Firefly – Chapter 9
By: Suz Mc
"You see, Emily," Dean said, as if standing in front of a student, "it's not just my superior burger formula that makes the Dean Burger outstandingly awesome." He flipped one of the patties, and looked over at the little girl where she sat on a worn picnic table. "I've carefully devised an arrangement of charcoal that distributes the flames evenly."
"Yeah, Emily, he's an engineering marvel." Sam joined them, pressing a cold beer into Dean's palm and sinking down into a rusty lawn chair. "He invented the pile."
Dean gave Sam a disgusted look, and wiped his forehead. The sun was going down, but it was still hot as blazes to be outside grilling in August. In a few minutes, the Roadhouse would be blocking the sun and he'd finally have some shade.
Picking up a piece of charcoal from a bag on the ground, Dean put it in his palm and held it out to his brother. "Grasshopper, you have much to learn. When you can snatch the charcoal from my hand—"
"Bite me, Grillmaster," Sam said, making a grab for his hand and missing.
"Ha! Five more years in Dean's Temple of Grilling for you, Little Sammy!" Dean said, laughing out loud, then chugging his beer.
It felt good to laugh. After that nightmare at the clinic with Emily and the flood of memories of being with Calley, Dean needed a laugh. The last thing he wanted was for his little girl to pick up on the bad vibes trying to beat their way out of his head. Emily had napped for hours on Ellen's couch and when she woke up, she'd followed him around like a shadow. No talking. No smiling. But she wanted to be close and it felt better than he'd imagined it could.
He'd thought a lot about his Dad today. Being trailed by Emily all afternoon brought back flashes of memories of wandering around behind his Dad at the garage. Memories of his Dad being exhausted and reeking of the great smell of motor oil but stopping everything to let him twist off lug nuts. Memories of the dad John Winchester had wanted to be but couldn't manage to keep alive while he chased demons.
Emily hadn't taken her eyes off him since they'd come outside to start the grill. She sat cross-legged on the table, clutching a juice box, studying him. Over and over, he'd looked into her eyes, wondering what the hell she could be thinking while she stared at him. Was she trying to figure him out? Was she still deciding if she could trust him? Was she wishing he'd suddenly turn into her mother? The last option seemed like the most likely.
An hour earlier, Dean had made a mistake, thinking he could pick her up and sit her on the countertop in Ellen's kitchen. The second he'd slipped his hands under her arms she'd flinched. It was just a reflex on his part that he hadn't thought through. Kid needs a lift, you give her one.
Dean wasn't going to lie to himself and say it didn't hurt, but that melted skin on her arm was ample explanation as to why touching was a terrifying proposition for Emily. A chair shoved up against the cabinets let her climb up on her own and everybody was happy, or at least Emily was happy because she was still making the rules about contact.
"Sam, I think I've found the Winchester who can be trusted to keep the Dean Burger formula secret and not blab it to impress some girl," Dean picked up a spray bottle filled with water and squirted it on a hot spot in the charcoal before it flamed up too high.
"I made one girl dinner when we were fifteen," Sam argued, leaning his head back over the chair. "I didn't realize it was a matter of national security."
"Yep, your Uncle Sammy has a big mouth, huge," Dean said, throwing his words in Emily's direction. "Lucky for me, there's one ingredient he doesn't know so his squeeze only got fake Dean burgers and not the real thing." He closed the top of the grill, and then leaned back against the table beside Emily.
"You are such a liar, Dean." Sam laughed then swallowed another drink. "I've watched you smear that stuff between those patties and stick 'em together a hundred times. It's not a big secret."
"All right, Ninja Chef," Dean said, crossing his arms in front of him. "What's in the mix?"
"You mix butter, onions, and garlic and spread it between two patties and press them together," Sam shot back, looking cocky.
Dean shaped his fingers into the okay sign and then yelled, "Wrong, Sonny Boy! There's one more. The most important ingredient." He leaned over close to Emily's ear. "You know which one he forgot, right, Cutie?"
