Firefly – Chapter 5

By: Suz

Dean took one more deep breath, straightened his shirt, and made his way back through the heavy wooden door to find Ellen already waiting. She stood in the center of the room, and smiled at him.

She's shocked I didn't bug out. So am I, Ellen. So am I.

Sam had followed him back into the room and had taken a seat at the bar. This was Dean's trip to make on his own.

"This is Emily," Ellen said, looking down toward her knee.

She was so small that he almost missed her standing behind Ellen's leg. One tiny hand was gripping Ellen's lightly, as if she were barely anchored in the room at all. The little girl was there physically but wide, broken eyes didn't betray much connection with anyone or anything surrounding her in the calm lighting of the empty Roadhouse.

You stupid fuck!

Dean felt the words pounding around in his skull as he tried to take in the unbelievable reality standing in front of him, dressed in fear and pink sneakers. Four years old. This little girl, who was supposedly his child, was four years old.

And where were you four years ago? Hell, Genius. You were in Hell.

It seemed as if time had come to a screeching halt and not one soul in the room was breathing. She was so tiny. He tried to remember if that was the normal size for a four year old and couldn't. Dean began to inventory her from top to bottom. Someone had put a ribbon in her hair to pull it back from her face but it hadn't stayed in place. Wavy brown curls were drooping down into her eyes, trailing around her cheeks and down to her shoulders. Ellen must have done that. Bright yellow t-shirt with butterflies on it. Denim shorts. Hot pink Converse. There were little bows on her socks and a large gauze bandage wrapped around her left forearm.


The son of a bitch burned her, too.

Freckles littered across her nose and cheeks stood out against pale skin. She looked up at him and the stillness of her panic reached out through the air to touch him. He knew that face and had intimate knowledge of the raging terror that could beat a child into silence. Numbness is your Fairy Godmother when you're four and fire gobbles up your mom.

Did she look like him? He wasn't sure if he truly saw what he thought he saw. When he'd met Ben Braeden all those years ago, he'd wanted to see himself in that child, too. He'd wanted to be a father to that great little boy, but he wasn't. Was he really seeing the truth here or something he'd wanted back then?

She hadn't taken her eyes off of him yet. They were big, dark brown heartbreak eyes with light blue shadows underneath. They weren't the lighthearted eyes of a little girl. They were full of pain and exhaustion and it hurt to look at them. Those ghost kids in Georgia had eyes like that, swimming in despair, desperation, and fear. Both strange and familiar at the same time, those eyes were fixed on him now, begging for some relief from the pain that had locked her up tight.

He tried hard to remember Calley Rail's face and failed miserably. Maybe that's where he'd seen those beautiful eyes because they should be unforgettable. Endless faces of endless pretty women he'd taken to bed that year flipped through his mind. He tried over and over to find one that would fit onto that little girl's face and came up empty. That year hadn't been about making connections. It had been about stuffing himself with any distraction, any sensation to tamp down his own fear. That year before he checked out of this world and into the pit wasn't his proudest moment. He'd used a lot of women. Even if they were willing, they'd been used. If Emily or her mother had a target painted on their backs, the brush was in his hand.

You don't even remember her face. You fucking bastard. What the hell are you going to say to this kid?

He felt like he was towering over the little girl and the longer she looked up at him the more frightened she appeared. Crouching down put them both on more even footing. Once they were on the same level, those chocolate brown eyes focused on him intently, needing some sign to let her know Dean Winchester wasn't something else she had to fear. One loud noise, one quick movement could make her disappear through the nearest exit.

Dean put on his best charm-the-girls expression and kept his voice low and soft. "Hey, Cutie Pie," he said, winking at her. The little girl stayed perfectly still, absorbing him with enormous sad eyes.

Ellen let go of the child's hand and leaned down over her. Patting her gently on the back, Ellen said, "Sweetie, this is Dean. He's a friend." She didn't add any more, just looked at Dean and effectively dropped the ball in his court for him to make his own contact.

In the space of a breath, it hit him whose eyes were staring back at him. It rattled him to his core and washed a thrill through his body at the same time. That recognition should have scared him shitless but an unexpected rush of happiness came over Dean and he couldn't help the bigger smile that took over his face.

"I'm your daddy, Emily."

Ellen's body jerked at the sound of his pronouncement. Her face hardened and she fixed a burning glare in his direction. Emily remained still, with no reaction at all to what he'd just said.

He didn't need any more information. He'd seen those eyes look at him most of his life. He'd seen her mouth in the mirror every morning when he shaved. He'd been teased about those freckles since he was a boy. This was his kid, now and forever, and he knew it. There was no going back.

