So I really like the idea of John accidentally gaining himself another kid, a little sister for the boys to dote on and protect, and out of this my little OC was born. I have a load more of this handwritten in a notebook which I'm going to gradually type up, mostly just the early days at the moment, so review and let me know what you think :)

For reference, Dean is 14 and Sam is 10, So theoretically, it's roughly 1993.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC.

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for a living,

But the child who is born on the Sabbath day

Is fair and wise and good in every way.

She was nothing but a scrap of skin and bones when John Winchester found her, half mad on the floor of a dirty old log cabin out in the woods near Gorham, Maine. He'd been following weird signs through the area for days, and what he saw was hardly comforting. It was like nothing he'd come across before... the dead man she was clinging to lay over a pattern burnt onto the floor. He could have sworn it looked like... wings? There was a knife wound running clean through him and a pool of old, congealed blood, half of it soaked into the little girl's clothes. Even the February chill couldn't mask the smell, so she had probably been there three or four, maybe even five days. It was hard to say, but she was in a bad way.

He put a hand over his mouth and nose against the stench and rushed forward to try and untangle her from the corpse, shoving his knife into the inside pocket of his coat.

"Daddy! NO!" She screamed, her tiny fingers gripped tight in the fabric of his shirt. John had to take the hand away from his face to pry her fingers out of the cloth, gagging as the smell hit the back of his throat. As soon as she was loose he gathered her up into his arms and stumbled out into the night, gasping for clean air. The filthy child in his arms still fought him, but she shivered violently, a mild fever combining with the cold and all she wore was a blood soaked t-shirt, her arms bare.

"Shhh!" He said urgently, pulling his coat around her and putting a hand over her mouth. He didn't know what was lurking in the woods around them, but if anything was there, the screams of a child was sure to rouse them.

"I'm trying to help you!" He whispered harshly. She slowly stopped struggling, eyeing him suspiciously.

"There, that's better. Now let's get you out of here." He muttered, looking round to get get his bearings before heading off in the direction of his car, which was pulled up on the nearest road, a ten minute walk away from the cabin. Though she had stopped screaming and struggling, the little girl never took her eyes off of John, sending him an unsettling glare. John glanced down at her and frowned.

"Don't look at me like that, Kid, your dad- whatever he was- is dead. I couldn't just leave you there." She didn't reply, just carried on glaring at him. He sighed and look ahead of him, catching the first glimpse of the impala through the trees.

He stopped outside the passenger side of the car and took one hand off of the girl in his arms to open the door. There was a moment of hesitation, not wanting to put the filthy mongrel on his seats, but he placed her in anyway, reaching over her to clip the seatbelt in place. He half expected her to try and bolt as soon as he stepped away from the door but she just sat belligerently staring at the dashboard, her arms crossed against her chest. She still gave the occasional shiver, so as he walked round to the drivers side he shucked out of his jacket, throwing it over her as he sat down. Hesitantly, not really wanting to trust him but longing for the warmth she knew it would provide, she pulled it up to her shoulder and settled herself onto the seat, her feet curled up under her. When she continued to glare at him, John huffed and started the engine.

"Don't say thanks or anything. Ungrateful brat." He muttered, pulling onto the road.

It was a good hours drive before they arrived back at the motel he'd left the boys at, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot the girl was fast asleep, still shivering, her face scrunched up into pained frown as her lips moved silently. In a moment of uncharacteristic tenderness, John reached across and brushed a matted clump of hair out of her face. It was hard to tell what colour her hair was, if it was actually dark or just incredibly filthy. Quietly he opened his door and came round to lift her out of the car, placing her gently over his shoulder so he could use his other hand to rummage in his pocket for the motel room key.

Dean shot up off the couch as soon as John came through the door, but stopped short at the sight of the filthy sleeping child on his shoulder.

"Dad...?" He said quietly, unsure what to do or say. John closed the door behind him and came over to lay her softly onto the now vacant couch. He looked up at the younger of his sons, as Sam appeared sleepily at his elbow.

"Hey Sammy, can you make up some hot chocolate for our guest?" He asked as she began to rouse. Sam nodded, slightly bewildered and disappeared into the kitchen. John stood up and took a step back, not wanting to crowd the girl, who sat bolt upright and swayed slightly, her eyelids drooping.

"She has a mild fever, nothing to bad. I'm more worried about dehydration... possibly hypothermia." He told Dean, reaching out to put a hand on her forehead, but she scooted back and shook her head.

