Once again, half of the dialogue written in this chapter was produced by brittpage21. Her help and ideas have been a God send :P
This chapter contains alot of hurt/angst Chrissie, angst/awesome Sam and sad/angst/protective Dean. John turns up later alongside a special appearance (read to find out who)
Sunlight beamed into the motel room, emphasizing the innocence on the face of the exhausted five year old that was huddled into her big brother, who was beginning to stir from his sleep. Dark circles shadowed under her doleful eyes. She had been awake for several hours, yet hadn't moved an inch. Her thumb was positioned in her mouth and she sucked on it in a baby like manner, blinking several times as she stared aimlessly into space.
Dean was beginning to stir, bringing a hand to his face to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He blinked blearily and was surprise to see Chrissie awake, shifting slightly, the teenager gazed at the child that was cuddled into his side.
"You awake already?," he asked her. "How long have you been up?"
The little girl didn't respond. She simply sucked her thumb, bearing a sorrowful and tired expression. Her hair a fluffy brown bush.
"Sweetheart, you look tired," added the seventeen year old, concerned about his baby sister's fatigued appearance. "You need to try to go back to sleep, okay."
Sniffing, Chrissie once again didn't react to her brother's words. Just at that moment, Sam woke from his slumber.
"Morning," he started, slowly climbing out of bed, and stretching. He cocked his head at the youngest. "Chrissie, you look like you haven't slept a wink."
The child refused to answer, making her brothers' even more puzzled and worried.
"Right, well, I'm gonna go out for breakfast," announced Sam, sensing the tense atmosphere as he tugged his clothes on. "We can save the stuff from last night for later."
"Okay," replied Dean. "Just get coffee and doughnuts for us, and get some juice as well for Chris."
This statement didn't sound good in Chrissie's opinion as she shook her head. The eldest frowned with concern, hugging her with one arm.
"You need to eat, baby," he crooned, rubbing her skinny arm. "You need to get some fluids or liquids in you. But for now lay back down and rest."
Dean then ventured into the bathroom as soon as Sam departed through the front door, in search of breakfast. The realization that she was alone was all too much for Chrissie, who let out a mournful wail.
From the bathroom, Dean could hear his sister's distress and after finishing his business, he exited the bathroom and hurried over to the weeping child.
"I was only going to be gone for a couple of minutes. I was only in the bathroom," the seventeen year old explained softly as he held her in an embrace. He cupped her face with one hand. "It's okay, baby, your not alone. I'm still here."
Chrissie's gaze drifted from her brother's face and towards the corner of the motel room. Next to the TV stood a man, dressed in a smart navy suit. He was heavy built, with thinning hair and brown eyes. The impression he was radiating wasn't very welcoming. The five year old stared at the stranger, cowering at the sight of the figure.
"C'mon, honey," came her brother's voice, as he attempted to lower her on the mattress, though he was having difficulty as the child's body went rigid. "Lay down. You need to rest. I'll even lay with you for awhile, if that's what you want. Or do you want me to tell you a story?"
She continued to stare over at the TV, not returning her gaze to her brother.
"Chrissie, look at me," said the teenager, turning her head to meet him. "You need to try to go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in a little while, and let you eat some breakfast, but right now you need to sleep."
Chrissie peered up, only to see the scary man standing right behind her big brother, a smirk on his face. A squeak escaped her lips and she yanked herself from her brother's grasp and she clambered off the bed and scurried into the bathroom.
"Chrissie, what's wrong?" Dean asked in an anxious tone as he raced after her. He tried the door handle, only to discover the child had managed to lock it. Rapping on the door, he called out to her. "Sweetheart, please unlock the door so we can talk. Please?"
No response came. The teenager begged again:
"Chrissie, please we need to talk about what's wrong. Just open the door."
Just then, the front door opened and Sam wandered in, and as he placed the food items down onto the kitchenette table, he raised a quizzical eyebrow at his brother, who was standing at the bathroom door.
"What's wrong?," inquired the thirteen year old, noticing his sister wasn't around. "Where's Chrissie?"
"Something's spooked her," replied his brother, running a hand through his cropped hair. "I dunno what. She's locked herself in the bathroom."
The younger teenager traveled over to the locked door and tapped on it with his knuckles.
