Sorry, guys! I've had this uploaded for DAYS, but with graduation and closing nights, I've had no life. Anyway. This one is a little longer than most of my other chapters. A glimpse of a 'hunt' from Lily's POV. Thanks to twilightgirl00000001 for a great idea. See? I really DO use your reviews. Keep it up! Thanks for reading.
No Winchesters for me. =/
Peace!
3 CA
From the outside, the Harvelle's Roadhouse looked like any other, run-of-the-mill, middle-of-nowhere pubs. Ragged and worn down, it was the kind of place you only went if you knew someone…or you were desperate.
Sam, Dean, and Lily were both.
They straggled in a little after two AM, Lily and Dean rubbing sleep from their eyes, and Sam looking more than ready to collapse. There was a woman behind the bar, drying a few glass mugs.
"We're closed. Come back tomorrow," she said briefly, her tone at once commanding and amiable. She woman looked to be in her early forties, and had the kind of expression that made Lily cringe from even the thought of disobeying her. But of course, Dean had other ideas.
"We're looking for a woman named Ellen," he said, gesturing for Sam to take a seat. Sam complied; Lily stayed with him.
"Know anyone by that name?" Dean continued, squinting around the dimly lit area. "She'd be around here, often, I guess. This is the address our dad gave us." He paused suddenly, swallowed hard. "Family friend, see. I—"
"Dean?" she woman suddenly said, setting the glass down. "Dean Winchester? And Sammy?"
Dean frowned and looked back around at his siblings before turning to face the woman, his glance both confused and apprehensive. "Who are you?"
"I'm Ellen. Ellen Harvelle. And you're John Winchester's boys." She glanced over Dean's shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "Which means you must be Lily." The woman whistled and shook her head, putting a hand on her hip. "You sure do look a hell of a lot like your mama."
Lily blushed and was about to respond when Dean spoke up. "So, you sent us the message to be here, then? That Ellen?"
Ellen nodded. "One 'n' only. Though I sent that message to your daddy. He outside? Still got that damn Impala?"
The Winchester's didn't answer, but the same haunted looks must have passed over all their faces, because Ellen's smile disappeared.
"Your daddy's not here, is he?" she asked cautiously, though looking at her face, Lily could tell the woman already knew the answer. When none of the Winchester's spoke, Ellen continued, "Where is he? 's he alright?"
Neither Sam nor Dean showed any signs of answering, so Lily said, "We burned him four days ago."
Ellen nodded sadly. "Well, I'm real sorry for your loss. I called him—you—because I gotta job here I can't quite figure out. But if you boys are busy…"
"We'll take it," Sam said quickly. Neither he nor Lily missed the look Dean shot at his younger brother. Both, however, ignored it.
Ellen nodded again and set the glass she'd been drying behind the bar. "Well, c'mon, then. I gotta coupla people you kids oughtta meet." She turned to head into the back room. "Lily? You come, too."
Lily nodded obediently. She wouldn't let her brothers go anywhere without her, of course, but this Ellen woman obviously didn't understand the Winchester dynamic. Lily didn't hunt. Lily waited.
Somewhere in Nevada. Nine years ago.
They should have been back two days ago.
At ten years old, Lily hated a lot of things. She hated homework. She hated going to bed early, and waking up for school even earlier. She hated it when her brothers, fourteen and eighteen, teased her, or ignored her, or went to their school and left her behind. But all these things paled in comparison to waiting for them to come back.
Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. It was the same thing every time: John, Dean, and Sam Winchester would leave on car business—only now she was old enough, had been for a year, to know the truth. They'd leave to go on a hunt, once she had helped gather enough evidence. Her birthday present on her tenth birthday had been an old computer. Most ten-year-old girls would have flipped. Lily had to wait until her father was gone to cry. She knew what the computer was for, and she hated it.
But, then, like now, she hadn't said a word. Then, like now, she'd obediently looked up whatever Daddy asked. This time, it was a wendigo. The thing hid in the trees and killed and ate people. It had claws and teeth and was dangerous in the day, when Daddy was at his best. But at night…
She'd begged them not to go. She'd done her work—she knew it had killed twelve hikers in the last ten years, six of them in the last month. And no, the hikers didn't know what her daddy did. But the thing had been human once. It knew anger. It knew vengeance. If it knew Daddy and Dean and Sammy were hunting it…
Lily's breath hitched again, and she scowled. "Stop it," she told herself fiercely. "Stop it, Lily. Get over it. Daddy hates it when you cry, and you're not even the one doing the hard work."