She was focused on Sam and nodded yes.
"Okay, well, then it's parmesan cheese. That's it," Sam shot back, smiling at Emily as if she could help him figure it out.
They could be any normal family sitting in the backyard on a summer afternoon. Grilling. Laughing about a stupid burger recipe. Normal family had stopped when Dean was four. The recipe was something he'd watched his mother do before Dad got home from the garage and she'd shove the evidence down the garbage disposal. They'd tease Dad because he didn't know the secret and he'd offer Dean candy bars to tell or try to tickle it out of him. Messing with Sammy about it was his way of holding onto that feeling with his mom. It was a link to Mom and when he was older, he still didn't tell his Dad the secret. Sometimes it pissed John off but Dean didn't care. It was his own private memory and he wasn't giving it up.
Now, he had Emily to let in on the secret and it was warm and good and his mom would have loved it, would have loved Emily.
"Was that the secret ingredient, Emily?" Dean said, leaning a little closer to her.
It was a fleeting moment, but she stared hard at Sam and let her mouth tip into the closest thing to a smile she'd had yet. Emily shook her head no, letting a few stray curls drop down onto her forehead.
"Ha! Strike one!" Dean yelled, trying to keep the interaction going and Emily playing along.
Sam picked up on Dean's excitement and tried to do his part. "Help me out here, Em. Is it wet or dry?"
She kept her mouth pinched tight but looked over at Dean.
"Let's give him that one," Dean said, his smile getting bigger. "Dry."
"Crap," Sam whispered, clearly outsmarted. "I guess I'll just have to go dig through the garbage can to figure it out."
"Won't help, smart boy, because I destroyed the evidence."
"Are you kidding me? Is he kidding me, Em?" Sam leaned forward in his chair, waiting for Emily to respond again.
The shadow of a smile came back and she shook her head back and forth more vigorously this time.
"So, every time you do this, you go through that many hoops to keep me from finding out your dumb burger formula?" Sam was pretending to be offended, but trying to keep the conversation going so Emily might join in again.
"See how ugly jealousy can get, Emily? Dumb burger, my ass. You wouldn't think it was so dumb if you could do it, Sammy," Dean said, getting up and heading back to the burgers. "It's just sad, Emily. Life at the top of the food chain can be lonely."
The early bird crowd was beginning to drive up in front of the Roadhouse and the rumble of a big truck rattled the ground. Loud music was blaring through open windows and Dean could hear voices of already rowdy customers. Glancing over toward Emily, he checked to see if she was bothered by the noises, but she seemed not to notice them at all. She'd been here for a while so the disturbance wasn't new and Dean was relieved.
"I hope you're hungry, kid, because—" Dean jerked open the lid a bit too quickly and was greeted by a violent jolt of flame leaping out from the coals. "Damnit!" he yelled, jumping back and grabbing his water bottle.
He was so focused on dousing the flames and saving the Dean Burgers, Sam had to yell at him twice before he heard him.
"Dean, look!"
Sam was pointing toward the tree line and Dean dropped everything in his hands to chase after Emily. She was a good twenty yards in front of him, running as hard as two four-year-old legs could manage. Dust was rising up in a cloud around her as she plowed over uneven ground not leveled after the construction of the new building.
"Emily! Stop!" Dean yelled after the little girl, doubling his pace to catch up with her.
She jumped over a couple of small dirt piles, hair now free from the ribbon that was holding her ponytail in place and waving behind her. When she tried to make another leap, her foot caught against a dry dirt clod and sent her crashing to the ground. Knees hit the dirt first, and then outstretched hands, then belly and head.
Two strides behind her, Dean wasn't able to catch her before she connected with the ground. Jumping in front of her tiny body as it lay in the dirt, he didn't think or hesitate, just bent over and grabbed Emily under the arms.
"It's just the fire in the grill, Cutie. I'm sorry it scared you," he said, pulling her up into the air. In the split second when he expected her to freak out and fight against the contact, Emily threw her arms around his neck and wrapped herself around him, squeezing desperately.