"Chrissie, it's Sam," he called. "Can you please open the door?" He paused. "You don't have to come out. I'll come in and we can talk."
Bringing her knocking knees to her chest, Chrissie sat with her back against the door, her focus on the creepy man who was crouched down at her level.
A meaty hand rested on her knee and began to fondle it in a perverted manner, snaking up to her thigh. The five year old squeezed her eyes shut as she felt his breathe billow into her ear. Then suddenly, the man disappeared again. Timidly, Chrissie peeked around ever angle of the bathroom whilst rising to her feet. Her head whipped around as there was another knock on the door.
"Open the door, baby," came Dean's voice. "Please."
The brothers' waited several minutes before they heard the door click open. The eldest held back and allowed the middle sibling to enter.
Sam entered the bathroom and spotted Chrissie standing back a little behind the door. As soon as he close the door, the younger teenager sat down, motioning Chrissie to come over and join him.
However, Chrissie was ignoring him, her full attention was on the corner of the room. The strange man was back, slyly waving at her was leaning against the tiled wall. Her eyes widened with fright, her underweight frame began to tremble violently with fear. Blood was now pouring from every orifice on the man, a visible bullet hole in the centre of his head. A gurgle rumbled from the man's throat as he leered at her.
Sam moved his position, and took hold of the little girl's cold hands. He frowned and followed her gaze. Nothing.
"What is it?," he questioned. "What do you see?"
Pointing over at the area where the man stood, Chrissie bowed her head whilst whimpering like a puppy. Sam was confused. Noting the drop in his sister's body temperature, the thirteen year old stood up. He opened the door and was confronted by the eldest.
"Did you get through to her?," asked the older teenager. "Is she coming out?"
"Not yet," replied Sam. He indicated towards the blanket that was thrown across the arm of the couch. "Hand me the blanket."
Once receiving the blanket, the middle sibling returned to his petrified baby sister, who he draped the blanket around.
"What do you see?," he repeated, gazing into her large green eyes. "I can't see anything."
The little girl's bottom lip protruded into a pout which instantly wobbled. Tears began to glide down her freckled face.
"Shhh, please don't cry," pleaded Sam, wiping her streaming eyes with the corner of the blanket. A light bulb flickered in his head. "I got an idea. Maybe you can draw what you see. Would that be easier?"
The child nodded.
"Okay," replied Sam. "You stay here, and I will go get you some paper and crayons."
On exiting the bathroom for a second time, Sam was met by Dean yet again.
"Well?" asked Dean, wearing a hopeful expression.
"She's still not talking," Sam replied, causing his brother to sigh in frustration. "But I got through to her. She's going to draw what she is seeing."
"What!" declared Dean, shocked by his brother's statement. "What does she see?"
"I don't know," sighed Sam, a pang of helplessness stinging within his soul. "That's why I'm giving her some paper and crayons. So she can show me."
Dean nodded and sat back down on the edge of the bed, wringing his hands in a gesture of anxiety. He watched Sam grab the paper and crayons and head back to the bathroom. Sam entered the bathroom again, and placed the paper and crayons in front of his baby sister, who was sitting on the floor and rocking back and forth in a repetitive manner.
"Here you go, kiddo," said Sam, offering the child the paper and crayons. "Now you color what you are seeing for me."
Chrissie took the items from her brother and began working. A stick figure with a shape on it's neck, appearing to resemble a tie, was drawn. The blue crayon was used to color in the man's body. Yet, it was the use of the red crayon that startled Sam. Red marks were scored on the stick figure's eyes, ears and mouth, but most noticeable was the hole in the head.
"Chrissie, who is this man?," inquired Sam, horrified as he examined the drawing at that handed to him. He hoped that his sister wasn't experiencing something paranormal. "Can you see through him?"
Chrissie shrugged, confused by the question. Peeking over her shoulder, she glanced by over at the bloody figure, terror evident in her eyes. A low gurgled groan echoed from the figure's mouth. Frightened, Chrissie shot up like a bullet, though she forgotten about the blanket. The blanket tangled around her, almost like an ancient Egyptian mummy, and as she tried to break free, she slipped backwards.
Her head bounced off the ground on impact as she landed. A pained scream ripped from her throat.
"Chrissie!" exclaimed Sam, leaping into action, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "Are you alright?"
