Firefly – Chapter 7

By: Suz

Morning came far too early for Sam and his eyes burned when he forced them open. After his confrontation with Dean, he'd spent hours trying to find out any information he could about Calley Rail -- how she could have tangled with the dark side and how she could have crossed paths with the Winchester family. It was his way of making things up to his brother.

Sam blinked, trying to adjust to the sun blasting through his window. He rolled over, grunting when he felt the corner of his laptop poke into his ribs. He'd pounded away on the keys until his battery died, and there was still a lot more ground to cover. Finding the truth was the only way to protect Emily and Dean was adamantly ignoring one important question that needed an answer – had he actually fathered Calley's child?

He stumbled across the room to the bathroom, and tried to force himself awake. He couldn't get the look on Dean's face out of his mind when he'd told him not to bring up Emily's paternity again. A pissed off Dean Winchester rattling your teeth was never an experience Sam would recommend for kicks. But behind the anger was the stone cold fear that somehow this life Dean had pieced together in a day was about to be ripped out from under his feet. There was something here filling up a hole in Dean's life and he couldn't entertain the notion that it might not be real.

Dean had reached the end of losses he could endure.

One quick shower and a change of clothes later, and Sam felt himself again. He headed down the hall, and rapped on Dean's door but got only silence in return.

"Dean, get up, dude." He knocked louder, then turned the knob. Dean's perpetually messy bed was empty. Sam walked into the room and intended to turn right around and leave but he walked to the open bathroom door instead. This thought had popped into his head over and over last night. He didn't want to go against Dean and crush the bond he'd been trying to build with Emily since the previous afternoon. Maybe this time, the truth didn't matter as much as what Dean wanted to be true. Sam turned away once, intending to mind his own damn business.

Two steps and one turn later he was back inside the bathroom. Dean had always been completely anal about his toiletries. The second he got to a new room, the mouthwash, toothpaste and toothbrush, maniacal strength hair gel, razor and shaving cream were laid out on the sink and Sam knew better than to touch them. The rest of his room could be chaos but those things were in the same neat and tidy order and if they were half empty, Dean was on the way to the store to get more.

The toothbrush caught his eye. Sam thought long and hard about what he was about to do, weighing the consequences against the truth. Before he lost his nerve, he snatched Dean's toothbrush, wrapped it in a clean washcloth, and put it in his pocket.

He left the room and headed downstairs to the kitchen, expecting to see Dean there but finding only Ellen.

"Morning, Sam," she said, looking a great deal more rested than the day before. "Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge." She was clearing away her own plate but there was a cereal bowl and cup with Sleeping Beauty plastered all over them set out on the table.

"Emily's?" Sam pointed toward the place setting with a grin.

"That girl is princess crazy," she said, laughing. "She found them in the cupboard one morning." Ellen touched the bowl and smiled. "They were Jo's when she was that age. I didn't think she'd mind."

Making his way to the coffee pot, Sam asked, "I haven't seen Dean so I'm assuming they're together somewhere."

He grabbed a seat at the table and took a long drink from his cup.

Ellen sat down beside him, her own cup in her hands. "When I checked on Emily a while ago, she was asleep under her bed with Dean stretched out on the floor beside her."

"What?"

Ellen swallowed another sip before explaining. "Most nights, she ends up under the bed. I suppose it seems like a safe place to her. I just make sure it's vacuumed. Dean must have checked in on her and decided she needed company."

The idea of Dean sleeping on the floor to keep a four-year-old company wasn't too foreign to Sam. Many nights of his own childhood were spent with Dean keeping the Under The Bed Monster at bay so he could sleep.

Now, with Dean upstairs keeping watch over Emily, Sam had what might be his only opportunity to talk to Ellen alone. "Ellen, I need a favor," he said, lowering his voice and keeping a watchful eye on the door.

"Sure, Sweetie. What is it?"

Sam pulled the toothbrush out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of Ellen's coffee cup. "Take this toothbrush to your friend and have him run the DNA test."

Ellen looked confused and stared down at the washcloth containing Dean's toothbrush. "He was so adamant about it yesterday. What changed his mind?"

"He didn't change his mind," Sam said, pushing the item closer to her. "I don't want him to know."