Dean closed his arms around her body, holding on tight, and began walking back toward Sam. Emily's heartbeat pounded against his chest like a wild bird trying to escape. Her breath came in panicked gasps and he understood what that burst of flame had rekindled in her mind. Dean stroked her back and began whispering into her ear to calm her down. Sweat was dripping from underneath her hair and he pulled it to the side to cool her off.
But he was holding her in his arms and she was letting him.
It felt wrong to be so glad that she was hugging him since it had only happened because of her fear, but Dean couldn't help it. Emily's arms were clasped together around his neck like a drowning child grasping at driftwood to stay afloat.
Sam had walked out to meet them and leaned over to inspect the little girl's dirty knees. "I think you've got a couple of knees to take care of," he said, looking Dean in the eye and patting Emily's back only once.
"Yeah," Dean said, looking down to find two bloody skinned knees at his sides. "We better go inside and take care of this."
"I got this," Sam said, pointing toward the grill. "Go take care of her and I'll come get you when the burgers are done."
"Hear that, Cutie Pie?" Dean said, still being clutched by a terrified child. "Uncle Sammy's gonna try to be the chef? Maybe it's time he pulled his weight around the grill." As he walked away, Dean threw a look back at his brother and mouthed a thank you his way.
Once they were safely inside Ellen's kitchen, Dean fished around under the sink for the first aid kit. Managing the search while being crushed by a little girl around his neck was a struggle but eventually he found the red box and set it on the countertop. Balancing Emily's backside on the edge of the cabinet, Dean tried to put her down only to have her grip him more fiercely.
For a few moments, he stopped trying to move her and just let them both rest there together. "Emily, I'm going to be right here but I need to look at those knees, okay?" he said, rubbing her back and feeling her relax just a bit.
Finally, she let go and Dean got a good look at her face. The dust had left a fine coating on her cheeks and long streaks left behind by the tears dug deep through the dirt. He could almost see the flames burning in her eyes as the memory replayed through her mind. With a damp dishtowel, Dean cleaned her up, wiping the dirt off her face and arms. Her t-shirt just needed a few pats to brush the dust away. After he checked the bandage covering her burn to be sure no blood was seeping through, he was free to deal with the skinned knees.
There were no barriers between them now and Emily didn't flinch at his touch. Dean opened up the bottle of peroxide and swung her legs across the sink. "When your Uncle Sammy was about your size," he said, getting ready to start cleaning and disinfecting her wound, "I think he bled at least once every day." He gently touched the spot where her skin had rubbed off with a damp cloth and she jumped a little but didn't pull away.
"With all that experience, Cutie Pie, I'm an expert at skinned knees." He held up the bottle but before pouring it over the cuts, Dean tipped up her face with a finger and asked, "You ready?"
Emily nodded up and down and Dean went to work. After the cuts were bubbled and dried, he dug out a couple of Band-Aids from the box. "This isn't going to work," he said, grabbing a pen from beside the telephone. Quickly, he drew two smiley faces on the plain brown bandages. "I'm not the artist you are, but how's that?" Dean handed her one to hold while he fixed the other over one knee. When he looked up from his repair job, Emily was holding the other Band-Aid out to him.
Once the other wound was covered, the little girl practically leapt into Dean's arms again. This time, the embrace was less in fear and more for comfort. Her head leaned down on his shoulder and he had to stand still for a few seconds and simply absorb how amazing it felt. For so long, after he came back from damnation, he felt too filthy to touch, the blackness inside him too big to ever be exorcised. Now, he had pure innocence in his arms, so bright and powerful it could clean it all away. In this moment, with Emily's arms around him, needing him, he felt worthy. He was going to hold onto it, to her.
"I know where we should go," Dean said, bouncing her a bit in his arms as Emily pushed her hand under the edge of his sleeve to touch his branded skin.