Quick as lightening, Sam unlocked the door and picked Chrissie up in his arms. He rushed out of the bathroom and placed her on the free bed. This sight caused the eldest great alarm.
"What happened?" demanded the seventeen year old, immediately at the distressed child's side.
"She got tangled in the blanket and tripped over it," explained Sam, trying not to panic. "She was trying to escape from something. I had asked her if what she is seeing is a ghost. Then she freaked out."
Chrissie's face had flushed scarlet red, tears oozed from her eyes as she wailed.
"Calm down," soothed Sam, his hands shaking. "Tell me where it hurts."
Sobbing, Chrissie rubbed the back of her head, grimacing as she did so.
"Did you hurt your head? Let me see" Sam offered, moving towards her, an action that caused her to back away whilst she continued to rub her head.
The eldest moved in her direction, only this time she clambered off the bed and crawled under the bed.
"Chrissie, stop, your going to hurt yourself," said Dean, a hint of desperation in his tone, as he squatted in order peer under the bed where she was hiding. "Do you want to make your hand and wrist worse? Please, come here so I can look you over to make sure your not hurt."
Suddenly, the five year old scurried out from underneath the bed, sobbing hysterically. A large grey hand reached out of her ankle from the under the bed. The little girl charged towards the kitchenette , colliding with a chair before diving under the kitchenette table. Her brothers' followed and crouched down beside her weeping form.
"Baby, please, I know your hurting," said Dean. "Don't you want me to make it better?"
As Chrissie shivered violently in a tight ball, the middle sibling held back. She was then scooped up in her eldest brother's arms and carried back over to the bed. Extra blankets were wrapped around the five year old, words of reassurance were whispered as she continued to whimper.
"Calm down," hushed Dean, smoothing her wild hair. "Now, do you want me to try and make you feel better?"
Heartbroken, Chrissie nodded.
"Okay, I am going to bring back the covers so I can look at your whole body," explained the seventeen year old. "Then I will cover you back up." He then turned to the middle sibling. "Sam, go and get that drawing from the bathroom and the crayons."
Sam obeyed and quickly returned and placed them on the table and returned to his bed. Chrissie wriggled slightly, which caused her to wince with pain.
"I know it hurts, sweetie," hushed Dean. "But try to be brave. Okay let's check your wrist and hand first." Dean then unwrapped her wrist and hand. " Alright, luckily your wrist and hand are no worse than they were. Sam, go and get me the first aid kit from the bathroom."
Once again, Sam obeyed his brother's command. Dean then wiped more lotion medicine on her wrist and hand, which was an unpleasant sensation for the five year old.
"I know it hurts, baby, but you have got to hold still so I can re-dress it" said the seventeen year old.
Dean then finished with the lotion then re-dressed her wrist and hand with ace bandages, ignoring the sulking expression he was receiving from Chrissie.
"I now need you to sit up so I can check your head" instructed Dean.
It was unsuccessful as Chrissie winced as soon as she raised her upper torso. She gave up and flopped back down onto the bed. Her brothers' squawked her name in panic stricken unison.
"Are you alright?," asked Dean, hoisting her upper body up in order to inspect the back of her head. Behind the waves of brown hair, a fat bump was developing. "Ooh that's a big one, a real goose egg."
Fearing that she could be suffering from concussion, the eldest tried to press questions on her, hoping she was able to answer them. However, she still refused to utter a single word. With drooping eyes, Chrissie began to close them.
"We can't let you sleep, sweetheart," stated Dean, compressing a hand against her glistening forehead. "You've hit your head pretty bad."
Annoyed, Chrissie began thumping her aching head and wrist repeatedly against the pillow.
"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself " warned the eldest, trying to stop the tantrum.
The little girl's face crumpled, tears streamed down her face once more, her hands reached out for contact. Unable to ignore this, Dean scooped her into his arms and hugged her, in a secure embrace.
"Chrissie, sweetheart," began Dean, his voice gentle. "You think you could tell me and Sammy about that picture you drew?"
Glancing between brothers', Chrissie swallowed. Her breathe hitched as she finally rediscovered her vocals.
"No" she croaked, her voice thick from crying.
"Chrissie, who is this man," probed Dean, indicating the drawing that Sam was holding in his hands.
