Hello my beautiful SPN family! I hope you all are well this glorious Friday morning!
This is a story requested by the fabulous angieggjb. I hope you like it, sweetheart! A very special thanks to all of you who read, favorite, follow, and review. Guys- you make my heart sing every time I get an email from FanFiction. Just to know that you all care as much about Natalie as I do- and you're interested in her story- if you're a writer, then you know what it feels like. If you're not, it's one of the best feelings in the entire world. I can't even do it justice with words. So please know how special each and every one of you is to me.
Biggest thanks in the world to Jenmm31. She's been my cheerleader since Day 1, and is the only reason that Natalie's around for you all to read. Otherwise, she would have stayed in my head. Jen- I am forever grateful for you and your friendship. If you haven't already checked out her wonderful stories- GO DO IT.
Alright- enough from me! Please read, review, but above all- ENJOY!
A/N- in this story, Natalie is 9. Please see profile page for disclaimer.
"Would you get the lead out already?" Dean barked at Sam. Sam just rolled his eyes in response, and continued loading the two sawed-offs. They had found a pretty open and shut case- well, on the surface, it seemed like an open and shut case. A vengeful spirit had been targeting a family's home in eastern Minnesota. When they had read the account in the papers, the three Winchesters had booked it to the location, driving overnight to find the house. When they had gotten there, they immediately went into work mode- eager to put this one to bed. This case reminded Dean too much of the poltergeist that had taken over their childhood home back in Lawrence Kansas, and he wanted to get it taken care of quickly, so this family could get back to normal. So that they could have a chance at being something that he and Sam never were- a normal family.
They had stopped at the motel just long enough to change into their official FBI suits and were back on the road, heading towards the suburbs. Since the family had three young kids- all younger than Natalie- they took her with them as an impromptu babysitter, should the situation need it. When they showed up as "FBI", they used the old standby of "Take Your Kid to Work Day" to explain Natalie's presence which, technically, was true. And- not for the first time on a case- they were grateful that Natalie was there. The kids were a handful; having been cooped up in the house by a frightened mother. While Sam and Dean interrogated the mom, Natalie had watched and played with the five year old and the twin toddlers, both of whose noses were running just as much as their little legs were. As they were trying to conduct the interview, Dean could hear the pounding footsteps over head as Natalie chased after the kids. He wryly thought to himself, the kid's finally getting a taste of her own medicine. He had lost track of the number of times that Bobby yelled at her to quit running in the house, not to mention the times he'd had to chase after her during the Toddler Years.
Natalie had always had an overabundance of energy, and it certainly came in handy now. The five year old wanted to play hide and seek, while the toddlers seemed bent on climbing anything and everything they could reach. Just when Natalie would go to try to find the one kid who was hiding, she'd turn around and have to pull one of the babies from off the bookshelf, off the toy box, off of each other, only to completely lose track of where the older child was hiding. She also spent a considerable amount of time wiping their runny noses, and trying to use Lysol for whatever they touched, to keep the older kid from getting sick. She found her head spinning, and she wondered if she was this much trouble when she was younger.
When the interview was over, and the boys were ready to head back to the motel to start their research, they had collected Natalie, who was looking like she'd just run a marathon trying to keep up with three kids. Upon arrival at the motel, Sam and Dean immediately headed for their laptops, having talked through a game plan in the car on their way back. Natalie had plopped down on the sofa- her bed of choice- and had cracked open her math book. She knew she had to finish her homework before they would allow her to help do any research on the case, so she was diligently plowing her way through long division and word problems. Sam and Dean had quietly talked about what they had found, trying to keep it down so she could focus as well. She loved doing research on cases, and they were usually grateful to have an extra set of eyes on whatever it was they were tracking. But this time, once she finished her math, Natalie had quietly walked over to the two of them, working at the small table in the center of the room.
"Hey," she said, causing both Sam and Dean to look up. Her voice was quieter than normal. "You guys need any help?"
