The next day, Sam decided that they needed to leave Wisconsin and head for South Dakota. Dean, to say the least, was not happy.
"Dean, will you just calm down and let me speak?" Sam begged, trying to get his brother to listen to him.
The oldest Winchester shook his head, fists clenched. "We haven't been here that long, and I just found out I have a daughter. A daughter, Sam. She should've been my responsibility this whole time, and where was I? Oh, that's right, I was chasing after a demon with my father, as well as hunting just about every other goddamn thing imaginable in our world! How do you think I'm handling this news?" He ground his teeth together as he paced the parking lot of Ganser's Motel.
"Dean, it's alright. We'll be back for her sometime. We'll keep in touch."
"No. I was raised with the order to never leave my family behind. And you know what I did? I left her behind. For 18 years, I left that little girl alone, going through God-knows-what with a druggy mom. I'm sure she probably hates me, but just didn't want to show it. And the fact that Castiel has been keeping an eye on her this whole time? Why the hell wouldn't he tell us? That's my daughter! My own flesh-and-blood daughter!" Dean was so close to yelling, but trying to keep his temper in check that the veins in his neck stood out predominately, causing his face to flush deep red. He sucked in a deep breath, turning away from Sam and started walking away, trying to clear his head.
Sam wasn't a fool. He knew exactly what Dean was doing, and he understood that he had to give his older brother some space to organize his head. So, while he waited, he decided to text Skye. Hey, just wanted to let you know that we are probably going to head out tonight.
It didn't take long for a reply to come, but Sam thought he would get a response similar to what he got. Fine. Drive safe. See you whenever. He rolled his eyes, thinking that Dean would have said the same thing. His phone buzzed in his hand again. Don't die. He chuckled slightly at the last text.
At Bruiser's, Skye was bartending again. Just like always. Troy was in the kitchen, Bruce was somewhere, and Stacy was waitressing the tables.
Skye had a fake smile on her face, trying to look happy for the customers, but underneath the attempt, she felt like shit. She just wanted to curl in a ball and be alone. Some of the locals seemed to notice that Skye just wasn't her usual self and tipped her better than normal, trying to cheer her up, which it did.
The night seemed to stretch longer than normal. Finally, Skye packed up the bar and closed everything down. She could feel her stack of bills in her pocket, signaling the end to a pretty damn good night at the bar. After locking the back door to the bar, Skye made the short walk to her truck, her quickly-freezing fingers fumbling with the keys to open the door.
Her breath was visible in white puffs. She tried to get the truck to start, but it wouldn't. The ignition seemed like it wanted to start, but it wasn't catching. With all of her built up emotions, Skye just cried, not even making an attempt to get out and try to find the problem. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, her tears falling onto her jean clad thighs.
On the other side of the parking lot, a man stumbled out of the woods, eyes squinted in confusion. He looked around slowly, his eyes locking on the black pick-up sitting behind the bar. He didn't see Skye in the driver's seat. Feet dragging, breath coming in short bursts, chest heaving, he grunted as he ambled slowly over to the truck. He could smell a human close-by.
The man reached out a hand, slamming it against the window of Skye's driver door. She jumped in her seat, letting out an involuntary scream. Seeing her reaction, the man tried to open the door, his hands struggling to grasp the cold metal. Skye slapped the lock down, eyes wide in shock as the man kept grunting, his eyes searching rapidly through the dark cab of the truck.
A guttural yell ripped through his throat as he looked into Skye's fear-filled eyes. With renewed vigor, he pounded his hands on the window. Skye tried to find a weapon in her truck, finally wrapping a hand around one of her knives. She started to slide towards the passenger seat, scooting backwards carefully. She locked the rear sliding door of the truck as well, reaching through the bars of her empty gun rack. Her other hand gripped the handle of the door for dear life, waiting for the right moment to open it and try to run. 'Is there a right moment in a situation like this?' She mentally cursed herself for forgetting her cell phone at home. Now would be a great time to call Dean and Sam, see if they knew anything.
With a deep breath, Skye swallowed quickly and pushed the door open, jumping down from the cab, leaving the door open as she took off for the woods. She was confident enough in her hunting skills that she could navigate the woods to get home. She had hunted this particular piece of land many times with the Noltner boys.
Her booted feet carried her into the depths of the dark woods, sending her crashing through underbrush. Behind her, the man watched as she took off, pausing a moment before chasing after her, his intense hunger spurring him to run faster than he should've been able to.
