The family cope in the aftermath of Chrissie's accident, John continues his punishment.
Silence had fallen as the small family returned from the hospital later that evening. The staff at the hospital wanted to keep the youngest member in over night for observation, yet John objected and discharged his daughter himself, regardless to the doctor's orders.
As John drove home, he glanced back and forth in the rear view mirror at his children, who were huddled together in the back seat. Chrissie, who was wrapped up in a soft green blanket, sat nestled into her eldest brother's side, her eyes almost vacant as she sucked her thumb. Throughout the journey John had been avoiding his eldest's gaze, probably unaware that his harsh actions and words triggered his son's breakdown. Then again, his son wouldn't dare broadcast that fact as it declared weakness.
As soon as the car arrived back at the cabin house, John turned off the ignition and glanced back at his younger son.
"Sammy, take your sister in beside you tonight," instructed John. "Make sure you settle her if she wakes during the night. It wouldn't surprise me if she suffers nightmares but just reassure her and she'll go back to sleep." He then added with a serious tone. "Don't let me down."
On his last statement, John shot his eldest a quick yet cruel glare. Sam noticed this, causing him concern and caution as he knew conflict was brewing between his father and brother.
The youth was nervous, this amount of responsibility was technically new to him. Sure he helped in looking after his sister but that job mainly belonged to his brother. The thirteen year old knew his father was blaming Dean for Chrissie's accident and was simply punishing him by placing Chrissie in someone else's care. Since the age of twelve, Dean had become his baby sister's whole world since the death of their mother. John was consumed by obsessive revenge and grief to even notice his young boys raising their six month old baby sister. It was like a punch in the gut to the older teenager.
"Yes, sir" replied Sam obediently even though he wanted to yell at him.
The brothers swapped an identical pained expression as their gaze went from each other to their little sister.
She let out a whimper as Sam began to ease her away from Dean, eyes watering as they searched for an explanation on why he wasn't fighting for her. The bewildered and frightened expression that was painted on her freckled face broke her brothers' hearts. It was like trying to remove a Koala Bear from an Eucalyptus tree, the child refused to let go. She continued to fight against her middle sibling who was prizing her away with success, timid squeaks and squeals signalled her upset. The five year old reached out for her hero in vain as she found herself moving further and further away from him, a realisation she didn't like at all.
Soon she was being held in Sam's wiry arms, the struggling continued. Sam turned away from his brother in an attempt to stop Chrissie battling with him, but it made it worse. The child persisted to reach out for her big brother, tiny hands grasping out for contact. Distraught, the little girl began to cry.
"Take you sister inside," commanded the ex marine. "Now."
Sam felt terrible as he was the one taking Chrissie away from her adored idol. Yet for Dean, the pain at hearing and watching his baby sob out for him was almost unbearable.
Every fibre in his body wanted to embrace the howling child, but this was his punishment and he had to learn his lesson, no matter how much heartache it caused him.
"Go with Sammy, honey" he told her.
The wails of the child soon grew fainter and fainter as the duo disappeared into the house. John slammed the door shut as he climbed out of the driver's seat, then processing to yanking his son out of the vehicle also. He sneered at him and let out a nasty chuckle.
"At least you didn't fuck up with the mouth to mouth," commented John. "You nailed that part. Still, if you had been watching her, then maybe you wouldn't have needed to do so." He glared at his son before shoving him in the direction of the house. "Now get inside," he spat. "I'll be back in a few hours. Watch your brother and sister, and just make sure your brother doesn't get attacked by a witch again and that your sister doesn't drown. If you fuck up once more, you'll be for it, boy."
Dean could only watch as his father speed away into the night. Probably in search of a bar the teenager reckoned. The seventeen year old slowly wandered back into the house.
Travelling up the creaking stairs, he could hear his younger brother trying to comfort the youngest. On opening the bedroom door he saw a sight that cause his heart to break even more.
Chrissie was hugging her beloved teddy bear against her chest, eyes oozing never-ending tears that spurted down her tomato red face. The five year old was curled into a tiny ball, shoulders convulsing as the poor thing sobbed her heart out.
"Don't cry, Chrissie," pleaded Sam, also in tears. "Please don't cry."
The middle sibling then noticed his brother's presence and gazed at him with a tearful expression. The younger teenager's hand rubbed soothing circles on the child's quivering back.
"She won't stop crying" he choked out.
The seventeen year old sat on the bed next to Sam and gave him a small pat on the shoulder in an act of solace. It reminded him of the first night without their mother and Chrissie was restless. Eight year old Sam was mirrored in the form he was in now, desperate and upset in seeing his sibling in distress. The older teen then rested his hand on the child's head, stroking her fluffy brown hair with his fingers, a sensation that caused her to gazed up.
Her grip on the toy loosened before she threw herself into her eldest brother's arms and burying her face into his collar bone. Several minutes later, she pushed herself to look at him, eyes still brimming with fat tears. Since the accident, she hadn't uttered a word . Now, seven hours later, she had found her lost voice.
"I-I-I-I s-s-sorr-r-ry" wept Chrissie, breathe hitching.
The tear drops that glided down her cheeks were captured by the pads of her big brother's thumbs.
"For what?" asked the older teenager as he held her delicate face in his hands.
"For c-c-c-c-r-r-rying," hiccupped Chrissie, wiping her running nose with the back of her hand. "D-D-Daddy s-s-says I-I-I has t-t-to be b-brave,
I n-not brave if I-I cry."