"No, Bug, I think we're good," Sam said, smiling at her. "We found the guy who died in that house."
"We were even able to find out where the bastard is buried. Check it out," Dean said proudly, turning the laptop towards her so she could see. She squinted and looked at the webpage. She smiled, but not her usual breathtaking million watt smile.
"That's great," she said quietly. "Do you mind if I watch some TV? I'll keep the volume low."
"Sure, squirt," Dean said, surprised by the fact that she didn't ask any questions. She nodded her thanks, and turned away, walking back to the couch. Dean's eyes lingered on her. It wasn't like her to just avoid details on a case, and she usually was begging to come. Those kids today must have really worn her out, he thought to himself. Sam had thrown together a couple sandwiches for dinner, which they all ate quickly, chewing while they made their game plan. Once dinner was over, they were about to head out to salt and burn the bones.
As Sam was loading the sawed-offs, Dean gave another quick glance at his kid, who was watching cartoons at a low level, curled up in the fetal position on the couch. "You gonna make it to bedtime, lazy?" he asked her jokingly.
"Course I will," she answered back gruffly, but didn't move. Dean's brow wrinkled in confusion again. She had been quiet all through dinner too, going right back to the couch and TV once it was over. He shrugged it off. The nagging feeling of worry was dumb. If something was wrong with Natalie, she'd tell him. He turned back to Sam, annoyed at the length of time it was taking.
"Geez, Sam, what are you waiting for- the Rapture? Get a move on!" Dean threw at his little brother. He looked out of the motel room window. The sun had set a couple hours ago. He was eager to get this salt and burn done so he could get back here. Nine years later, and he still hated every moment he was away from his daughter. He impatiently relaced his boots while Sam loaded the last shells. Finally, Sam stood upright, indicating that he was ready to go. "About damn time," Dean growled. Sam just shot Dean his patented Bitch Face. He crossed over to the sofa, where Natalie was still staring at the TV, her eyes glazed over in the flickering blue light.
"Hey Bug, we're heading out. Behave," he said with a gentle smile. Her lips pulled up in response, but other than that, she didn't move. Now it was Sam's turn to look at her quizzically. When she didn't give any more response than that, he said, "Alright then. See ya." He reached out a hand to tousle her hair. But once his hand touched her head, he froze. "Whoa," he said quietly after a moment.
Dean heard his brother's exclamation, and his head whipped around. "What?" he said.
Sam just moved his hand from the top of Natalie's head to her forehead. He held it there for a moment, and she didn't jerk away like usual. Dean didn't like what this indicated. "What?!" he said again, this time a little more insistently. Sam turned to Dean, a worried look in his eyes.
"Dude, she's burning up," he said quietly. Dean abandoned the bag of shovels and salt, and quickly walked around to the front of the couch to look his daughter full in the face.
"Are you sick?" he asked bluntly.
"No," came the knee jerk response.
"Yeah- tell that to your fever, " Sam said dismissively. He took his hand off her forehead, and walked into the bathroom, looking for the thermometer that he insisted on keeping on hand for occasions like this. Dean had scoffed at him when he had said he wanted to buy one, proclaiming that the Winchesters never got sick. Sam had purchased the damn thing anyways. Dean couldn't help but notice the smug look on Sam's face now when he pulled out the thermometer. Dean deliberately looked away, not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction of knowing that he was right. Sam walked around to the front of the couch as well, and knelt down in front of his niece. He held the thermometer out to her.
"Open up."
"I'm not sick."
"Natalie."
"Uncle Sam, I'm fine.
"You heard your uncle."