"Sam, why don't you take Emily into the other room," Ellen said, rising slowly and gently patting the little girl's head. "Sweetie, show Sam your new coloring book."

Up until this point, Sam had sat in stunned silence on a barstool, just watching. He was frozen until Ellen's sharp tone again broke the stillness.

"Sam, Dean and I need to talk."

Dean had risen to his full height and was locked up in Ellen's angry glare.

"Sure," he said, walking over to Emily and offering his hand. He'd been the only one to notice the flinch run through Emily's body as Ellen had snapped her order and Dean had stood to begin what looked to be a face-off.

Sam moved slowly, trying not to scare Emily any more. "Let's go see that coloring book." He wiggled his fingers in front of him but Sam's hand remained empty. Emily's eyes were jumping between Dean and Sam and she had started to chew on her bottom lip. The silent panic was shifting to physical panic, as if the more people she had to deal with the more overwhelming it became.

Ellen stroked Emily's hair and calmed her own voice. "It's okay, sweetie. Sam's a nice man," she said, then changed her focus back to Dean. "You don't have to be scared. Go with Sam and we'll be there in a minute."

"You don't have to be scared of anybody here, Emily," Dean said, smiling down at her. The frightened look on her face made him want to grab her up in his arms, hold her tight, and tell her he'd kill whatever monster had done this to her and that no other would ever get to her. She wasn't ready for that and he wouldn't force it, not now. But Emily was alive, not some ghost child who could only be avenged; she was a living, breathing little girl. He was going to make damn sure she stayed that way.

"Your Uncle Sam will look after you just like I will," Dean added, feeling the smile spread across his face. "I want to see your coloring book, too, when Ellen and I finish talking."

Ellen bristled once again, and gave Emily a slight nudge toward Sam. This time, the child gave in, temporarily letting go of her mistrust, and following Sam out of the room. When the door had snapped shut, Ellen turned on Dean with a furious blast.

"What the hell were you thinking dropping that bomb on her!?" Two steps had put her firmly in Dean's personal space so that he could feel the anger up close. "You Winchesters are as subtle as a brick through a window!"

"What's your problem, Ellen?" he asked, confused by her reaction. "She needed to know I'm her dad. I'm not some ass who walks away from his kid."

"You need to grow up and think before you open your mouth," she shouted back at him, seemingly unimpressed by his declarations. "What if it turns out she's not yours, Dean? What then? If you get the DNA test back and it says she's not, what are you going to tell her?" Ellen turned quickly toward the bar, to the bartender's solution for trouble. She rounded the corner, grabbed a shot glass, and popped it against the counter. "You gonna just sit her on your lap and say, 'Oops, Emily, I'm not your daddy after all.' What's that going to do to her, Dean?" Ellen sloshed whiskey into the glass and downed it.

Positioning himself across the bar in front of her, Dean took back the offensive. "I don't need a stinkin' DNA test to know that she's my daughter, Ellen. She's mine." He jerked the bottle out of her hand and poured a shot for himself.

"You can't know that, not for sure, Dean. You can't play with this. That little girl is broken into a thousand tiny pieces and one more hit might put her past fixing."

"She's my daughter, Ellen. I know it." Dean drained the glass and poured another.

Ellen snatched the whiskey away from him, shoving the bottle down the bar. "How do you know, Dean? Because you think she looks a little like you? Because she has John Winchesters's eyes?" She hesitated for a moment, trying to soften her tone. "Dean, just because a woman you don't even remember put your name on a birth certificate, doesn't mean it's fact. You should have waited so that Emily doesn't get hurt. You need to know for sure before you start making promises to that little girl."

"I said no test and that's final! I know all I need to know!"

"How?"

Dean slapped his hand down hard on the bar. "Because I just know, all right!! This isn't your business, anyway, Ellen!"

"The hell it's not, Boy!" Ellen leaned over the bar, back into Dean's face once again. "That little girl was dumped here a week ago and she's lost and scared and now it IS my business. I've watched that child so petrified at night that she wakes up in a sweat and still she can't make a sound. I only know a fraction of what she's been through but I do know that what's under that bandage is brutal. You can't just come in here, declare yourself 'Daddy', and ride off–"

"YOU called me, Ellen! Now I'm here to claim her and all of a sudden, you're acting like I'm the bad guy!" He was pissed and wanted Ellen out of his face with her opinions and advice. "She's mine and I'm going to make the decisions now!"

"Listen to yourself, Dean," Ellen yelled back into his face. "'She's mine. I'm here to claim her.' Do you hear yourself? It's like she's luggage you lost at the airport! She's not a possession or some consolation prize for what you've been through all these years. She's a little girl and you can't just try this out to see if you like it and throw in the towel later if you don't."