"He scary" whispered the tearful little girl.
She wrapped her arms around her big brother's neck and buried her face in his collar.
"Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. We don't need you to talk about it anymore," replied Dean, rubbing his sister's back. "So, you think you could answer some questions for me, to know if you don't have a concussion?"
A tilt of the head and a puzzled expression made it clear to Dean that his request had confused his sister.
"Sorry, sweetheart," apologized Dean, correcting himself. "I mean I need you to answer some more questions like: When is your birthday? and What is your full name?"
Nevertheless, Chrissie was still bamboozled.
"Why?" she asked.
"So we can make sure you didn't get knocked out too hard when you got that bump on your head" explained her brother.
Wrinkling her nose and with a frown, Chrissie could feel her eyes drooping again.
"It hurt" complained Chrissie.
"What hurts, sweetie?" questioned Dean, gazing at her intently.
White dots appeared in her vision, performing a dance routine as they bobbed and swirled around.
"My head" she whined, pouting.
"I'm sure it does, sweetie," replied the eldest, stroking the side of her cheek. "But we need to make sure nothing else is wrong with your brain in your head."
More white dots had multiplied in Chrissie's vision, there was so many that Chrissie couldn't count them anymore. A sickly feeling started to rumble within the pit of Chrissie's stomach.
"Sweetie, you getting sleepy?" questioned Dean, concern etched on his face.
"I feel funny" mumbled the dazed child.
The white dots bounced along Chrissie's vision obscuring her ability to think and see straight. Everything was blurry.
"Sweetheart, look at me," Dean commanded, terror lacing his voice. He held up three fingers, to which he asked. "How many fingers am I holding up."
The teenager wasn't given a response. Overwhelmed, Chrissie closed her eyes, making the white dots vanish, and her head lolled back. The brothers' watched in horror as their baby sister blacked out, yelling her name in unison.
"Chrissie, please wake up," pleaded Sam, almost in tears.
Dean shook her roughly as he held her limp body in his arms. There was no response.
"Chrissie, please don't go to sleep now," begged Dean. "We need to know what's wrong with you."
Regardless, Chrissie didn't wake up.
"Okay, hospital, now" commanded Dean, snapping into instant action, as he cradled the child in his arms.
"I'll get her some pajamas," added Sam, grabbing a fresh set of pajamas, decorated with a Batman motif. "You get her to the car."
"Right," returned Dean, hugging Chrissie close to his hammering chest. "Just hurry."
The eldest sibling barreled towards the front door, but on swinging it open he was greeted by a figure on the other side.
"Dad?" uttered Dean, a mixture of fear and relief in his tone.
A haggard John Winchester stood in the entrance, bemused by the actions and behaviour of his children. He gazed at his daughter in the arms of his first-born.
"Dean? What's going on?" demanded John.
"We'll explain when we get there," replied Dean. "We're in a hurry. We gotta get Chris here to the hospital."
Just then Sam looked up from getting Chrissie's pajamas and saw his father.
"Hi Dad" he said, stuffing Goober in the duffel bag alongside Chrissie's pajamas.
"Sam" nodded John.
The hunter then motioned his sons' to move, John climbed into the front seat of the family's prized muscle car, whilst the boys' remained in the back seat with an unconscious Chrissie. The car roared to life and was soon speeding down the silent street.
"I was there when she hit her head," Sam stated, grasping Chrissie's hand in his own. "It wasn't that bad."
"Did you check her for any signs of a bad concussion?" probed John, glancing in the rear view mirror.
"We tried, Dad," said Dean, who was still cradling Chrissie in his arms. "But she wouldn't cooperate."
"What happened?" John sighed, fiercely gripping the steering wheel.
Dean swallowed and took a deep breathe.
"She kept telling me that she was tired and her head hurt," he explained. "And when I tried to get her to try again after a while she said she felt funny, and she was seeing dots. I put up three fingers and asked her how many but she didn't respond."
John felt like slamming his head repeatedly against the steering wheel. Nothing ever ran smoothly with this life.
"Before that," John asked, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "How did this all start?"
"Well, we took Chrissie to a carnival to try to cheer her up from the accident," explained Dean. "We were just leaving when this kid bumped into Chrissie, and Chrissie landed in the mud and started to cry."