With a sigh, Natalie reluctantly opened her mouth. Sam slipped the thermometer in. "You gotta keep it under your tongue till the timer beeps, okay?" Natalie rolled her eyes in response, but adjusted the thermometer so it was under her tongue. After a moment, the timer beeped, and Sam withdrew it. He held it up so he could see the read-out. "101.2. Yeah. You're not sick," he said lightly, but it was masking his fear. Natalie had had a couple fevers growing up, but never one this high before. He took the thermometer to the bathroom to disinfect it, while Dean leaned down, reaching out a hand to his kid.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick, kiddo?" he asked gently, feeling her burning forehead for himself.
"Because I'm not sick," she answered stoically. Dean just rolled his eyes. Once again, her stubbornness was rearing its head at the worst possible moment.
He shook his head. "You can drop the tough guy act- it ain't workin'," he said, a tone of teasing in his voice.
"I just need to rest for a bit. I'm a little tired, that's all." Upon hearing that, Dean's eyebrows shot into his hairline. For Natalie to admit that she was tired, even just a little- she was sicker than she was letting on. She must have caught something from one of those snot-nosed little toddlers she was chasing around this afternoon. Dean felt a pang of guilt- if he hadn't taken her, she wouldn't have gotten sick. Just then, Sam walked back into the room.
"So I just checked our med supplies- we don't have anything on hand for cold and flu symptoms. I'm going to run out to the store and grab her a couple things," he said quietly to Dean. Natalie heard him and piped up.
"You don't need to spend any money on stuff. I'm fi-" She was cut off by a wave of her own coughing. Sam and Dean just exchanged knowing looks, and Sam left without another word, grabbing the Impala keys and heading out the door. Natalie tried to call out after him, but every time she opened her mouth, she would start coughing again.
Dean tried to mask how worried he was. He'd never heard her cough like this, rendering her unable to speak. However, it wasn't unusual that he freaked out at any small possible medical issue when it came to his daughter. When she sneezed for the first time as a baby, Sam practically had to sedate Dean to calm him down. Since then, he tried to keep a level head, but this was the first time she was genuinely sick that he could remember. He felt out of his league. "Hey- stop that," Dean said, again, jokingly to her, trying to use humor to alleviate the pressure he felt.
"Believe me, I'd love to," she finally managed to wheeze out, clearly still having trouble speaking. Dean crossed to the kitchenette and grabbed a glass of water for her. He brought it back, and pushed it into her hands.
"Drink up."
"I don't want it."
"Not an option. Drink."
She drank the whole glass down in one shot, then put it down on the ground in front of the sofa.
"Do you wanna move into one of the beds?" Dean asked, feeling at a loss as to what to do to help her.
"No. I'm not sick."
"Of course you're not. You want some more water?"
"No, thank you."
Well, that was the end of his playbook. Dean watched helplessly as his kid curled in on herself even tighter. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but for some bizarre reason, he was afraid that might make her worse- make her agitated or something. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then finally sat himself down on the other end of the couch. He grabbed her blanket, but hesitated at putting it on her, suddenly afraid that the heat would make her fever go higher. He sat, feeling stupid and useless, as his child burned with fever next to him.
After the longest fifteen minutes of his life, he finally heard Sam pull up outside the door to the motel room. He bolted off the couch and threw the door open. Sam had just barely gotten out of the car. Dean wondered how in the world Sam knew what to get at the drug store. He tried to remember a time that Sam had ever been sick. The only thing that came to mind was when Sam had been three, and had gotten a cold. John had stayed with them, nursing Sam back to health, and keeping Dean at a distance so he wouldn't catch the bug. After that, Dean couldn't remember any other colds or flus. And he never got sick himself. How did Sam know what to do?
"Well? What did you get her?" Dean barked, his nerves getting the better of him. Sam, however, was all too used to Dean's occasional freak-outs when it came to Natalie. He brushed past his brother, his arms laden with Walgreens bags. Dean followed at his heels. "Did you get something for cough? Because she's been coughing too," said the over anxious father. Sam dropped the bags on the table, and walked into the kitchen to get a spoon and another glass of water. Dean immediately starting fishing through the bags to see what Sam had purchased. When Sam came back, he smacked Dean's hands away from the supplies like a naughty kid. Dean reared back in surprise, but Sam was all business. He grabbed a box of tissues and the liquid cold and flu medicine. He walked back over to his niece, who was still curled up on the sofa, not moving. He put the tissue box on the floor in front of her, where she could easily grab it if needed. He opened the medicine, and poured out a spoon full. He held it up to her lips and waited.
