Dean and I
When I first met the Winchesters, I was in some serious trouble. I was 17, and my dad and I had run into a dragon. At seventeen, I was ideal dragon bait, being a virgin and all. My dad wasn't too fond of the idea of me being the dragon's lure into the trap, but the thing went after me anyway. I was on a supplies run, walking back to our motel with three heavy bags of coke (for him), and water (for me), food and pie (to share). I was stocking up for the three day drive we had to our next case once the dragon was iced. The creature attacked me just as one of the bags broke, and I barely had time to pull out my gun before I was knocked out and carried away.
When I woke up I was in some dark basement somewhere, and I could hear my dad cussing and shouting for me to wake up as he fought the dragon. Just as my vision cleared, I watched the dragon snap my father's neck, unable to help him from my position, chained by my wrists to a wall and screaming for my dad. I strained violently at my chains, the metal slashing into my wrists. I barely noticed, didn't even feel the steady flow of blood from my wrists and a wound at my temple where the beast had struck me. I screamed and cried for hours after the dragon left, staring at my dad's body, a few feet away, slumped on the floor. Eventually, I collapsed to the floor and sobbed until I passed out on the bloodied stone, curled into a ball.
Sometime the next day, I woke with a screaming headache and an immediate crushing pain that had nothing to do with my injuries. I didn't register the two men that broke into my prison and stopped just behind my father's still form. I noticed nothing but the dead, glassy eyes staring unseeing at me until a tall man came to crouch in front of me, and another, shorter man picked the lock on my blood coated cuffs. But the moment my wrists were released, I shot across the floor to cradle my dad's head and cry into his grubby shirt.
I cried for a few minutes uninterrupted, and then a pair of strong, warm hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me, kicking, screaming, biting, punching and scratching, away from his body. I was hoisted into the arms of the taller one, and carried away from that damned place, and away from the last relative I had.
After a few minutes of thrashing in the man's arms, my body, finally feeling the effects of blood loss, gave out on me and I slipped back into unconsciousness. The two men carried me to their car, and the tall one rode in the back with my head in his lap, trying to staunch the flow of blood from my temple as the other one drove us two hours back to their motel. I was carried inside and laid on one of the beds to rest for a while, while my rescuers watched over me and discussed my now bleak-looking future as I slowly and silently came around.
"Dean, we can't leave her behind. That bastard dragon killed James, and you know she has no-one else. She only just turned seventeen, and we promised James we would look out for her."
"Sammy, we can't have a kid tagging along when we go out hunting, we'd just be putting her in danger! You know how much it sucked when Dad dumped us in crummy motel rooms for weeks on end. We can't do that to her either."
Listening to their voices, I gave myself a couple minutes to register what was happening, and who I was with, before I spoke up from where I lay, on the bed behind them.
"James said she's hunted with him, she wouldn't be defenceless."
"Yeah, and look where hunting got James! She's better off going into the system than sticking around with us, Sam."
I took those frightening words as my cue to join their whispered argument.
"I can hunt." I croaked in a voice raw and scratchy from crying and shouting. The brothers turned to me in surprise and Sam immediately looked guilty, while Dean looked sad but determined. I dragged myself to sit upright, hissing in pain as my entire body began to ache and throb painfully. Dean handed me a glass of water and I took a tiny sip, my mind utterly focused on their conversation.
"I can hunt." I said again, clearer this time. Sam came to sit at my feet on the bed, sighing and hanging his head a little. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
"Don't. Don't give me the sympathetic speech. I don't want to hear how sorry you are. I'm not going into the system, whether you take me with you or not. You guys can drive off, if you like; I can take care of myself." Dean snorted, looking pointedly at my gently bleeding temple. I frowned at him, but accepted the damp cloth he held out to me, and began cleaning my face and arms of the blood that had dried there. Sam cut in, the sight of me still caked in blood seeming to readjust his priorities.
"We can talk about that later, but first we need to clean you up, uh… Sorry, your Dad didn't mention your name?" He said, an apologetic look taking over his features. I bit my lip at the mention of the deceased, and replied with only my name.
"Kite." I mumbled.