"Wait a minute, Sam," Ellen said, leaning over and lowering her own voice. "If he doesn't want the test—"

"Ellen, have them run the test and I want to be the only one to see the results." Sam took another long drink, hoping the caffeine would kick in soon. The dishonesty felt a great deal more exhausting when he said it out loud.

Holding the still concealed toothbrush in her hand, Ellen stayed silent for a long moment. The internal conflict played across her face, twisting her mouth into a deep frown.

"Sam, I don't feel right about this," Ellen pushed the evidence back toward Sam. "We should respect his decision."

Leaning over to plead his case, he pushed it back across the table to her. "Ellen, there's going to come a day, sooner or later, when both of them will need to know what true and what's not. I don't want to hurt my brother, but if we're going to get to the bottom of this, every fact about that little girl is important. Knowing if Dean is really her father is going to matter."

She hesitated another moment, then snatched the toothbrush into her hand and got up from the table quickly. Grabbing a plastic bag from under the counter, she popped the toothbrush into the baggie and pressing the edges closed. Keeping her eyes turned away from Sam, she said, "He's going to be furious."

"I'll take all the blame," Sam said firmly, even as his shoulders relaxed.

"Damn right you will." Ellen dropped the bag into her purse and zipped it shut.

Sam got up and filled a cup of coffee for his brother. "I'm going to go take this upstairs."

"Tell Dean we have a couple of hours before Emily's appointment," Ellen said. "I'll come get her up in a while."

He got to the door and turned around one last time. "Thank you," he said, still uncomfortable with the new secret he'd dragged Ellen into.

"I hope this doesn't blow up in your face, Sweetie," Ellen answered, grabbing a towel to wipe down the counter.

Sam climbed the stairs, trying to put their conversation out of his mind for now. Dean would go nuts looking for his toothbrush but he'd grab his spare and forget about it in the face of dealing with Emily.

He listened at Emily's door, but heard only silence so he carefully turned the knob and eased inside. Dean was laid out across the floor on his back in a dead sleep. His arm was outstretched toward Emily's bed. The little girl was sprawled on the carpet also, halfway under the bed, body tangled in a Disney blanket. Her hand was wrapped around one of Dean's fingers in a sleepy need for security.

Sam studied the tense expression on Emily's face. Even in sleep, she was wound up tight in fear. Her grip on Dean's finger was so fierce that his fingertip was slightly blue. As odd as their sleeping arrangement seemed, Sam couldn't help but be happy to see Emily's hand touching Dean's.

"Dean, it's me. Time to get up," Sam whispered. He didn't shake him or raise his voice, just gave his brother time to hear and wake up slowly.

After a few seconds, Dean's eyelids opened and acknowledged Sam silently before stiffly rolling toward Emily's body on the floor beside him. Sam watched Dean focus on Emily, then close his eyes again. He'd probably done that several times during the night. When he opened them again, he noticed the fingers gripping his hand and a large smile spread across his face.

"Rough night?" Sam asked, watching Dean stroke Emily's fingers with his thumb.

"Yeah, but it got better," Dean whispered, easing his hand away and trying to roll up from the floor in aching sections. "She finally fell asleep when she was more tired than she was scared."

Sam reached out a hand to help Dean pull himself off the floor, working not spill his coffee at the same time. When Dean was upright and steady, Sam handed him the coffee cup and they left the room together.

"Ellen said she'd be up soon to get Emily ready." Sam followed Dean to his room, trying to forget the nagging guilt he was feeling.

Still a bit dazed, Dean opened the door. "I need a shower. Will you listen for her until Ellen gets here?"

"Sure."

"Oh," Dean turned around, leaning against the doorway, "did you get anything else on Calley?"

"Yeah, I did, but it'll wait till you get back," Sam answered. "I'm waiting on a couple of phone calls."

Dean simply nodded and changed the subject, "Ellen said their last visit to the doc wasn't easy. Burns are painful."

He'd expected Dean to ask again for whatever information he had found already and he was grateful that Dean was still too half-asleep to demand it. "Do you want me to go with you?" He didn't have a clue how he could help but he was at least going to offer.

"No, you stay here and work," Dean said as he patted the doorframe. "We shouldn't be gone too long. Thanks for the offer, Sammy. You're a good uncle." With that, Dean closed the door.