Because it wasn't hard. She convinced herself of that every time her father and brother's—her invincible heroes—limped through the front door of whatever hole-in-the-wall motel they chose to grace with their presence. She wasn't the one icing a broken nose, she thought as she forced Sammy to lie back with a bag of ice pressed to his face. She wasn't the one who'd caught a claw in the stomach, she reminded herself as she stitched together Dean's side, trying hard not to blur her vision with tears every time he flinched. She wasn't the one who'd broken a hand, she whispered internally, snipping the end of the bandage she'd wrapped around John's fingers. Her anxiety was selfish, and it only got in the way. She ought to be grateful she didn't have to go through what they did, and she was foolish to want to take it on herself in their place. Of this, she was certain. Mostly certain.
All she had to do was sit and wait. All she had to do was have the beds ready, the sheets cleaned, the first aid kit full, the kitchen stocked. At ten years old, it wasn't too much to ask. Even if she did hate waiting.
She was about to tell herself again how waiting was the worst part, when the door slammed open, and she was forced to reconsider as John's voice, husky with exhaustion and pain, cried out, "Lily! Hurry!"
Lily's tears evaporated the second her feet hit the floor. 'I missed you, too, Daddy.'
xxxx
To her credit, Lily didn't panic at first. Somehow, someone who was not Lily—Lily wasn't really there; if anything, Lily was watching the whole thing happen to someone else, where another little girl who looked just like her was facilitating the action—knew what to do. This Lily grabbed all of Sammy's gear and helped John walk him to the bed, where he collapsed, half conscious. This Lily pulled up a chair for her father, then guided Dean—who was awake, but confused, and kept saying the same thing over and over—to the other bed.
It wasn't until that Lily looked around at her family—her younger brother who lay still and barely conscious on one bed, her older brother babbling incoherently opposite him. And then their father, who was supposed to protect and care for them all—not Lily—slumping in his chair, already half-conscious, and bleeding through the leg of his pants. It was then ten-year-old Lily returned with a whimper.
"Daddy…" she said quietly, feeling her breath hitch. Suddenly, she got that breathing-through-a-throat-full-of-cotton feeling. She took smaller, shallower breaths to compensate, but it didn't help. Her head felt too heavy, and she tottered. She was going to pass out.
'Please, no,' she thought desperately. 'Not now. They'll die.'
The thought only made her feel as if someone was smothering her, and she was nearly on her knees, before John barked out in the same wounded voice, "Lily! C'mon, baby, stay with me. You can do this, you hear me? Think…" His voice faltered. Lily knew he was in pain, and flinched. "Think what I told you. Calm down. Breathe. Think."
Lily closed her eyes, trying to right her breathing. There was no one around to play the color game with her now. Dean was out of it, Sammy was unconscious, and it looked like Daddy was headed that way, too. She'd have to fix this herself.
Opening her eyes, half focusing on her breathing, the other on what she knew of emergency medical care, she staggered toward her fist aid kit, ready and open on the floor.
Step one: Stop the bleeding.
Lily had assessed the other Winchesters as they'd come in. It was something she did now without thinking, even if it was only the boys returning from school, or waiting outside to pick her up. Only a year, and the action was inbred: she'd give both her brothers, and her father, if he was around, a good once over before greeting them. In any case, from what she'd seen, that meant treating Daddy first, which, though she'd never say it out loud, was a relief. Maybe it was because he never cried, or because he could always tell her what to do if he forgot, but somehow, treating him was less terrifying than her brothers.
As it turned out, he only had a bad twisted ankle and a calf that required some stitching. Lily found her hands surprisingly still as she cleaned away the dirt and blood and sewed her father closed. By the time she'd finished and helped him to the couch, the pain meds had taken effect. He was out cold—she was on her own now.
Step two: Assess any head injuries.
She looked at Dean, who was sitting, looking listless. He still appeared to be mumbling under his breath, but she couldn't hear him. For a moment, she felt her breathing catch, and thought she'd lose control again. Then she remembered her dad's voice, his military tone, walked dutifully forward.
"Dean?" she squeaked, clearing her throat before trying again. "Dean." She laid a hand on his knee to get his attention.
He seemed surprised to see her there. "Lil?"