Natalie saw the reddish medicine and recoiled in disgust. She pinched her lips together and refused to make eye contact with Sam. Sam just gave her a bitch face that she could actually feel, since she was avidly avoiding his gaze.
"Natalie," he said gently but firmly.
Through barely parted lips she said, "Don't need it."
"Open up, right now." Sam very rarely got stern with her, and when he did, it was enough for her to sit up and take notice. She couldn't quite keep herself from giving him the overdramatic eye roll as she opened her mouth. Sam tipped the spoon full of medicine onto her tongue, and quickly handed her the glass just as her eyes went wide and started to water.
"Swallow the medicine, then drink the water," Sam instructed firmly. Natalie quickly obeyed, then gulped the glass of water like she was dying of thirst. After she polished off the entire glass, she glared at Sam.
"That was repulsive. I was going to spit it out," she growled at him.
"Yeah, I know you were," Sam said with a patronizing chuckle. She just continued to glare at him, until it became too exhausting for her to do that. She collapsed back onto the sofa with a little cough, but not one nearly as hacking as the one she had given before. Sam reached out and smoothed her hair back from her face.
Meanwhile, Dean was still standing at the kitchen table, feeling helpless. Sam was doing what he should have been doing, but he didn't know how to do it. He was an intelligent man, but even he was doubtful he could have gotten that spoonful of medicine into his kid without threatening her with punishment. He felt- ashamed. Ashamed that he was helpless. He was supposed to be the father, the one who took care of his child, and all he could do was stand there and look stupid. His despairing eyes watched as Sam stood up, dropped the spoon in the sink, and went for a dishrag, soaking it in cool water. Dean stepped forward awkwardly.
"Hey," he said in a voice that sounded a lot more reassured than he felt. "What can I do?"
Sam just shook his head, oblivious to the torment his brother was in. "Nothing. I got this," Sam said reassuringly. Dean just nodded his head once, shifting his weight awkwardly. He watched as Sam gently wiped down Natalie's face with the cool rag. At first, she jerked away, but then when the relief of the coolness hit her, she stopped avoiding it, relaxing with a whimper. That made Dean's heart twist in his chest. He hadn't heard that sound from her since she was a little thing, trying to get out of taking a nap, or trying to be brave when she'd gotten hurt. He knew she was trying to be brave now- that she was really feeling like crap. His hands stretched out in front of him almost as an automatic reflex, but then he dropped them impotently. Sam had this. He wasn't needed.
After a moment, when Natalie was finally settled back down watching TV, Sam walked over to Dean, the damp dishtowel still in his hand. Sam seemed surprised to see the blank look on Dean's face. "You okay?" he asked gently, not sure what was going on with his brother. Dean nodded his head once, then threw on his typical "everything's peachy" grin.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," Dean said dismissively. "How did you know that she was going to have a hard time swallowing the medicine?" He tried to ask casually, but he really wanted to know. The fact that Sam may have picked up on some silent signal from Natalie that he missed was devastating to him. What wasn't he seeing? When did he miss it?
To his surprise, Sam chuckled. "Well, that's easy," he said, unknowingly making Dean feel even more like a worthless waste of space. But the next thing he said surprised the living hell out of him. "It's because she's exactly like you."
Dean started back, shocked. "What- what do you mean?"
"Do you remember that winter when you were sixteen, and you got the flu?"
"No. I never get sick."