Walking out the side door, Dean moved them onto the porch surrounding the Roadhouse. Almost around the corner was a big wooden rocker and Dean moved it around so that they could still watch the crowd coming into the bar but they were mostly out of sight. As he folded back into the rocking chair, Dean turned Emily around to face the parking lot, propped his boot against the railing and began to rock back and forth.
He rocked quietly for a long time, silently processing Emily's change toward him. The satisfaction he felt from her acceptance filled him up more than he imagined it would. Yes, they were still in the middle of a dangerous situation that couldn't be settled until he and Sam got to the bottom of what killed Calley. He was a dad with a little girl and he knew nothing about little girls. He had to deal with what he remembered doing to his child's mother. Something could be after Emily and he had to stay sharp and vigilant. All of that was deadly serious business.
But right now, he was just going to rock Emily and breathe.
Emily's body had completely relaxed and there was no more frantic heartbeat making her tremble. She'd cooled off and was intently watching the customers come into the bar. Emily had pulled a necklace out from behind her shirt and was gently rubbing the pendant at the end of a silver chain.
Carefully, Dean eased his finger up to touch the necklace. He'd noticed the chain under the neck of her shirt but hadn't seen the whole thing. "Can I see?" he asked, gently pulling the pendant into his hand as she let go.
The crystal cross was small but covered with intricate facets, catching the fading sunlight and sparkling against his fingers. It was edged in silver and dangled from a short silver chain. This wasn't some dollar store trinket and must have been bought for a special occasion.
"I bet your mom gave you this, right?" he asked, as Emily pulled the necklace back into her little hand. She nodded again.
"See this?" Dean pulled his amulet from inside his own shirt, as Emily turned to look. "Sammy gave me this when we were little boys. And, I'll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell." He paused, smiling at the dark brown eyes focused on his every word. "This means more to me than anything I own because my brother gave it to me." Emily was holding the oddly shaped figure, turning it back and forth. Dean picked up her cross and balanced it on his finger. "See, things like this can be powerful on their own but it's who gave it to you and how it made you feel that really makes it strong."
The sun was going down and the darkness had settled in the tree line. Under the steady rumble of the cars and music, low night sounds were beginning to build from the woods around them. From the corner of Dean's eye, he caught a small flash, just a blink of light.
"Hey, Emily," he said, turning her slightly so she wouldn't miss it. "Fireflies. See?"
Two blinking lights were now floating in front of them and Emily held out her hand to touch them. One more floating light joined the first two.
"If we had a jar, you could catch them and make your own nightlight."
Emily's hand was open and the three fireflies were buzzing around her palm. Then there were four, drifting over her hand, circling.
"Look at that," Dean said, amazed at how the fireflies were drawn to her hand. "They must like you, Cutie."
Cupping her hands together, Emily created a small circle of light in her palms as the tiny bugs bounced around inside. Then, the child spread her fingers open and flicked the fireflies away. The lights scattered into the settling darkness.
Creaking boards behind the rocking chair drew Dean's attention and Sam was suddenly there, crouching down beside the chair. "Burgers are ready," Sam said, looking oddly serious.
"Did you see that? Emily had her own personal light show," Dean said, easing Emily out of his lap.
"Yeah, I saw," Sam said. He opened his mouth again, as if he were going to say more but stopped.
Dean was out of the chair, stretching his arms over his head. "Dude," he leaned over, doing his best Heath Ledger, "why so serious?"
Sam looked down at Emily, as she leaned against Dean's leg. Things had changed. There was no space between them and she was clinging to his side. The look on her face wasn't twisted and frightened anymore. She had decided to let Dean into her world. Maybe she could feel that he was as broken as she was and that common ground made him acceptable. That much, he was happy for, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something else troubling was going on around Emily.
"Dude? Something wrong?" Dean asked, shaking Sam away from his thoughts.
Returning a smile to his face, Sam answered. "No, nothing. Let's eat. I'm starving."
Dean smiled, looking down as Emily grabbed tightly to his hand and walked beside him to the backyard. "Let's go before Sasquatch eats all the Dean burgers."