Skye's lungs began to burn as she kept sprinting in her desire to escape the possessed man following her. She spared a glance over her shoulder, forgetting that it was damn-near pitch black, with the cloudy sky allowing minimal moonlight to shine through the frozen branches. The only bit of luck Skye managed to find was that there wasn't much snow on the ground here, so she could run a helluva lot faster.
Catching onto her scent again, the man picked up his speed, quickly getting closer to Skye. He started to reach out a gnarled hand towards her, as if willing her to fall. She did.
A ridiculously large tree root seemed to have come up out of nowhere, Skye's boot getting stuck underneath it, and her body twisting in mid-step to collide with the frozen ground. She cried out as she felt her ankle give out, an audible crack coming from her lower leg.
'Just like a fucking movie scene,' she thought as she tried to pull her leg out of root, shaking in pain as she yanked forcefully on it. 'The deranged psychopathic killer chasing the almost-helpless victim through the woods, waiting for her to fall so he could rape or murder her. Delightful.'
The man slowed to a creeping walk, twisting his head left and right, staring at Skye. The action reminded Skye of a hawk watching a field mouse before the attack, or a cat waiting to pounce. She trembled.
"Pretty, so pretty. Pretty, pretty." He kept mumbling, fingers starting to twitch, a nasty grin sliding over his face. He stopped within fifteen feet of Skye, just watching as she fought to get free. "Pretty, pretty little bird. Did you fall from the sky, little birdy? Such a pretty, pretty bird…" He said, his voice rough as though he hadn't spoken for years.
She gave up. It was no use to try and pull a broken leg out of a tree root. She resigned herself to a possible death, grabbing the knife off the ground next to her. Hiding it near the ground, she waited as the man slunk closer, reaching his dirty, grubby hand towards her, stroking her hair tenderly. She whimpered quietly, shutting her eyes. His breath made her want to retch, but she held it in, using it to fuel her desire to get away.
A chuckle of sorts made its way out of the throat of the man, Skye whimpering harder, squirming in her spot under his hand. His other hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. Her green eyes opened against their will, staring back into the bloodshot grey eyes of the man. She noticed his clothes were covered in dirt stains, ripped in many places, and he no shoes on. His dirty black hair framed his face, which looked as if it was half-rotted away. The skin was grey and withered, pulling away from the eyes, his lips shriveled enough to show his bottom teeth clearly.
"No, no, no, no." She whispered, trying to pull her head back out of his grasp. He kept a firm hold on her.
"So pretty, pretty." He said again, leaning down to smell her hair, inhaling her scent. She cried out in fear. "Pretty little birdy doesn't sing anymore. Little birdy can't sing if little birdy is dead. Pretty, so pretty little birdy." He grunted again.
Willing her heart to stop beating so uncontrollably, Skye re-gripped her knife hilt, shoving the blade through the arm holding her face. The man yanked his arm back, pulling on her hair harder. She cried out again, reaching up to attack the other arm. He released her with a yell, eyes filled with rage.
Skye held the knife in front of her threateningly. The man lurched forward, accidentally providing a shot to the neck. The young Winchester buried the knife to the hilt in his throat, the blade sticking out a little bit on the back side of his neck. He fell backwards, twitching. Finally he stopped moving, and Skye still hadn't moved, waiting to see if he was dead.
When he hadn't moved a muscle in a few minutes, Skye tried to get her leg out of the root. She bit her lower lip to stop from crying out. She could taste the irony blood from her lip, squeezing her eyes shut as a wave of pain washed over her again.
After just lying on the cold ground for a few minutes, Skye decided to try and roll herself back over the tree root and slide her leg out backwards. It took a few tries, but she managed to get herself on her back, taking a deep breath before pulling her useless leg free. Standing was awkward, but doable, and limping severely back to the truck was a struggle. As she hobbled past the man, she yanked the knife blade from his throat, wiping the gunk on his dirty clothing.
It seemed to take forever before she reached the edge of the parking lot, her truck still sitting in the parking lot waiting for her. She choked down a sob as she kept making her way to the truck. She climbed in the passenger side, closing the door behind her, and slid her way back to her seat, her left leg reaching the pedals. She just let her right leg hang off to the side, out of the way.
Turning the key again, which she had thankfully left in the ignition, the truck finally managed to sputter to life. "Yes! Thank god…" She leaned her head back down on the steering wheel, using her right hand to put the truck in reverse, then drive as she began the slow journey back home to figure out what to do with her leg.