She almost cried, she was so relieved. "Hey, Dean," she said gently, knowing if he was concussed, as she expected, he was likely confused as well. "Are you okay? Do you remember what happened? Does your head or neck hurt?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then said, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"
Lily closed her eyes, struggled once more not to burst into tears. "Not right now, Dean. It's nighttime. I…I'll go to school tomorrow." It was a lie. "Right now, I'm gonna see if you hit your head, okay?"
She carefully crawled up onto the bed next to him and reached one small hand around the back of his head. He was talking to himself again; she couldn't understand what he was saying, but he caught '…gotta tell Sammy…' and, '…Dad's shotgun…' But he couldn't—didn't try to, really—hide the wince when Lily's fingers grazed the lump at his hairline.
She had the bag of ice, wrapped in a stolen dishtowel, ready.
"Dean, listen," she said, her voice hoarse with worry. "I need to check on Sammy, okay? You hit your head. You need to keep this ice on it, and when I come back, I'll bring some medicine, okay? It'll stop hurting." When he didn't answer, she pressed the bag of ice into his hand, and put his hand to his forehead. "Please, Dean. Just hold it there for a minute. I'll right back, I promise."
Dean stared at her. "Lil? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"
Lily turned away before the tears could come."I'll be back, Dean."
Step three: Tend to those who have lost consciousness.
Sammy was last, and though he had come in just barely awake, the few minutes on the bed seemed to have revive him some. Lily was selfishly glad for it.
"Sammy?"
He looked at her through half lidded eyes and smiled. He looked too pale.
"Hey, Lil. I'm alright. Just heat exhaustion."
Lily nodded, swallowing hard. She trusted Sam, and was glad he was awake enough to at least talk to her. Sometimes, when he was okay, he helped her with the medical stuff. But she was afraid he was playing down how he felt to keep her from panicking.
As if reading her thoughts, Sam continued. "Really, Lily. Just give me some ice water and a cold towel, and…help me get this shirt off, and I'll be fine. I promise."
Lily nodded again, feeling herself shrinking, coming to edge of a breakdown like she always did when Daddy and her brothers came home injured. But she complied, finding the largest water bottle she could in their father's pack and filling it to the brim with ice and water. This she brought back to Sam first, grabbing a hand and tugging him up when he couldn't sit by himself to drink. She watched him drink the first half, Adam's apple bobbing greedily, as he took is sips as small as he could manage.
Then, before he could lay down again, she forced him to drink the rest before refilling it. The heat exhaustion was likely due, at least in part, to dehydration, and Lily knew if she let that slide, she'd be responsible for a dreaded trip to the hospital.
While Sam was working on the second bottle, Lily went a got a towel from the tiny motel bathroom, threw it in the tub, and turned on the cold water, leaving it running for a moment while she came back and helped Sam with his shirt. It was then he noticed her hands shaking.
"Lily? You okay?"
She nodded, sniffed. 'No, please no. Wait until Sammy and Dean are asleep.' Her brothers hated to see her cry, too, though she thought it was for maybe a different reason. In any case, she knew from experience if they thought she was worried, they wouldn't get any rest. "Really, Sammy, I'm okay."
Sam shifted on his bed. He was looking a little better now that he'd cooled off some. "Here," he offered. "Sit down for a second."
Lily took a step back. "But Dean…and your towel…"
"We'll both be okay if you relax for a minute. You look awful. When's the last time you slept?" Lily on shrugged; Sam continued. "It's been two hours you've been working on us, you know."
Lily hadn't realized that, and didn't want to. Looking at the clock never helped. She always felt either exhausted or overwhelmed, and made everything worse.
"C'mon, Lil. Two minutes. Sit."
She shook her head. "I don't want to."
"Yes, you do," challenged Sam gently. He smiled. "C'mon, I don't have the energy to pull you up here, Lil. Come sit." His face changed, then, and Lily recognized it immediately. It was the same face he gave Dean or Daddy whenever he and Lily wanted to order pizza, or stay up late while the older Winchesters were gone on a hunt. Lily didn't know it yet, but that look would stay with Sam for years to come. "Please?"
Lily complied reluctantly. As soon as she was seated next to him, the tears started. Seconds later, she was gasping for breath.
Sam, anticipating this, put a hand on her back, rubbing in small, firm circles. "Breathe, Lil," he commanded gently. "You're alright. Just breathe. Put your head between your knees…Good girl. You're alright." Sam knew he could have said just about anything as long as he maintained the calm, reassuring tone of voice. Nothing sparked her to panic like her family in trouble, especially when she felt responsible. But these attacks were also the easiest to waylay. "I'm okay, see, Lily?" He waited until her breathing had calmed some, then turned her face to look at him. "See? Better already. And Daddy and Dean, too. You did good. Everyone is fine. Good as new tomorrow."