"I'm her father, Ellen! You don't have a say in this!" Dean matched her volume. There was a time when he might have agreed with her doubts about his worthiness to be Emily's dad, but not now. If Ellen wanted to fight him for her, she was going to lose.

"That's right, Dean. You had such a great role model for being a father! You'll decide everything and to hell with taking advice from someone who knows how parenting is supposed to operate!" She was furious and almost out of breath with frustration. "Do you know why John had a falling out with almost all of his friends in the hunt? Why Bobby even pulled a shotgun on him once? Do you?"

"That has nothing to do with—"

"Because any time someone tried to tell him he was acting an ass by dragging you and Sam all over the country and leaving two little boys alone for days at a time, he got PISSED AT THEM and split with both of you in tow! That's why! Is that what you're going to do to this child, Dean? Is that the life you want for her or is this just about you and what's yours?!"

Ellen knew she'd drawn blood and paused to wait for the flinch.

He didn't scream back at her this time. Dean's reply was low and vicious. "And you're such a success, Ellen? By the way, it's three p.m., do you know where your child is?"

"Shut your mouth!"

Dean could feel the angry heat boiling through his skin. "I get it, Ellen! You screwed up with Jo and you want me to say, 'Here, have a do over on me!' Well, fuck that! You're not going to fix your mistakes by stealing my daughter!"

That defensive blow silenced Ellen. She opened her lips to reply and only a defeated puff of air escaped. The brittle tension was broken by Sam's heavy footsteps as they thumped over the wooden floor toward them.

Sam's face was hard but he kept his voice down to a strained whisper. "You two slugging it out is your prerogative, but you need to lower the volume." He pointed back over his shoulder to the door that hid Emily from view. "She may not talk but she's not deaf."

Dean and Ellen both turned toward Sam, dropping into an embarrassed silence.

"She's really damaged and stuck with a bunch of strangers. You yelling at each other isn't going to help her," Sam continued, letting go of his own anger at the two of them. "Call a truce and start over later when you won't freak out that little kid."

Not waiting for a response, Sam left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Ellen and Dean both stood silently for several strained moments as Sam's words took hold.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in front of Ellen, pulling his focus away from the office door. He forced his body to relax from attack posture, ashamed at the level of anger he'd reached so quickly with her. "That was over the line, Ellen. I'm sorry," he said, again looking her in the eye.

Taking a long, deep breath, Ellen briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. "I shouldn't have brought your daddy into this. I'm sorry, too. I don't even know where all that came from." Ellen drummed her fingers nervously on the bar. "I'm just tired and she's real easy to get attached to. It's been a long time since I felt that kind of--, " She didn't finish her thought, merely picked up the bottle, silently offering another shot that Dean declined. "I know you want to do what's right. Most guys would be running in the other direction."

"It might be best for her if I did," Dean answered, "but I can't, Ellen. I just can't." Dean shot a look over toward the office. "I can't explain it, but I know she's mine. I'm not just saying that because I want her to be. I know this kid. I know what she's feeling," he said, trying to make her understand something he didn't even have a firm grasp on himself.

Ellen moved out from behind the bar and, for the first time, Dean noticed the circles under her eyes. She'd lost sleep taking care of a child she'd just met, his child, just because
Emily had needed someone.

"Dean, I want you to know that I mean what I'm about to offer you," she said, her voice once again kind. "If you don't think you can do this, I'll take her. If you need help with her, I'll help. I won't try to take over, just be someone else who cares about her, okay? You decide."

Dean nodded in agreement, accepting the hand Ellen rested on his shoulder. "I've just got to figure out what's the best thing to do."

"The three of you can stay here as long as you want, so that you can get to know each other. There's plenty of room here now and it's a place you can keep secure." Ellen wasn't implying anything that hadn't already run through Dean's mind. The threat to Emily could still be real and they had no way of even knowing what the threat was at the moment. "Once she feels safe again, maybe she'll start talking," Ellen said, breaking the contact after a soft pat to Dean's arm. "Maybe she can tell us what happened."

"Thanks, Ellen," he answered, backing up just a bit from the touchy-feely moment. "A little girl. Wow. I'm gonna need an instruction manual or something."

"Sorry, Dean," Ellen laughed. "This is learn-as-you-go. You'll figure it out. She just needs you to love her, that's all. Everything else will fall into place if you do that." Gesturing toward the door, she said, "Spend some time with her. You'll be surprised how the instincts kick in."

"God, I hope so," he said, and followed her through the door to the room holding his daughter.

TBC