It was a little after 4 a.m. when Skye finally got the truck into the driveway. The kitchen light in the house was on, and Dean's Impala was close to the porch. 'Why the hell are they here? Sam said they were leaving…right?' She shrugged it off.
Skye didn't know how to go about getting out of the truck, so she opted instead to honk the horn, hoping that they were still awake. She could hear Jack barking from the house, and a relieved smile crossed her face.
Dean was still sitting in the kitchen when Jack started barking at a car horn. Setting down his cup of coffee, the oldest Winchester stood and looked out the kitchen window to see Skye's truck. He waited for her to get out, but she wasn't. Confusion swept across Dean's features, and he slipped on his boots to go see what was wrong.
Jack slipped through the door before Dean could, racing to the door of the truck. Dean jogged after him, slowing to a walk as he opened Skye's door. He could see that her face was dirty and tear-streaked, her hair messy, with what looked like a twig tangled in it.
"Skye? What happened?" He asked, concerned, his eyes taking in her form with practiced ease, looking for any injuries. He frowned when he spotted her leg. "Skye?"
She turned her head, looking at him for the first time since she pulled in. "You're here…why?" She whispered, eyes filling with tears again. "You…you left?"
Dean shook his head quickly. "We were going to, but we found something that we wanted to check into first. Are you okay?" He gently touched her arm, and she sank into his hand, head lolling forward to rest against her chest.
"I fell."
Carefully, Dean pulled the girl from the truck cab, noticing just how badly her leg was twisted at the ankle. He used his hip to shut the door, carrying her in his arms to the house and setting her down on the couch in the living room. "Skye, open your eyes. I need you to look at me, kiddo." Her green eyes fluttered open, gazing into the identical eyes of her father. "There ya go. What happened?"
Skye took a deep breath, trying to relax a little bit. "I closed down the bar, locked up, went to my truck and it wouldn't start. So I sat there, and I forgot my phone so I couldn't call anyone. This guy came from nowhere and scared the hell out of me. I took off for the woods and he chased me. I fell, twisted my leg in a tree root, and he caught up to me. Kept saying I was pretty, a pretty little bird who couldn't sing. He smelled my hair, and then I stabbed at his arms to let him release me. I shoved my knife into his throat, got my leg free, and made it back to the truck. Got here." She shivered, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch to cover herself in.
Dean nodded. "Alight, well let's get your leg taken care of first, then we can figure out what was chasing you." He placed a hand on top of her head before getting up and jogging to the kitchen to grab his phone.
He flipped open the phone and dialed Sam's number, waiting for him to pick up. "Hey, I need your help at Skye's house." Dean said before Sam could get a word in.
Sam sighed. "What happened?" He asked tiredly, and Dean could tell he was rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"Skye was chased by a crazy man through the woods after work, fell and I think she broke her leg or her ankle. I can't tell and I need your help with what to do? Can you get a cab over here, or should I come get you quick?" Dean peeked around the corner, seeing the top of Skye's head from over the top of the couch.
"Uh, yeah, I'll need a ride to get there. Don't exactly have enough for a cab. Will she be okay alone?" Dean's brother asked, crawling out of bed to grab some clothes after a quick shower. He would be dressed before Dean could pick him up.
"Thanks, Sam." Dean closed his phone, rubbing at his eyes. He returned to the living room to find Jack sitting by Skye's head, watching her as she slept. Dean scratched Jack's head before gently shaking Skye awake.
She slowly opened her eyes, one at a time, looking sleepily at Dean. "What?"
He smiled a little bit. "I'm going to go pick up Sam from the motel, but I need to make sure you don't have a concussion okay?" She nodded. "What's your full name?"
"Skye Grace Winchester."
"Birthday?"
"October 31st, 1994."
"Parents?"
"Dean Winchester and Heather Christianson."
"What's today's date?"
"It's Saturday. No, Sunday morning. The…15th of December?"
"What kind of car do I drive?"
"1967 Chevy Impala. Am I done now? Did I pass?" She grumbled, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Dean patted her head gently again, rising to his feet and heading to the car.
"I'll be back soon, Skye." Dean said as he closed the door behind him. The Impala rumbled to life, headlights illuminating the yard and pastures. He took off for the road, gravel flying.
In his haste to get Sam and return to Skye, Dean's practiced eyes missed the pale, dirty figure slowly creeping out of the woods across the yard, opposite the barn.
The figure stopped, sniffing. "Pretty, pretty little birdy can't fly anymore." It whispered, watching the house with interest before resuming its slow creeping pace.