"Yeah, good uncle," Sam repeated, feeling more like the enemy.

****

Dean wheeled the Impala into the asphalt parking lot, still talking to a silent Emily in the backseat. He'd rambled on about anything he could think of to fill the silence and fight Emily's building anxiety. He'd kept one eye on the rearview mirror and the closer they'd gotten to the clinic, the more she had wiggled and looked around as if trying to find an escape.

Ellen had told him the last trip wasn't pleasant, but she hadn't given many details. She'd kept pretty quiet in the passenger seat, her own unease building.

"You know what I'm going to teach you this afternoon, Emily?" Dean said, stopping the car and shoving it into park. "I'm going to teach you a super secret formula that only I know." He slid out of the driver's seat and then pulled open Emily's door. "The formula for the Dean Burger."

"You cook?" Ellen sounded half amused and half astounded.

"I don't just cook," he said, leaning over to unhook the little girl's seatbelt. "I grill. It's an art I don't get to practice often in motels but I'm gonna give that bar-b-que behind the bar a proper workout tonight." He held out his hand to Emily, "Come on out, Cutie Pie."

She didn't move quickly, but kept switching her eyes from the front of the clinic to Dean and out the window. Ignoring his hand, Emily finally slid out from the car and her sneakers hit pavement with a thump.

Dean tried to take her hand again, only to have it jerked away. The sting of that resistance was a surprise after he'd found her hand in his this morning. Maybe he'd just imagined more progress, after that long night on the floor, than was truly there. He kept walking beside her and felt his disappointment fade when Emily reached up and wrapped her hand around a couple of his fingers. Clearly she made the rules about the contact and after a moment's consideration, Dean decided that was fine with him.

The clinic was in a small, wood frame building that had probably been a house once. Dean pulled open the door and let Ellen and Emily walk through. They were immediately met by a young nurse in bright pink scrubs.

"Hi, Emily!" she said, dropping to her knees in front of the little girl. "We're so glad to see you. Who's that on your shirt? Belle? She's my favorite." Her nametag said "Melissa" and she didn't seem thrown by Emily's lack of response. "Let's go on back and when we're done you can have candy AND stickers."

The smell of the clinic made Dean uncomfortable. Hospitals and clinics had never been pleasant places for Winchesters. Every time he'd had the misfortune to find himself in one, something awful had followed. Promises of stickers and candy didn't seem to ease Emily's tension, either.

Emily hesitated, then she squeezed Dean's fingers more tightly, dragging him with her as she followed the nurse. Not wanting to transmit his own dislike of medical facilities, he put on a smile and said, "You hear that? Stickers and candy. I'm coming here next time I need a doctor."

"Glad to hear it," said a man in a white coat walking toward them in the hall. "I'm Michael Wallace." He shook hands with Dean, smiling at him and Emily.

"I'm Dean Winchester, Emily's dad." It was the first time he'd said it to a stranger and it sounded good.

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Wallace said, then turned to Ellen. "Ellen, why don't you and Mel take Emily into the exam room and Mr. Winchester and I can get that sample we need for the test we talked about."

"We won't be taking the test, Doc," Dean said, moving toward the exam room with Emily. "Don't need it."

"Really," the doctor said, looking first puzzled then pleased. "Nice to hear for a change."

The room was stark white and sterile, like most small town clinics, and a large table took up most of the room. Nurse Mel had lifted Emily onto the table. The little girl had allowed it but the look on her face only became more unhappy. Dean moved into the room, leaning against the wall to try to stay out of the way.

"Okay, pretty girl," Dr. Wallace said, making his way over to Emily. He had an easy, fatherly way about him that probably worked to calm most kids. Emily wasn't most kids.

"Let's listen to those lungs and see if that bad smoke has got the heck outta there." He slid a stethoscope under the back of her t-shirt and told her to breathe in and out several times. Dean watched as Emily endured the touching but tried to squirm away. The doctor held her gently by the shoulder, keeping only the contact he had to have. "Sounds good," he reported, looking at Ellen, then at Dean. "Almost completely clear. Just what I wanted to hear."