***
"Are you sure she should be down here, Dean?"
Sam was leaning against the end of the bar beside his brother with Emily propped up between them. The little girl seemed to be enjoying the noise and the music, even though she wasn't showing it by any expression strangers could read. After an afternoon spent almost exclusively with her dad and two huge hamburgers, the tense, bound twist of her features had relaxed. Emily seemed content, as long as she was touching her father in some way.
"Don't be such a downer, Sam," Dean said, grinning over at Emily. "She slept all afternoon and the rough crowd left thirty minutes ago."
Dean was right. There had been a few hardasses in earlier but they'd left. All that remained were a handful of guys at the pool table and a few girls doing alcohol soaked ZZ Top cover tunes on the karaoke machine.
"Oh my god!!! She is soooooo cute!" Two of the karaoke girls had rushed up to the bar for more beer and noticed Emily. "Let's go do her a song," screeched one singer wearing a t-shirt that read "Come Party With Bridezilla."
"Come with us!" shouted the other girl whose t-shirt read "Maid of Dishonor" as she grabbed Sam's hand and tried to drag him over.
"Uh, thanks but—" Sam's refusal was pointless as the two girls dragged him across the room and plopped him down in a chair in front of their makeshift stage.
Dean busted out laughing as the bride to be launched into "Sharp Dressed Man" using a key that could be breaking glass on Mars. Sam was surrounded by other drunken singers dressed in "Bitchin' Bridesmaids" shirts, who were clearly using him for a prop. One had taken a seat on his lap.
Still laughing, Dean leaned over to Emily and said, "Looks like your Uncle Sammy's made some new friends."
Ellen eased up behind the bar and slid a bowl of pretzels beside Emily. "The girls are harmless," she laughed.
"Hope not," Dean said, grabbing a handful of pretzels and handing a couple to Emily. "Sammy's in need of a little damage."
Two of the girls were amusing themselves by running their hands through Sam's hair. He tried to get up, only to be pressed back down by two more bridesmaids. "I'm Here For The Party" was the next tune up and Sam wasn't going anywhere.
"Should I go rescue him?" Ellen asked, grinning at Sam being held captive by a wild bachlorette party.
"Don't you dare!" Dean shouted over the music. "We're having a great time watching, aren't we?" He patted Emily's hand. She was focused on the girls surrounding Sam and tapping her finger on the bar in time to the music.
After about thirty minutes of pretzel eating and watching Sammy judge the karaoke contest, Dean was about to take Emily upstairs when a new crowd arrived through the front door.
Three men, who Dean remembered seeing years ago in the first Roadhouse incarnation, strolled in through the front door. They were hunters. Dean could read that much, simply from the way they moved and scanned the room before coming completely inside.
The rowdy girls continued their party undisturbed as the three guys crossed the room. As they got closer, Dean locked eyes with the man in the center of the group. He wasn't the biggest of the crew, but he had the most attitude and a hand stitched wound on his neck that looked to be only a few hours old.
Trying in vain to remember the man's name, Dean did remember that he wasn't a fan of his from the days after the Devil's Gate fiasco. Each man looked dirty and worn in his own way but all three were so full of whiskey they wreaked.
Dean took Emily off the bar and was moving to leave when the man called to Ellen from the center of the room. "So, you entertaining Winchesters again, Ellen? Gonna let them burn down this bar, too?" He folded his arms, taking a stand in front of Dean.
Sam was out of his chair and moving toward his brother.
"Drake, I told you last time not to come in here making trouble for anybody or you were out for good," Ellen said, coming out from behind the bar.
Drake's eyes focused on the little girl in Dean's arms and huffed an unpleasant laugh. "Looks like you've made another one, huh, boy? Another freakin' Winchester. You gonna train her to open up Hell and set more demons on our asses like her ole man and Hellboy over there?"
"Why don't you and your girlfriends there have a beer and calm down?" Dean said, holding Emily a bit tighter.
"You think we've all forgotten how you and your freak brother almost turned us all over to Hell?" Drake took a wobbly step forward and Sam moved closer to his brother.