Dean looked at his younger brother to continue.
"She seemed fine afterwards," added Sam. "Then she started having a tantrum when we got back."
Dean nodded.
"So when I try to get her in the tub, she down right throws a fit," continued Dean. "I had to end up dragging her into the bathroom and locking the door."
The eldest could still hearing her screams in his mind, the poor thing was terrified.
"She then starts to bang on the door to be let out, then she continued the tantrum till I had to resort to getting in the tub with her," added the seventeen year old. "I had to tell her I wasn't angry with her just upset because she wasn't listening. She then told me she would fall again, and I told her she wouldn't, and that I would be there with her and made sure she was okay."
The older teenager stroked the child's delicate freckled face, wishing that her radiant green eyes would snap open and she would giggle as if this was a huge joke. Only it wasn't.
"So, she agreed and I stood her in the tub," he persisted. "Then I got her to shut her eyes as I stripped."
His father and younger brother grimaced with the last sentence.
"Too much information, Dean" said John.
"Yeah totally, man" Sam smirked.
Dean blushed slightly, he cleared his throat.
"Sorry," he said. "Anyways, after I got into the tub with her, I then told her to sit down and she shook her head. I asked her again, I got the same reaction,"
He sighed, gazing at her still form.
"No matter how many times I asked her, she wouldn't sit down. The kid was freakin' out," the teen added. " She slipped but I managed to catch her. Then I saw this bruise on her arm and she said it was from the accident. That this man that threw her in the lake did it."
John sighed again. Things were just getting better and better.
"I asked her why she didn't tell us right away," continued the eldest. "She said the bad man told her that she wasn't allowed. She said he would come get her if she said anything."
The many times Chrissie had created imaginary figures, it had always been know to be fantasy, however with her revelation on the accident, it was certain that this figure wasn't imaginary.
"After that, we made sure we wrapped her wrist to bring the swelling down" commented Dean.
Pausing for a second, Dean knew it would be best to leave out the section in his story about Chrissie asking questions their late Mother and crying herself to sleep. Sam then took over and described the current event and about the encounter with 'Bleeding Man', which caused her head injury.
"When I was rounding off the routine salt and burn, about an hour ago, I had a last encounter with the ghost," John said, briefly observing the activity in the back seat. "It was a vengeful spirit of this pedophile who was lurking around in the 1980s. He sexually abused a total of nine children between the ages of five and thirteen, over the course of six years. The police never found any steady evidence to convict him."
Sam grimaced in disgust at the idea of such abuse inflicted upon children.
"Then a parent of one of the victims took revenge and murdered him by putting a bullet through his brain," concluded John. "I discovered something else. He was a frequent guest at our motel. Our room was his room."
Sam's jaw dropped in horror. The concept of a normal ghost appeared okay, but for it to be the ghost of a pedophile was too much for him to swallow.
"Wow, Dad," quipped Sam. "You sure picked the best motel this time. That is if you ignore the fact that you placed us in a room that is haunted by the spirit of pedophile."
The thirteen year old paused then gasped as it dawned on him why the ghost was there.
"He was after Chrissie," he uttered. "My God."
"I burned his bones before anything else happened," returned John. "I wouldn't have wanted Chrissie to get hurt."
"What?" Dean interrupted. "Are you tellin' us that you were using your own daughter as bait to catch a ghost? Even though you knew it's sick little hobby."
John silenced his sons' with a stern expression, yet just as Sam was about to confront his father, the family was confronted by something else.
As Dean gazed down at his baby sister's face, he saw a twitch at the centre of her forehead and the slight movement behind her closed eyelids.
"C'mon, baby," he crooned in her ear. "That's it, open your eyes. Wake up."
Yet, the response he got wasn't the kind he wished for. The twitch developed into a shiver until finally, the five year old was in the full grasp of a violent seizure. Her back and neck arched as her arms and legs convulsing as if she was being electrocuted. Frothy salvia began ejecting from her mouth.
"Oh God, what's happening to her?" cried Dean, trying vainly to compose the convulsing child. "Dad, please hurry."
Chrissie's hands formed themselves into claws which grabbed at her eldest brother's shirt.
"Chrissie. Chrissie, sweetheart, can you hear me," the seventeen year old said, alarm and angst chocking his voice. "Please answer me."