Dr. Wallace used a small light to check her pupils. When he pulled her eyelids wide, the look on Emily's face was less fear than down right pissed off. She twisted her head away, pulling out of his grasp. The attitude almost made Dean laugh. It was much better to be mad than afraid.

The doctor made a few notes on Emily's chart and looked toward Ellen. "Has the sleeping and eating gotten any better?"

"A bit," she answered, looking over at Dean as if to share the same information with him.

"Still no talking?" He saw Ellen shake her head in response and said, "Well, everything else is looking good so I'm sure that will follow in time, now that her dad's here."

That was good news and Ellen looked relieved. Dean let himself relax against the wall. This wasn't going so badly after all.

The doctor pulled the stethoscope from around his neck and laid it on the counter behind him. Pulling over a tray of instruments from the corner, he said, "Emily, we're going to have to take a look at this boo boo on your arm, okay? Need to be sure no germs are making trouble in there and clean it up."

It was most definitely not okay with Emily. Yanking her arm behind her back, Emily scooted away from the doctor to the point where she bumped into the nurse then pulled away from her. Dean came off of the wall and moved toward the little girl, drawn to her panic like a magnet.

The doctor didn't move to force Emily to comply, but looked over at Dean and motioned him outside. "Mel," he said, as they reached the door, "Would you call Linda to come in here with us? We'll be right back."

After they'd made their way into the hall, Dean spoke first. "So, what you're about to do hurts and she knows it, right?"

"Yes, it does and it was pretty rough last time. Took three of us to hold her while we treated the burn and changed the dressing," Dr. Wallace said, keeping his voice low. "I'm assuming Ellen told you about the wound?"

"She said it was brutal." Those were her exact words when she'd described it the day before. He was beginning to understand what she must have meant.

"Pretty good description," the doctor agreed. "It's very severe but she got good treatment immediately afterward. There's going to be scarring, she'll need plastic surgery for later when it's completely healed. For now, we need to unwrap the wound, clean it, and check for infection. The unwrapping can be painful and cleaning a burn hurts, too. But it has to be done."

Dean sucked in a deep breath. More pain. She didn't deserve more pain but pain seemed to like Winchesters and he'd made her a Winchester. "How long will it take?"

"Not long if it's progressing the way I hope it is, but it's going to seem like a very long time. Emily may be silent but she fights like a wildcat." The doctor leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Ellen said this was all new to you so if you'd rather wait out here, it's fine."

"No. If you're doing something to her, I'm going to be there." If she had to take it, he was going to take it with her.

"Okay, but please let the nurses hold her. That way, she associates the bad thing with them and you can be there for the comfort. Works best that way."

He seemed trustworthy. If Ellen thought he was okay, he must be. "Okay, just try not to scare her too much. She's been through too much already."

The doctor nodded in agreement. When they returned to the room, Emily was still in her personal fortress in the center of the table, her left arm barricaded behind the knees she'd drawn up to her chest. Dean walked past her, taking a place against the wall. His stomach tightened into a hard knot, knowing what was about to come. Ellen came over to stand beside him, a silent compassion in her eyes.

"Emily, I'm going to unwrap that bandage now, Sweetie," the doctor said, as one nurse helped pry Emily's arm from behind her knees. With that motion, the battle began. Emily's body flailed around like an animal caught in a trap, twisting in an effort to get free.

Both nurses were fighting to hold on to the child's arms and legs as she strained and kicked against them. Her face was a bright red vision of fury. The doctor had stretched out her arm and was removing the gauze as quickly as he could manage while a four-year-old warrior jerked against him. The last layer of gauze peeling away from the wound turned up the volume on Emily's struggle and Dean flinched at the screams he could almost hear inside the child's head.

As the doctor stretched out Emily's arm on the table, Dean caught his first sight of the burn. He felt his body begin to ache as the revelation of Emily's pain hit him full force. Mottled, melted flesh wrapped around her skin in the form of a hand. The shape of four fingers stretched across the top of her tiny arm and a thumbprint was seared to the other side. Some of the skin was a damp, bubbly angry red, some was peeling away, and other parts were hardened into sickly brown scabs where they had begun to heal.

"That bitch," he muttered, feeling cold with shock. That charcoal Jane Doe bitch had grabbed Emily while she burned.

