid?" he asked, peering at the bright picture. It was a stick-woman, wearing a turquoise dress and holding hands with a man who was wearing brown trousers and a brown jacket. Underneath was the caption, 'Mr + Mrs Haggard. Died 1872. They are waiting for their son to come home.' It was dotted with the usual spelling mistakes that you would usually see with a four-year-old. The caption was written in black wax crayon. Dean frowned. Why would Lydia draw that? How would she even know that in the first place? First of all, Dean had to find out who these people were.
"Lyd? Why've you drawn that, kiddo?" Dean asked, turning the picture towards him slightly and taking a closer look. Lydia merely pointed to the caption and carried on drawing her current piece, another stick-woman but with large, dark brown wings. That was even stranger.
"An'el," Lydia muttered, looking over at the corner of the room. "An'el."
"An'el? You mean, angel?" Dean questioned.
Lydia nodded solemnly, still looking at the corner.
"Lucy, no! Don't put that in your mouth, it's dirty. You'll get sick," Hetty called to a little girl with brown hair, a mouldy Lego inches from her open mouth.
Lydia turned back from the corner, back to her picture and carried on colouring nicely. Dean smiled and he picked up a green wax crayon, pulling a piece of paper towards him and also began to draw a picture. He'd throw it away later, but that doesn't mean he can't join his baby sister in doing something that she obviously loved to do.
"Ah, ah, ah. Charlotte, stop being mean to Izabelle. It's not nice," Hetty scolded one of the small girls who was tugging at another's pigtails.
The sound of two sets of running feet came closer and closer outside. Well, two sets and a pair of clomping heels.
"Christopher Life, Benjamin Hope, get back here you naughty, naughty boys!" a woman screeched as she ran past the open door. Boyish laughter followed, the kind of cackle that was only used when a boy had done something that was of questionable allowablity.
"So, Lyd. How about, when your owie is all better, you come and live with me? I promise that I'll be nice, and that I won't hurt you," Dean asked Lydia, who looked back at the corner again before looking back at Dean with a solemn look in her eyes. She nodded and returned to her drawing, the ghost of a smile on her face. The pair colored and drew different pictures, comparing them wordlessly. All too soon, Mrs. Ball came back and Hetty took the girls to lunch.
"Well, Mr. Winchester. What have you decided to do?" Mrs. Ball asked when they were seated in her office.
"I've decided that I will take my sister on. I am one of her only living relatives, it's my responsibility to take care of my own," Dean replied.
"One of? You mean, there are others?" Mrs. Ball frowned.
"Two, actually. I have a brother who currently attends Sioux Falls High School in South Dakota, he's 17. And an uncle, whom my brother lives with. Well, he's more of a surrogate father really, seeing as our own wasn't much use," Dean explained.
"Do you live with your uncle, as well, Mr. Winchester?" Mrs. Ball enquired.
"No, I travel around a lot. My brother made the choice when our father died to get out of the life we were living and I don't want to drag him back into it," Dean answered. "I've asked Lydia and she has agreed to come and live with me," he added.
"I see. Well, once her wound has healed and the doctor has given her the all clear, we'll arrange that for you," Mrs. Ball agreed.
Two weeks on, Lydia was free from her wound and the doctor had given her the all clear. All that was left now was a thin white scar running the length of her collar bone.
Mrs. Ball signed the release forms, transferring Lydia into Dean's care legally. She was now officially his sister, not just biologically.
On the day that Lydia left, she had a few visitors. Her best friends Emma and Ben Braden, with their mother Lisa.
"Goodbye, Lydia, it was lovely to know you," Lisa said, smiling warmly, "I will never forget you and your popcorn-marshmellows."
Dean frowned slightly and he left Lydia's side while she said goodbye to Emma and Ben.
"Popcorn-marshmellows?" he asked quietly.
"Mini-marshmellows. She calls them popcorm," Lisa smiled. "Ever since we had her over for a sleepover and she had a little bowl of them while we watched The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea," she explained.
Dean smiled a sad smile. He'd missed it. Hell, he'd missed the first four years (and nine months) of his baby sister's life. He didn't know why John hadn't told them about her; probably to protect her. But still, he'd missed it.
"Hey," Lisa said, recognizing the look, "you're here now and that's what counts. She's a wonderful little girl, you just have to get to know her."
Dean looked at Lisa. "Thank you. I can tell you've made a large impact on Lydia's life and I just wanted to say thanks," he said.
"It's fine. She needed someone there for her, so I was. Lack of parents can be… isolating," Lisa replied, a look in her eyes telling Dean that she knew just how isolating lack of parents can be,
Dean smiled as Emma and Ben came back to their foster-mother and went home. He turned to Lydia and smiled brightly.
"Ready, squirt?" he asked.
Lydia nodded and she hugged both Hetty and Mrs. Ball tightly before taking Dean's hand and they went off to live a new life; for the both of them.
A/N: So, what do you think? I'm working on Chapter 1, it'll be up sometime tomorrow evening. Yes, the popcorn-marshmellows is a West Collins reference. I couldn't help but slip it in. If you don't get it, go on YouTube and search 'Cooking Fast and Fresh with West Episode #2'. Trust me, you'll find it hilarious and cute.
Please review,
Love you all,
-'Gana xx