"Back off," Sam said, putting himself more in front of Emily.
"You forget they're the ones who stopped it, Drake, and demons burned down my bar, not them," Ellen said, reaching over to take Emily out of Dean's arms. The little girl resisted, holding on tighter, until Dean whispered something in her ear and put her into Ellen's arms.
"Get her out of here, Ellen," Dean said, squaring off in front of Drake. "This prick isn't interested in a history lesson."
The two men flanking Drake spread apart a bit, preparing to cover more ground.
"Most real hunters aren't swallowing that Winchester hero bullshit, Ellen," Drake growled at her. "Bunch of traitorous freaks, that's all. Between these two and their dad, they've left enough dead HUMAN bodies to fill a boxcar. Wasn't your ole man one of 'em?"
"Get out of my place, Drake," Ellen gave the order while taking herself and Emily behind the bar. Reaching under the counter, she pulled out a baseball bat and slid it over the bar to Sam.
"Go, Ellen," Sam said, "We got this." He held the bat down by his side, getting a more solid grip for a swing.
Before Ellen could move, Emily began to struggle, trying to get free and go back to Dean. Ellen wrapped her arms more firmly around the little girl, and she started walking toward the exit. Clearly, from the way she wiggled, Emily wanted to stay but Ellen kept moving. As they reached the door to the stairs, a neon tube decorating the large karaoke machine blew, sending the wasted bridesmaids squealing out the exit.
When the door closed behind Ellen and Emily, Dean put all of his focus on the new enemy. "Drake, you and your fudgepacker buddies go somewhere else before you get your asses kicked!"
"I don't take orders from freaks, Winchester." Drake began rolling up his sleeve. "You think we believe that 'angel dragged you out of Hell' story?" Drake looked back and forth to his cronies. "What demon did you blow to make it back topside, Boy?"
"Same one your mama did." Dean was grinning. Sam wasn't.
Drake shook his head and huffed an unpleasant laugh. "Good one. Nice." He focused on Sam, who tightened his grip on the bat. "Word got around about you and what you were doin' while Dean here was roasting," Drake said, eyeing Sam then looking back to Dean. "Heard your little brother screwed a demon. That how you got that kid, Dean? You fuckin' demon whores now, too? Maybe we should hunt all three of you bast--"
When Dean threw his fist, Sam could have sworn he heard the sound barrier breaking. It wasn't his common punch to the jaw. Dean's wide knuckles connected with the puckered, stitched wound on Drakes neck, splitting it open and spraying blood over both of them. Drake hit the floor with one knee, grabbing his neck and reaching for Dean with his other hand.
The larger of Drake's sidekicks went for his back and Sam slammed his arm with the bat. The sound of his bones breaking mingled with a scream and he joined Drake on the floor.
Dean had Drake by his bloody collar, lifting the man's face into his fist as he pounded him again and again.
The sound of a shotgun being cocked pulled Sam's attention away from disarming the man he'd sent to the floor. Jake, the bartender who talked even less than Emily, had the weapon leveled at Drake's other cohort and he motioned for him to drop the curved blade he'd pulled from his belt.
No one was stopping Dean and he'd switched from battering Drake with his fist, to kicking him across the floor with his boot. Five minutes earlier, Dean had been the perfect picture of a fun-loving dad. Now, he was as vicious as Sam had ever seen him in a fight. Drake was drunk and had obviously already tangled with something else earlier and he was no match for the explosion he'd ignited.
"Dean! That's enough!" Sam made a grab for Dean's arm, trying to drag him away.
"Get up, you loudmouth bastard!" Dean yanked himself away from Sam's grip, hauling Drake up from the floor by his bloody collar. Drake's body connected with the wall, his head bouncing against the wood. Blood was pulsing out of the man's torn wound, drenching his shirt.
"You're going to kill him! It's not worth it." Sam had a firm hold on Dean's arm this time and that seemed to break through his brother's rage. Drake had chosen the wrong nerve to stand on tonight and he was paying the price.