"That's why she doesn't want to be touched, Dean," Ellen whispered in his ear.

Emily freed her legs from the nurse's grip and threw one foot toward the doctor's head, which he barely dodged. The other sneaker collided with the instrument tray, clattering all of them to the floor. Her face was wet with sweat and tears and her father couldn't stand it another second.

"Everybody STOP!" he yelled, moving over to Emily's side.

"It'll just be a bit longer, Mr. Winchester," the nurse said, trying to hang on to Emily's good arm. "I know it's hard but—"

"Let her go! All of you, right now!" Dean shouted, shoving the woman away from Emily's side. Forcing his volume down a few notches, he said, "Just let me talk to her a minute and you can start over." He looked over at the doctor who was trying to hold the injured arm still and said, "Please?"

Emily had immediately stopped struggling when Dean's voice had rang out through the room. Everyone had backed away, giving the two of them some space to calm down. Dean leaned over the little girl as her furious panting echoed through the room. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped the tears and sweat off of her face only to have more tears run down to replace them. Being careful not to make her feel confined, he stroked her hair a couple of times, relieved that it didn't set her off again.

Taking in a deep breath, Dean tried to swallow the tremble in his voice before he spoke. "Cutie Pie, I know this really hurts. I know how it feels. I really do and I'm going to show you how I know." Reaching up to his sleeve, he peeled it up onto his shoulder revealing his own mark. Ignoring a gasp from the other side of the room, he moved closer to Emily to give them some privacy in the crowded room. He'd had the brand so long he didn't even notice it anymore but he didn't care if they saw and wasn't about to offer any explanations.

Emily's eyes focused on the hand burned into Dean's flesh, mesmerized by the shape. Her fingers reached up to carefully touch the raised skin and the wild look in her eyes began to fade.

"That's right, you can touch it because it doesn't hurt anymore." Her hand was hot and shaky against his skin and she spread her fingers out across the mark. "So, I really know how badly it hurt when it happened to you and how scared you must have been. I know how much it hurts now."

Emily's lip trembled and she gripped Dean's shoulder tighter, holding on to evidence that she wasn't alone in her pain.

He leaned down close to her cheek and whispered in her ear. "You have to let the doctor take care of your burn so it'll get better. It's going to hurt some but it won't hurt for long. You can hold on to me as tight as you want and it won't hurt me. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

She didn't nod or answer but Dean saw her body relax, all except for the tiny hand holding onto his scarred shoulder. He kept his eyes focused on hers and waved the doctor back with his other hand. Dean and Emily spent the next ten minutes eye to eye as the doctor cleaned and inspected Emily's wound. The pain would force tears down her cheeks and Dean would whisper to her what a brave girl she was as he willed his own eyes to stay dry.

Once the wound was cleaned and treated, the doctor wrapped another layer of gauze around Emily's arm and said, "It's looking really good. Just keep doing what you're doing and come see me in two days." He turned toward Emily and said, "I bet it won't hurt nearly this bad next time, sweetie."

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said, as Emily's hand slid off of his shoulder.

Slowly, she sat up, too exhausted to resist when the nurse eased her down from the table. "Want those stickers now, Emily? Lots of princesses in there," the nurse said, trying to be cheerful.

Emily looked up at Dean with her lost brown eyes, unsure of what she should do. "I think you've earned a whole roll of stickers, kid. Go pick out the ones you want. We'll be here," he said, smiling warmly at her.

As everyone left the room, Dean lagged behind with Ellen at his back. She'd stayed quiet, letting him take charge of his daughter.

Dean let his head roll backward, closing his eyes against the storm in his chest. Sadness, pain, anger, and intense love for that tortured four-year-old child all smacked against each other while he stood there waiting.

"You'd rather they cut off your own arm than see them hurt," Ellen said, her hand resting on Dean's back. "It's worse than anything that could happen to you when it happens to your child."

"I'm going to find who did this and they're gonna die. They're gonna fucking suffer and die. I swear to God," Dean said, still trying to control his emotions behind closed eyes.

"I know," Ellen whispered, patting his back and moving around him toward the door. "I need to go talk to Mike about something. I'll meet you two at the car."

Dean ran his hand over his face and forced it to stop shaking before he went out into the hallway to find his daughter.

TBC