The spasms continued, growing stronger and stronger. Sweat glistened on Chrissie's forehead and beads began rolling down her temples.
"Dad, how much further till we're there?" asked Sam, taking a hold of Chrissie's shaking legs, trying to control the horrid tremors.
John glanced briefly in the rear view mirror, his foot hard on the gas, knuckles becoming white as he clutched onto the steering wheel.
"The hospital is ten minutes away" he answered.
"Step on it," the thirteen year old commanded. "We needed to be there like ten minutes ago."
The brothers' gasped in unison as Chrissie's eyes creaked open, and instead of the normal vibrant green, her eyes were white.
"Chrissie, come on," implored the eldest, holding her face in his hands as she proceeded to snarl out foam. His gaze drifted to his father. "Her eyes. There rolled into the back of her head. Dad, please, hurry!"
The foam bubbled, dripping down her chin, tiny primal growls wheezed from her throat. Suddenly, the seizure stopped and Chrissie went limp once more.
The family charged into the emergency room once they finally reached the hospital, the eldest carried the now motionless five year old with Sam close behind him.
"Help! Help! I need help!," shouted John. "My daughter needs some help over here!"
A gurney zoomed into view, the staff bustling with activity as they took the child from her family as wheeled her away through the double door and into the triage room. Muted and slurred voices echoed within Chrissie's mind. Curious about the identity of these voices and sounds, Chrissie fluttered her eyes open.
She was then greeted by a host of strange and unfamiliar faces, who kept poking and prodding her. A light was shone in her dilated eyes, causing her to squirm. It dawned on her, she was completely alone. A heartbreaking wail ripped from her voice box, shattering the medical staffs' ear drums.
"Sweetheart, calm down we're just going to look at you and make sure your okay" assured a nurse, wearing blue scrubs.
"Brother says she was foaming at the mouth in the car" stated a male nurse.
"Okay, lets get her in to trauma room 1" returned the female nurse.
The realization that she was alone, broke the little girl's heart. Even Goober had abandoned her.
Meanwhile, through the double door, John could only listen to the wails of his only daughter as he waited with his sons'. Distressed at hearing his baby sister cries of despair, Dean ventured over to the double door, ready to burst through.
"I can't stand to hear her cry," he said, eyes glazing over with emotion. "She needs someone she knows with her."
John pulled his first-born away from the double door and guided him over to a chair next to his younger brother. Sam's head was buried in his hands. The seventeen year old sat down, biting his bottom lip furiously. After a minute, the youth excused himself and began wandering along the corridor as tears clouded his vision. Knowing that he was going to crack any second, he rushed into the nearest men's restroom.
The restroom was empty which relieved the teenager as he entered the first cubicle he saw. Succumbing to grief, he slumped against the cubicle door. Slowly he slid down the door, as the tears finally spilled from his green eyes. His shoulders shuddered with sorrow as he began to cry. Bringing his knees to his chest, the seventeen year old wept.
"Oh Mom, I so wish you were here," he cried. "You would know how to help calm Chrissie. You would also know how keep the rest of us calm while we wait on her here."
The youth buried his face his arms, tears streaming from his eyes, his heart shattered.
"Oh Mom, I miss you so much," whispered the tearful seventeen year old. "If I had only been looking after her better she wouldn't be hurt. We don't know if it was from the bump. Maybe the ghost did something to her, but I know. If you were here you could make everything right."
A shiver down his spine caused the youth to gaze up. There, crouched next to him was his mother, Mary.
"Mom," he uttered in awe and shock. "Is it really you?"
Mary nodded her head, blonde hair tumbling over her slender shoulders, her eyes soft and caring.
"Yes, sweetheart, it is me" she said, tenderly caressing his face with a cold hand.
The teenager leaned into his mother's hand, his face crumpling with overwhelmed anguish. This couldn't be real. It was impossible.
"I've missed you so much," said Mary. "Your brother and sister too. I heard you calling for me. That's why I came to you."
Dean pulled away from his ghostly mother, hastily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"This is all in my head" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I am here for you because you called for me," said Mary. "Son, please tell me why you called for me?"
Dean shook his head again.
"You'll hate me if I tell you" he admitted, mournfully.