Lily, who looked doubtful, sniffed and ran her sleeve under her nose. "Promise?"
"Promise."
"Really promise?"
Sam smiled, and Lily saw he meant it, even through his pain and exhaustion. She had never been more fiercely glad for Sammy—the buffer between herself and everything her father stood for, than when he replied, "Really promise."
xxxx
When John Winchester woke the next day, sore, but in one piece, the first thing he did was to check on his kids. Dean woke with hardly a touch, likely still in hunting mode from the past few days.
He seemed dazed, but was quick to recall last night's events, and most of what had lead up to his knock on the head. "Dad? You okay?"
"Fine, son. You?"
Dean nodded slowly, wincing. John's hand found the lump at his hairline before Dean's did. "That'll hurt for another day or two," he said, expertly feeling around the wound with his fingers, "but the swelling's gone down."
Dean nodded again. "Yeah, I know. That's Lily for ya. Fuckin' genius of a ten year old."
John only chuckled as he half limped to where his two youngest had curled up in the second bed. The bed was still made—Sammy had fallen asleep warm, without the covers, then. Lily was curled into him, as close as she could be without touching him. The wet towel she'd laid over him, as well as the condensation from the melted bags of ice packed around his torso, had soaked into her shirt. Looking at her drawn face, he could tell she'd fallen asleep at the brink of exhaustion, and that just recently.
He sighed and pushed aside his thoughts for the moment before waking his younger son. "Sam? Sammy? Can you hear me, son?"
Sam came awake slower than Dean, though his eyes looked clearer. "'Mornin'," he mumbled groggily. "Everyone okay?"
John nodded. "Feeling alright? Weak? Dizzy?"
Sam shook his head. "Hungry," he admitted, and Dean laughed as Sam's stomach loudly agreed.
"Said the man-boy," taunted Dean as Sam scowled at him. "Figures."
Sam looked like he was about to argue, then reconsidered, remembering the yet-sleeping form beside him. "Dad, what about Lily? I think she just fell asleep about an hour ago."
Dean nodded. "She was with me all night," he said. "Woke me up every couple hours, 'n' everything." John didn't miss the pride in his son's voice. He smiled, despite himself.
"And she was still awake when I went to sleep around 5AM." They all turned in unison to study the flickering numbers of the cheap motel alarm clock—10:07 AM. It was late for a Winchester morning, but then they hadn't gotten in until around 2AM, and Lily had been working on them until just after 4. Knowing her, she hadn't slept before then, either, which meant the ten year old likely had less than an hour or so of sleep to her name in the past 36 hours.
John swallowed a guilty wince. Again. Like he was always doing when he stopped to considered what he was putting his kids through. "Let her sleep," he said. "We need to move. We're running late already. Sam, you help me pack the car. Dean, can you grab your sister?"
Lily, like her brother, came awake at his first touch, first groggy, then alert. She sat up quickly.
"Dean? I'm sorry, I forgot to wake you up! Are you okay? I didn't mean to, I fell asleep..."
Dean smiled, shook his head. "Lily, calm down. It's okay. I'm fine. Dad and Sam are just taking things out to the car. Everyone is fine. You did good."
Lily looked around, suspicious, before focusing back on Dean, crestfallen. "Okay," she said quietly, scooting to the edge of the bed. "I'll grab–"
"No, Lil. Did you sleep at all last night? We have a long drive. Go back to sleep. I'll carry you."
"I can walk."
"I'm sure you can. Go to sleep."
Lily looked torn between getting the sleep she so obviously needed, and making sure her concussed brother didn't overexert himself. "Are you sure everyone is okay?"
"Positive."
"Okay...well...I'll just stay here for a second. Come get me when everything is in the car, okay?"
Dean hid a smile and raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Lil."
He wasn't surprised when she was asleep again only a minute later.
Lily barely moved as Dean carried her out to the car, settling her into the back seat with a waiting Sam. She hardly stirred as the Impala rumbled to life beneath her, safely away from the motel which would now hold so many dark memories, just like every other motel in the last year. She didn't budge an inch. She didn't have to. The hard part was over. No more waiting for Lily, not now. The waiting was over, and now she could rest.