Dean spat his words into Drake's bloody face. "I don't give a rat's ass what you think of me or my brother but you threaten my family again…" Dean swallowed another gulp of his anger before finishing his thought to the nearly unconscious man. "I catch you breathing the same air as my daughter, and you're a fucking dead man. Got it?"
"He understands, Dean," Sam said, trying to pry Dean off the man's chest. "Let him go."
"Fine," Dean growled in Drake's face, giving him one more slam against the wall before letting his body slide down to the floor. Turning to Drake's companions, he said, "Be smart and get him as far away from here as you can."
Rage still blasting through his body, Dean pounded out of the room. Sammy had his back, lagging behind to make sure the three men left. Jake's shotgun would help with that.
You fuckin' demon whores now, too?
Dean slammed his hand against the door to Ellen's kitchen and noticed his bloody knuckles. He had halfway decided to turn back around, head to the parking lot and neuter Drake for what he'd said. Drake had lumped Emily in with his hatred for anything Winchester and that was more than Dean could stomach.
He was turning around when Emily rushed in from the other side of the room.
Dean knelt down in front of her, settling his rage to the back of his mind. "I'm sorry that jerk ruined our fun," he said, reading the uncertainty all over her face. "He won't be bothering us anymore." It was taking a great effort to shed the anger still pulsing through his body.
Two small hands picked up his bloody fist and studied it for a moment. Pulling with all of her four-year-old might, Emily dragged her father to the sink.
"You're right, I need to clean this up." Dean let her bring him to the sink but while he started the water running, Emily tore open the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit herself. One-handed, she shoved a chair over beside Dean and climbed up.
She was determined and focused when she grabbed his injured hand from under the water, held it over the drain, and opened the peroxide bottle. She looked up at him before pouring, and Dean couldn't hold in his laughter.
"I'm ready, Nurse. Let it rip," he said, watching her carefully pour the liquid over his knuckles and then blow as if she didn't want it to sting while it bubbled. Grabbing a dishtowel, she blotted the wound dry. After staring at her work, Emily bent down and gave his hand a quick kiss.
"That was awesome," Dean said, lifting her up and kissing her on the cheek, careful to avoid holding her against the side of his shirt stained with Drake's blood. "Sammy can handle stitches and dislocated shoulders and you can be my number one knuckle doctor."
Then she smiled at him. It was quick. Like someone using a long disabled muscle and not wanting to cause a strain. But it was there for a second or two and that was a start.
***
Ellen had great beds. The thought was floating around Dean's head as he faded to black. Everything was slowly draining out of his mind in the comfort of a soft bed. It had taken him a long time to settle down after the bar fight downstairs. Not only did Emily have a new family to get used to, but she also had to share their enemies. Emily trying to tend his busted knuckles soon doused all that anger. It made him smile as he began to doze off.
The nothing of sleep almost had him when a coolness against his back began to drag him away from the comfort. One handed, he dragged the covers closer to his back but the cold remained.
There was something solid pressed against him and his eyes popped open when he registered it as a body. As he jerked back to complete consciousness, Dean heard a choked sob behind him.
"Emily?"
He turned quickly and came face to face with Calley Rail.
Shock briefly paralyzed him as he took in the horror lying beside him in bed. Calley was naked under the sheets, hands stretched over her head and tied to the headboard. She was pale and terrified, shaking so badly it moved the entire bed.
"Please help me, Dean." Her voice was that same frail sound he'd remembered from his drunken night with her body.
"Jesus, Calley!" He grabbed the blade he kept under his pillow. "My God, I'm sorry," he said, reaching over to saw the rope in half.
She gasped as he brought her arms down in front of her and he couldn't stop saying he was sorry, over and over again.
"It hurts," she moaned and she cried as he frantically unwound the ropes looped around her wrists. The skin underneath was red and bruised and her fingers were twisted with pain as the feeling returned. Dean held her wrists, trying to help ease the pain.