"Right, okay then, Kite, there's a shower through there, I'll find you some clean clothes, and then I need to take a look at you. You got pretty banged up back there, that bastard had you for nearly three days and we don't know how much damage he did." He said, his face concerned as I stood and wobbled slightly. He caught my elbow to steady me, and let go a second later when I winced. I put a hand on his shoulder to get my balance, and mumbled that boxers and a big tee would be fine, cause my legs and back were both feeling pretty tender. He nodded, and helped me to the bathroom door, setting the shower going for me as I peeled off my jacket, trying not to touch the material to my wrists. He stepped out and closed the door and I stripped and hopped quickly into the shower, screwing my eyes shut as the warm water stung every injury. I gently rinsed the blood from my hair and body, and turned off the spray. I stepped out to find a fluffy white towel and some clothes neatly placed on a shelf just inside the door.
I dried and dressed carefully putting my mercifully clean underwear back on and using the black boxers as shorts, my more significant wounds leaving pinkish stains on the white material of the tee, and then stepped out to rejoin the two men. Sam gestured for me to sit back on the bed, the top layer of linen from which had been removed after I smeared blood on it where I slept. I sat.
Sam began with my head wound, dabbing it with stinging antiseptic and closing it with seven butterfly stitches before moving to my wrists, which he stung with medicine again before gently wrapping each wrist in bandages and gauze. Then he asked me where else I was hurt, and I turned and pulled the back of the shirt up to my shoulders, revealing several long scratches I had discovered in the shower. Sam cleaned and sealed all four scratches with 12 butterfly stitches each, before checking my legs and wrapping my left ankle tightly when it was revealed to be quite badly twisted. I thanked him, and he smiled briefly at me before glancing at his brother, who came to stand a couple of feet away from me.
"Kite, we think it'd be best if you-" Dean began, but I interrupted for a second time that evening.
"No." I said simply. "I'm not going into care. Just… no." I bit my lip, not wanting to get reprimanded for my stubbornness. Dean tried again, giving me a look that stopped me from interrupting.
"We think it'd be best if you stuck with us. Your dad raised you on the road, and taught you to hunt, and we told him if anything happened, we'd stick by you. So you're gonna come with us. Okay?" He said, and I nodded meekly. Sam looked at his watch and yawned.
"Its half past midnight, we should get some sleep." He muttered, and Dean and I nodded. I stood up and hobbled over to the sofa in the corner of the room, curling up on the worn cushions. Dean followed me and put a hand on my arm.
"Kite, you're hurt. Take my bed, and I'll sleep here." He suggested, but I shook my head, turning my face up to look at him.
"I always get the couch. Dad and I… we always got a one bed room. I got the couch every time." I said, refusing to break down as I remembered my loss afresh. Dean sighed.
"C'mon, you hit your head. Sleep in a real bed tonight." He coaxed, but I simply curled into a tighter ball on the couch cushions. I heard Sam begin to try to persuade me, but Dean must have silenced him, because a second later Dean was tucking one of his pillows under my head and draping a spare blanket over my huddled form. I gave him a small, grateful smile and closed my eyes. I waited until silence had fallen, and I thought both men were asleep before I allowed tears to flood my face, quietly sniffling and whimpering, unaware that neither of the brothers had fallen asleep, and were letting me have my uninterrupted moment of weakness. They knew how I felt, and they knew I would hate for anyone to see my cry, so they pretended to sleep while I cried until the days' exhaustion caught up with me again.
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The next few weeks passed in a bit of a blur. The boys filled me in on who they were and how they knew my dad. The morning after they found me we gave him a hunter's funeral, and I kept a little of the ash in a locket with a picture of my dad and I. We drove for two days to a job in Michigan, and the boys spent a week tracking down a vengeful spirit with a grudge against divorced parents, while I began to heal up. I still slept on the motel sofa, and the boxers and tee from my first night with them had become my pyjamas. I still cried over my dad at night, and they still pretended to sleep when it happened.
Slowly, they began to treat me more like another hunter than like a recently orphaned kid. Dean gave me my own 9mm and taught me how to shoot, and look after my gun. Sam let me help with research and taught me some more first aid than the basics I had learned from my dad. I made supply runs, and thanks to years of practice, I could put on an adult voice over the phone to convince people of their fake identities, when they were questioned. Occasionally, I caught Sam giving me a sympathetic look, or Dean frowning at my back, and my father's death was brought back to the front of my mind, but soon enough, something would happen that would distract me again.