Mary's eyes became doleful as she gazed at her first-born. He was only twelve years old last time she saw him. Now, he was an adolescent, on the very edge of manhood.
"No, of course, I won't," replied Mary. "I'm your mother and I love you. Now, tell me what's wrong."
"It's Chrissie," returned the teenager, bowing his head in shame. "I've messed up."
"How could you have messed up?," questioned Mary, an expression of concern on her elegant face. "She is your sister, and your her brother. You love each other. I don't understand?"
"She's hurt," the youth said, chocking on a sob. "It's my fault."
Mary sighed, her heart aching for her boy.
"Of course it's not your fault," she said, trying to assure the youth. "How could it be? It was nobody's fault. It was just an accident, and accidents happen."
Dean swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat bloated to an incredible size, making him sound broken.
"Where you there that day?," asked the teenager, referring to the accident. His mother tilted her head, perplexed. ""If you where there that day, why didn't you protect her. You always said 'angels are watching over you', I didn't see or hear anything."
Sorrow glazed in the teen's green eyes. He bit his bottom lip, drawing blood. Mary smoothed his hair with her hand.
"Yes, I was watching over you all from above," she replied. "I did help and protect her. I gave you the energy to sense she was in danger, for you to save her." Her hand rested on the back of his neck, their foreheads touched. "It is up to you, your brother, and your Dad to look out for your little sister, and each other as well."
"Dad," scoffed Dean. "He wasn't there. He never is. It's my responsibility to look out for Chrissie and Sam."
"Baby, your only seventeen," Mary reminded him. "Your still a teenager and still very young. What are you doing looking after your brother and sister? Yes, it's your job as the eldest to help look after them, but your dad is the parent, not you."
Mary cupped her son's face in her hands, a small sad smile on her beautiful face.
"It will be alright. Your sister will be alright," she soothed. "Since I am dead, I can sense when people I know and love are coming to join us, up in Heaven," she swiped some of the tears that glided down her son's face with her thumbs. "Your sister, it's not her time yet, so don't worry, she will be just fine, a little shaken up maybe, but just fine. You always were my brave baby boy."
Her tone caused the youth to panic, his gaze focused on his mother's face.
"Stay, please. Don't leave us," begged the teenager, his voice wavering with emotion as he grasped his mother's wrists. "Don't leave me. Not again."
"Dean, my boy, my brave, brave boy, don't worry. I will always be with you. In here," she whispered, pointing to his heart. "I'll always be watching out for you and looking over you, your brother and sister. Just remember I'm all around you, in you, your brother, and your sister."
Mary then helped him climb to his feet. She gazed at her son with maternal pride and love, as she Mary's caressed his tear streaked cheek, bestowing him a kiss on the forehead.
Unable to hold back any longer, the teenager pulled his mother into a fierce hug. If he held onto her, she wouldn't have to leave. Mary returned the gesture, before pushing back slightly so she could see his face again.
"Please, Mom," implored Dean, desperate for his mother to remain in his presence. "Don't leave me."
"I'll always be with you," returned Mary, holding his face in her hands. "Help your father take care of your brother and sister. Tell them all I love them. Angels' are watching over you."
Mary then noticed she was being to fade, time had ran out. Tearfully she gazed at her son.
"I have to go now, sweetheart," she uttered sadly, as her image became translucent. "I love you."
Then in a blink of an eye, she was gone. Again. The teenager stood shivering, tear rolling down his face. Slowly he wandered out the cubicle and ventured towards the sink, were he managed to compose himself and wash his face. After all, he had a reputation to hold onto. He then left the restroom and wandered back to find his family.
The Winchesters' waited another hour until the doctor emerged from the double doors. As she walked towards them, a clipboard in her hand, the males rose to their feet, eager for news on the youngest member of the family.
"Are you Christina Winchester's father?" she inquired John, to which nodded.
"Yes," replied John, he peered at the swinging doors the doctor had appeared from. "What's wrong? Is she alright?"
The boys' held their breathes in anticipation, praying the news was good, hoping nothing had went horribly wrong.
"We had to sedate your daughter," explained the doctor. "She was very distressed and was making it hard for the medical team to examine her. Normally when the patient is so young, we usually don't give them sedative, except for certain circumstances."
John ran a hand through his dark hair and rubbed his stubbly chin, he nodded.