"It's okay kid, we won't hurt you." He assured her, reaching out again. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared but she stayed put, letting him check her temperature. He nodded and accepted the mug Sam was pressing into his hands, crouching down next to her again. She eyed up the mug and reached for it, but he shook his head and held it just out of reach.

"It'll be too hot still, let it cool down." He said, smiling slightly at the disappointed look she shot him. For someone so incredibly dirty, and who smelt so completely awful, she was actually kind of cute. Dean crouched down beside his dad and smiled kindly at her.

"Hey, kid. What's your name?" She stared blankly at him in response, so he tried again.

"Well, I'm Dean, old grumpy here is my dad John and that little scrap over there is my little bro Sammy." She glanced over at the little boy who was standing just behind the others. He smiled and gave her a little wave.

"So, you are...?" She shook her head and looked away from them all, huddling tighter into John's coat. Dean sighed and stood up, putting a hand on his dad's shoulder.

"We can't leave her in those clothes, it'll only make her sicker. I think we have some of Sammy's old stuff tucked away in the car somewhere, they'll probably drown her she's so tiny, but it's better than nothing." John nodded in reply and gave his son a small smile. He touched his hand to the mug of cocoa, checking it had cooled enough and held it out to her. She moved to take it but was too weak for it's weight, so she let the big man lift it to her lips and pour a little in. He only let her have a little, but the creamy, warm liquid hit the back of her sore, dry throat and made her splutter, soothing the ache. She put her hand on his on the mug and tipped a little more into her mouth but it proved too much and she choked, letting go of the mug to sit forward and let John pat her back with his free hand.

"Easy does it." He murmured, rubbing her back. The room door clicked open as Dean let himself back in, carrying a small pile of clothes in varying shades of beige and khaki. He came to stand beside John and placed the clothes on the coffee table, crouching back down beside her.

"Okay kid, here's the deal. You smell like road kill, and you are coated in god knows what. You can put these straight on if you want, but you'll feel a hell of a lot better after a warm shower." He told her frankly, tipping his head towards the bathroom.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He said, holding out his hand. Hesitantly she took it, letting him pull her up off of the couch and lead her out of the room. She curled her toes on the cold tile floor as he pulled a fresh towel from the shelf in the corner and pressed it into her hands.

"Now I can stay and give you a hand if you like, but to be honest I don't know who would be more embarrassed." He said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly and chuckling as she huffed and shook her head indignantly, clutching the towel to her chest. He put his hands up in surrender and backed up to the doorway, leaning on the frame for a second.

"Good choice. But scrub up properly, ya hear?" He asked, giving her a smile. She nodded and stood rooted to the spot.

"Alright, I'll be right outside. Oh and Kid? Don't worry, you're safe with us."

With that he turned and closed the door behind him.

She rushed forward to click the door's lock and started pulling her clothes over her head, her teeth chattering. She stretched up to turn the shower on, holding her hand under the stream until the water ran warm and hopped in, just standing and enjoying the warmth for a while before she started scrubbing. The soap smelt cheap but clean as she rubbed it into her thick curls, lathering them up and wincing as it seeped into a couple of dirty cuts on her scalp. She kept on at them though, ignoring the ache as the water gradually started to run clear instead of a murky brown and red. She didn't really want to get out when she was clean, the warm water was so comforting and it was the first time in days the cold hadn't nipped at her skin, but she turned off the water anyway, wrapping herself in the huge towel, holding it around her like a big fluffy white cape.

She was just about to unlock the bathroom door and emerge when she heard muffled voices and pulled the key out of the lock so she could peek through and watch the conversation.

John was pacing a hole in the carpet, gesticulating wildly.

"She's not a stray dog Dean, you can't just crack a window and leave her in the car! She just a child, a child who needs a stable home, a family who-"

"We're a family!" Dean interrupted, coming to stand in his dad's path. The bigger man shook his head and perched on the back on the sofa.

"We're hunters, Dean! This is not a safe life for anyone, let alone a scared little girl who, after the last couple of days, is probably going to be in therapy half her life. We don't even know what she is! Her dad... it was nothing I'd ever seen before, Dean."

"Then surely with us is the safest place! We can figure out if she's a threat, and keep her away from anyone who wants to hurt her." Dean reasoned, but John stood up and stormed over to the phone, starting to dial before Dean caught up and grabbed the phone from him, slamming it back onto the hook. John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to get his anger under control.

"Don't push me, boy-"

"Who were you calling?" Dean demanded, edging between his dad and the phone. John tried to push him aside but Dean stood his ground.

"Bobby... I need to know if he's got any info on what I saw, and maybe he'll know where we can safely get rid of the girl..." Dean didn't move away from the phone but crossed his arms across his chest.