Once I was fully healed, I joined them on a simple salt and burn in Ohio. The job was over and done with in a week, so we went to a bar to celebrate, though I only ordered water. The boys laughed and chatted with me, and Sam and I made fun of Dean when his flirting with the waitress ended with a drink in his face.
The night went on, and I was having a nice, relaxing time until some douche with breath that stank of cheap beer decided to try it on with me. I told him twice, very politely, to back off, and three times less politely to shove it. But the asshole wouldn't let up. Sam was in the restroom, and I looked around hopefully for Dean to stride over and see him off, but the elder brother was gone from my sight. I sighed, wishing I didn't have to resort to violence, knowing I would only cause trouble.
Then I roundhouse kicked the guy in the side of the head. He stumbled back, caught himself on the bar, and then charged toward me, shouting obscenities. I sidestepped the drunk, gripped his wrist and flipped him onto his back, planting a foot on his throat before he had a chance to even think about getting up.
"No means no." I snarled at him, just as I heard a shotgun being cocked behind my head. I growled at the man on the floor, before removing my foot and turning to face the bartender that pointed a gun at my forehead. I rolled my eyes and turned to leave the bar, but the man on the ground stood and decided to shout a final remark at my retreating back.
"Nice ass, pity you're too bitchy to play nice!" I stopped still. In a flash, I wheeled round and knocked the bastard's legs out from under him. The bartender walked round the bar, gun still aimed at me. I raised my hands, palms out, and gave him a cheerful grin.
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving…" I said in a bored tone, and he lowered the weapon. I walked out of the bar and strode over to the Impala, kicking off my shoes and climbing in my socks onto Baby's hood to avoid scratching Dean's car. I leaned back against the windshield and settled to look at the darkening sky until the boys decided to go home. I crossed my arms behind my head and closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool night air on my skin.
A few minutes later, Dean emerged, Sam in tow, and strode quickly over to me. I opened my eyes and sat up to look at the boys. I took in Dean's stern face, and Sam's confused one and drew in a breath, ready to apologise and be dropped off at the nearest orphanage. Then Dean's face broke into a wide grin.
"Nice, Kite. Very nice." He praised, and I relaxed into a grin of my own. I jumped off Baby's hood and pulled my baseball boots back on.
"Thanks, Dean." I smiled. Sam looked questioningly between us as we laughed and got into the car.
Back at the motel, a little while later, I curled up on the sofa despite the third, folding bed in the room and switched on the crappy TV. I found the movie channel, and set one of my favourite movies playing quietly while the boys took turns in the bathroom, readying to sleep. Our most recent room came without spare blankets, so I had pinched Dean's leather jacket and draped it over myself, comfortably warm. I felt my eyelids drooping, and flicked off the TV, pillowing one arm beneath my head and snuggling into the worn fabric of the jacket. I nodded off quickly, not noticing Sam's arms sliding underneath me and carrying me over to the unused bed, tucking me under the covers, still with Dean's jacket around me. I didn't see Sam grin at his brother, who stroked my hair and goodnight-kissed my temple as I was carried past.
I also didn't see the confused look the brothers shared the next morning when they woke to find me back on the sofa huddled under Dean's jacket, sleeping peacefully. Dean got out of bed, meaning to carry me back to the unoccupied mattress Sam had left me on last night, but at the sound of his creaking mattress I yawned and stretched myself awake.
"Hey Dean." I mumbled as he froze, leaning half over me with arms about to pick me up. Without opening my eyes, I rolled onto my stomach and pulled his jacket closer around my shoulders.
"Morning kid. Be up in ten for pancakes." He said, rumpling my hair and padding over to the kitchen in his boxers and tee.
"Sammy, we need eggs." Dean shouted, finding the fridge almost completely empty. "And flour. And milk. You know what? Just get milk and a couple of those bottles of pancake powder stuff!" He shouted, as Sam pulled on a pair of jeans and trudged out to the Impala, catching the keys I flung at him without either of us looking.
I winked at Sam as he left, and he grinned in return. I got up and went over to Dean in the kitchen as he made coffee and grabbed a mug for myself, dropping a teabag in it with two sugars. Dean and I were so used to this routine by now that we practically danced around one another, making toast and drinks and getting out plates and cutlery. As we leaned against each other sipping our drinks and Dean joked about wanting his jacket back at some point in the future, I grinned. This was my family now, and while I missed my dad still so much it hurt, I was glad I had my boys with me now.