The brothers glanced at each other before returning their attention on their sister.
"Daddy's wrong to tell you that, sweetheart" said Dean, smoothing the child's hair. "You're the bravest and most beautiful little girl in the whole wide world. Nothing will ever changed that."
Chrissie's face crumpled once more and she dug her face into his chest, weeping like a toddler.
"Ssssh, baby, it's okay," he hushed, hugging her close to his shattering heart. "Everything will be better in the morning, you'll see."
Within an hour or so, Chrissie was sound asleep in her big brother's arms, worn out by emotion and exhaustion. Kisses were planted on her forehead as she was tucked underneath the bed sheets.
"It wasn't you fault," said Sam after a minute of silence. "Dad can say whatever the hell he wants but he wasn't there. He never is. Even now, he's gone."
"Dad's words are like the Gospels, you know that," replied the older teen. "If you fuck up, if something happens under your watch, sure as hell it's your fault."
Sam, as always, thought different from his strict father.
"It was an accident," remarked the thirteen year old, his annoyance and anger for his father growing. "You can't beat yourself up for something that was an accident. You shouldn't let him bully you into thinking that way."
Silence once again fell upon the siblings, their vigil on their baby sister continued into the night.
Around 1 am Chrissie woke with a start, sobbing hysterically about being stuck under the water with the fish, she had gotten so upset that she had wet herself. An hour later, the same nightmare caused the child to cry out for her brothers. She finally settled down again around 3.30 am, falling into slumber once again. It didn't take Sam long to follow close behind. Half an hour later, Dean was aware of a rattling coming from downstairs, cautiously he ventured downstairs to investigate. A hissing of a curse word identified the stranger as the youth made it off the final step, before switching on the main light. It was John.
Dean rolled his eyes as his father slugged forward. John noticed him. He didn't like the expression his eldest bore.
"What the hell are you looking at," slurred John, lurching towards his son. "Think all you want about me, boy, but it won't make a blind bit of difference. You fucked up. Again."
The older man was having a hard time maintaining his balance, his vision was blurred and almost cross eyed. John supported himself on the wooden banister.
"Your mother will be spinning in her grave," added John. He then pushed Dean to the side as he attempted to climb the staircase. Dean halted him. John was furious. "Move. I wanna see my daughter."
Dean stood his ground, arms folded across his chest.
"No, Dad," he said defiantly. "Your not going anywhere near her. Not in this state. Your staying away from her."
John tried again to get past his son but was stopped once more.
This re-ignited John's fury, the tension in the air increased dramatically. The drunken hunter grabbed his son by his t-shirt and shoved him roughly onto the floor.
"I can do whatever the fuck I want," growled John straddling his son and grasping his wrists. "Your not her father, I am."
Noise had woken Chrissie this time, something was making an awful racket downstairs. Curious, the five year old padded out of the bedroom and toddled over to the banister and peeked through. She tilted her head and frowned at what she saw.
Alcohol polluted the breathe of the older man as he wrestled with his teenage son. He had hoped the boy would be more submissive but then he forgotten how well he was training him in the art of combat.
The seventeen year old glowered up at his inebriated father, determined not to let his father win.
"Does this make you feel like more of a man?," queried the teen. "You say I'm a screw up, but you need to look at yourself, Dad. You're the screw up! Chrissie deserves so much more than this life, she deserves a better father!"
With that statement, John balled an iron fist and brought it into contact with the side of his son's temple, causing the boy to reel and grunt with impact. Suddenly a yelp from upstairs made them look up. Chrissie was peering through the banister, and by her reaction, had seen and heard everything. John stumbled onto his feet, gazing up at the shocked child.
"Hey, Chrissie," he cooed, his fierce expression had changed into a composed one. "C'mon down, sweetie, and Daddy will tell you a bedtime story."
Chrissie looked down at her big brother, now sporting a black eye. She didn't respond to her father, to his outrage and disappointment. Dean rose to his feet and pushed past his father.
"Stay there, sweetheart," the teenager said, trying to sound positive in front of her. He added with a flicker of a smile "Daddy and I were only arguing, I just hit my face on the floor."
Chrissie knew what had happened. They were fighting, like the bad guys on those movies with big guns. Chrissie had always been graced by wisdom beyond her years, so she was all to aware of the violence that had happened before her eyes. She quickly looked down at her disgruntled father before vanishing into the bedroom with her big brother. Daddy had shouted and swore at her Dean. Daddy had hit her Dean. For the first time in her short life, she was scared of her own father. Next time, if anybody tried to hurt her hero, she would kick them square in their doodle, regardless to height or age. Nobody hurt her Dean, not while she was around.
That night, Chrissie kept her own private vigil over her sleeping brothers, guarding the door from her big bad Daddy. She would be ready if he came back. Tiny hands petted each of her brothers individual hair styles, and peaks on their cheeks signalled the little girl's love for them. Once she settled down, nestled in between them, her eyes slowly closed. Slumber captured her and sent her into a security that also granted her peace.
A figure stood at the foot of the bed, staring intently on the sleeping siblings. Blues eyes illuminated by the silver moonlight that bounced off the lapels of his tan trench coat. The mysterious stranger took over the vigil, motionless like a statue bar the occasional blinking of his ancient eyes. Completely silent, Completely invisible.
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