"It's not unusual for people to suffer seizure through a concussion injury," the doctor added, flicking through her notes. "We did some tests and everything was fine. She will be dazed and confused for the next few days, so keep an eye on her. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids too. There was also bandaging around her left wrist, but when we investigated, we found no trace of injury."
The brothers' glanced at each other, frowns upon their faces. How can a large swollen purple bruise just disappear?
"Cut to the chase," interrupted John. "Is she alright?"
"She's fine," reassured the doctor. "We took her up to Pediatrics, she's in room 4a."
With this information, the family rushed off to find the children's ward and to find Chrissie.
Nestled underneath a clean bed sheet, head resting on a white pillow, fluffy brown hair spread across it, was Chrissie. The bruise that had spread across her left wrist was gone, just as the doctor said. Her small chest rose up and down as she slept. The males entered quietly, making sure they didn't disturb the little girl, who was sleeping peacefully.
She looked so vulnerable as she lay in the hospital bed, an ugly looking IV drip was pinned into the vein in the crook of her right arm. Each member of the family planted a kiss on the child's forehead, hushing words of comfort to her. All they could do after that, was to keep vigil over her, until she awaken.
Another hour passed, the room filled with an eerie silence, that is until a tiny wince entered the sound waves. Chrissie was awake.
Fluttering her eyes open, the five year old blinked several times in order to regain her focus. Three concerned faces were there to greet her on her awakening.
Moaning, the little girl wrinkled her nose and forehead in discomfort. She glanced at the faces staring down at her, and reached out with her right arm, a hand caught hold of it, kisses were then pecked on the back of her hand.
"Hey, sweetheart," crooned Dean, planting another kiss on the back of her hand, before leaning forward in his chair to stroke her pale cheek. "You feeling better now?
The older siblings smiled to themselves, ecstatic that the youngest was finally awake.
"I hoped you weren't gonna sleep all day," added Sam with a smirk. "If you did, then I would have been stuck with Dean all day."
The eldest playfully rapped the middle sibling on the arm due to the last statement. The older teenager kept a hold of the child's hand, gesturing his affection for her by rubbing tiny circles with the pad of his thumb on the back of her hand.
The corners of Chrissie's mouth tugged in reaction to the sensation of contact. Her vision was still foggy, resulting in her blinking once again. She wriggled slightly, crinkling the bed sheet she was underneath, she grimaced.
"Oooowwww," she whined softly, tears glistening in her green eyes. "Hurts."
John moved forward in his chair too, smoothing his little girl's hair.
"I know it does, baby," he murmured. His eyes examining her fragile, underweight frame. "Just be brave, and the pain will pass."
The males watched as her eyes darted about the room, confused about the unfamiliar environment she was in.
"Where we at?," she asked, her behaviour timid. "I no like it."
The eldest kissed the child's hand again, in an attempt to calm her. He smiled down at her.
"Hospital, sweetie," he told her. "You hit your head, remember. But your gonna be okay now."
Chrissie felt the back of her head, and on finding the fat lump, she winced.
"Lay still, honey," instructed John. "Your still kinda sleepy."
Chrissie nodded and obeyed her father's command.
Half an hour later, after trying to tell her not to touch the IV drip in her arm, Chrissie was fast sleep once again. The middle sibling had then wandered off in search of a vending machine, whilst John went to find the nearest rest room.
This granted the eldest the opportunity to climb up next to his baby sister and to hold her in his arms while she slept. The little girl wriggled in her sleep.
"Sssssh, it's okay," he hushed her, noticing she was merely cuddling into him. "Everything is gonna be alright, sweetheart."
Later, when Sam and his father reappeared, the witnessed a sight which brought a sad smile on their faces. A tiny five year old girl, snuggled into a muscular seventeen year old boy, both sound asleep.
Yes, I know, how can I put a wee kid through such pain and suffering. And as cruel as it sounds, I like writing scared/angst/upset/hurt Chrissie
Do you like scared/angst/hurt Chrissie? Should there be more? Any ideas or requests just PM me.
Anyways, it's almost 3am, UK time, I need my sleep :)
This chapter was tricky to write and it took alot of brainstorming and planning from both myself and brittpage21.
Be kind and constructive.
Please review! (or else Chrissie will cry and Dean will be pissed)