"The safest place for her is with us dad!" He repeated.

"I already have enough on my plate raising you and Sam, I'm not about to take in someone else's child too-"

"I raised Sam not you!" Dean blurted. A stunned silence fell across the room as John visibly deflated, looking down at his feet.

"I shouldn't have... Sorry sir." Dean said, hanging his head. But John just sighed and rubbed his temple, his voice tired.

"No... you're right Dean. I haven't been much of a father to you boys the last couple of years. You had to grow up so fast... you should be chasing tail, not monsters."

"Dad that's not what I meant-"

"Let me finish. When I saw how you were with the girl... You are far too good with kids for a fourteen year old, and that's my fault. But taking in another kid, Dean? A supernatural one at that? I don't have the time to look after her so it'll end up being on your shoulders all over again, and I can't let that happen." Dean sighed and came to perch beside his dad, considering his response carefully.

"Then surely, if it's all going to be on me... isn't it my decision?" He raised an eyebrow and looked over at his dad, who was grasping at straws.

"Someone's bound to come looking for her, family, friends..." There was a pleading note to his voice but the fight was long gone from him.

"No they won't... sir." A timid little voice rasped. Both hunters turned to look over at the bathroom doorway where is damp curly head was poking out.

"So you can talk! You okay kid?" Dean asked, moving to get up. She ignored him and appeared from behind the wall, still wrapped in the towel. She put her back to the wall for support.

"Nobody will look for me..." She said, her face set. She opened her mouth to say something else but closed it again, a fat tear making it's way over her pale cheek. She swiped at it furiously with the corner of the towel and looked hard at John.

"My dad was a monster, wasn't he?" She asked.

Dean glanced at his dad and shook his head.

"Well, it's complicated, we don't know-" Dean started, but John put a hand on his son's arm and nodded.

"Yes." He told her plain. She frowned and nodded.

"But he was all I had left. He was always saying someone was chasing us, so he hid us pretty well... No one will look for me, there isn't anyone left to look."

John got to his feet with a groan and walked over to the little girl, placing a comforting hand on the top of her head.

"You're a brave little thing... What's you're name kid?" He asked. She looked as if she was about to refuse again but changed her mind and as if she was imparting her biggest secret whispered to him. "Hope Eddison." John chuckled and crouched down in front of her.

"Hope? Well, I could use some of that these days. How old are you, Hope?"

She puffed up her chest a little and smiled for the first time.

"Eight years and three months." She replied, but the moment was ruined as she shivered lightly. John reached forward and rubbed his hands up and down her arms, trying to warm her up.

"Come on, Kid, let's get you dressed before you catch another chill." Dean walked forward with the stack of clothes and crouched down beside the two of them, picking up a t-shirt and gathering it at the neck so he could pull it over her head and down to her knees. The coverage allowed her to drop the towel underneath the top and pull the pair of pants he offered her up to her waist. The sight made both hunters chuckle as Dean lent forward to roll the legs up and passed her a belt. She blushed and cinched it around her waist, letting him drape an enormous, faded sand coloured hoody around her shoulders. She poked her arms through the sleeves, her hands never appearing and pulled it close around herself, the old, musty smell oddly comforting. She shuffled her feet awkwardly and reached forward to fist her hand into the front of John's shirt.

"Please, Sir, don't send me away... I want to stay with you! I can look after myself I promise. Me and my dad were running for so long and he was always away so I learnt to take care of myself... Please don't give me to the police... Sir." She begged, blinking to stop herself from crying. Jhn sighed and looked down at the hand gripped in his shirt.

"Just call me John, kid... It's not that simple I'm afraid, we can't just keep you..." She nodded and stared intently at her feet, letting go of his top.

"This town won't be safe for you any more though," He continued, tired. "So we'll take you somewhere you can start a new life. For now, why don't you get some sleep?" He tipped his head towards the empty bed by the window but Hope shook her head and looked over at Dean who had retreated to perch on the edge of the table, his legs crossed at the ankle. John stood up and took a step back, letting her shuffle over to Dean and hesitantly wrap her arms around his waist. Dean sent his dad a disappointed look and bent to pick her up, rubbing her back as he carried her over to the couch and settled her on his lap. He switched the t.v on, keeping it at a low volume so as not to wake Sam, who had grudgingly gone back to sleep while Hope was in the shower, and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, throwing it over both of them. Hope barely made it through five minutes of an episode of X Men before drifting off to sleep, but Dean continued to card his hand through her thick hair until he too fell into a restless slumber.

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment I would love to hear from you, so please review!