Sam smiled at the irony of his statement. "Well, that winter, you did. You got the flu, really bad. And you hid it from me until you could barely walk. It was only when Dad called to check up on us, and I told him that you were sick, that he finally forced you to take some cough syrup." Sam chuckled to himself. At the time, he himself had been a scared twelve year old kid who had never seen his big, tough brother reduced to a feverish pile of person on a motel couch. That image had made enough of an impression on him to last a lifetime. Sam remembered every scary detail about that time. "You nearly gagged when you finally downed the meds. It was a good thing I got you water, otherwise you probably would have spewed Robitussin all over the room."
Dean had a vague glimmer of recognition in his eyes at hearing the story, but he still looked defensive. "Well, can you blame me? That crap's nasty."
"Well, that's how I knew she was going to react the same way. You two are carbon copies of each other."
Dean took a moment. Sam's words touched him to his very core, but he wasn't going to show that. Trying to keep his voice casual still, he said, "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. The way you two talk in tandem, the way she acts just like you- it's like both your brains are on the exact same wavelength."
Dean's heart, which had previously been twisting and drying into a prune inside of him, suddenly expanded. Sam didn't say stuff like that lightly. He also knew that Sam was more intuitive than just about anyone he knew. So if Sam saw it, and Sam said it... then it must be true.
Oblivious to this relieving revelation that his brother was having, Sam dropped his voice and leaned into him a bit. "We really need to get her to sleep. That's the only way she's going to get better-by resting."
"Well, it's a good chance she's going to be sick for a while, then," Dean muttered back. Trying to get Natalie to sleep was a struggle since the first moment she had made her grand appearance in this world. He quietly walked over to her. She still had the glazed over look in her eyes, but Dean could also see the exhaustion and uncomfortableness there too. He knew her face so well that he could tell what she was feeling, just by looking at it. He had, up until this moment, taken that for granted. It was so much a part of him, so engrained in him to be so in tune with her that he had never taken a moment to appreciate just what that connection meant. And in this moment, it meant everything to him. This he could do. He could finally help.
He sat down on the other end of the couch, and turned his head towards her. "Hey," he said in his gruff but gentle manner. She turned her head slightly to look at him. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?" he asked, trying to be casual. "You'll feel better if you do."
"I don't need sleep."
"Of course you don't. C'mere." He held out his arms to her, beckoning her with his hands. She looked at him. Dean could see the conflicting desires rolling through her mind. On the one hand, if she were to get closer to him and let him comfort her, she was admitting that she actually was sick, and that went against every fiber of her being. On the other hand, she really WAS sick, and the part of her that hadn't quite gotten too old for it yet really wanted her Daddy right now. She finally gave in with a sigh, and sat up. Dean leaned over, took her shoulders, and gently guided her fevered head onto his lap. He was still afraid of making her uncomfortable, with her hot head pressed against his denim clad thigh, but the second she put her head down on his lap, all her muscles seemed to relax.
Suddenly, Dean remembered her doing this as a baby. His touch could soothe her and calm her down. Gingerly, almost experimentally, he stroked her hair with his finger tips. She let out a relieved sigh, and her body went limp. Dean's heart twisted, finally catching on to how bad she really felt. Poor kid. Well, he finally knew what to do to help her. He began stroking her hair and forehead with one hand, while rubbing soothing circles on her back with the other. Just like it used to do when she was little, his touch was relaxing to her. A touchstone letting her know she was safe and loved. Within five minutes, she was fast asleep, a genuine smile on her face for the first time all day.
Dean kept running his fingers through her hair, just taking the time to appreciate this moment. In their lives, they had so few glimpses of genuine peace that, once you found one, you needed to hold on tight to it. And he wasn't going to let this one go, ever.
About half an hour later, while getting ready to go salt and burn the grave solo, Sam looked over to find his brother passed out on the couch, his hand still protectively covering his daughter's head. They both were so deeply asleep that they didn't even stir when Sam chuckled.
"Carbon copies," he whispered to himself, quietly shutting the door behind him.