Whether this was a dream or reality didn't matter. It didn't matter if Calley was in his mind or a spirit in his bed. The woman he'd hurt, the mother of his child was here in his bed suffering and he had to fix it. Quickly, he slipped his arm under her shoulders, trying to get her warm.
"I'm sorry, Calley." He said it again and she leaned against his bare shoulder, still shaking.
"I know," she said, gulping through sobs. "It's not your fault."
He looked at her more closely in the dim bedroom lighting.
Soft blonde hair curled around her face, just like Emily's. She was tiny and she felt so light in his arms she was barely there at all. There were bruises on her arms and neck and he could feel rough scratches across the skin on her back as he held her closer.
"Did I do that to you? Is that why you're here?" Why shouldn't she be an angry spirit? Burned alive. Beaten and violated by men she didn't know. It would be a miracle if this woman could rest in peace.
"No," she whispered, bringing her hand up to his face. "You were the only man she brought me to who wouldn't finish the beating she wanted." Calley turned her face up toward him. "That's how I knew you'd help me."
"But I didn't and I'm sorry," Dean said again, soaking up her sad face. She looked so fragile and he realized how terribly young she was when that demon bitch had delivered her over to him. That's how he was seeing her now, the way she'd been that night. He felt her clinging to him, almost as if she'd float away if she didn't hold on to his body. Dean wrapped his arms around her more firmly, trying to make her feel safe.
"I wasn't strong enough to stay out longer. It's not your fault," she whispered. "I tried to get to you, when I knew she was after us. I knew you'd keep Emily safe."
"Who is it, Calley? Give me a name so I can keep Emily safe."
She was sobbing again. He could feel the tears running across his skin. "It had been so long…I thought we were safe…she was gone, days after you and Beaumont…ripped out of me… I was free of her..."
Her thoughts were rambling and he was desperate to keep her talking, thinking. "Calley, I know you were scared, but you've got to try to focus so I can help Emily."
"I'm trying to stay but it's so hard," Calley's voice sounded thin, like someone freezing to death. "I knew you'd be strong enough to save her if I couldn't. The demon knew about you, so I did, too. That's why she has your name. You have to be her father. You just have to be. Please."
"I am her father, Calley. I am." He said the words against her hair, eyes shut tight, not wanting to think too carefully about what she'd said. He didn't have to be Emily's father. He was Emily's father. Period. Dean pulled her face back and held it with one hand. Her eyes were wild and frightened, searching his face for any kind of help. "You're strong, Calley. You took on that bitch twice. You saved Emily. Talk to me."
"If I had to go back…if I knew how it would end…" She was crying again, tears streaming down ice-cold cheeks. "I wouldn't trade those four years with my baby for anything. She's so precious…healed me…I love her so much..."
"I know, Calley. She's safe with me. I swear I'll protect her," he said, trying to calm her down again. "Tell me who did this to you. Do you know her name?"
"Amora." She shuddered as if speaking the name sent fresh pain coursing through her body. "I tried to keep her away but I messed it up. Thought I knew how from the book…someone gave us up…followers.." She gasped as another wave of pain rippled through her, shaking them both. "It hurts more. The longer I try to stay. Burns."
"Amora? Is that the demon's name?" Dean watched the suffering twist Calley's delicate features as she fought against the building agony.
"Yes…she won't stop…don't let her hurt Emily…made her a child of light and fire," she begged.
"What does that mean, Calley? Try to focus."
Her bruised hand slipped down to his neck as she lost the energy to hold it against his cheek. "I'm so tired, Dean. I can't—" Calley's head collapsed on his chest, and she cried out this time.
"Okay, okay," Dean whispered to her, trying to ease her through the phantom pain that was tearing her apart. She'd given him the name. The name was enough and he could find out the rest from there.
"I'm so tired," Calley whispered, as he cradled her body closer to his chest. He'd caused so much pain, pain in this life, pain in Hell. Years and miles between Dean and those nightmares had helped him make peace with those sins. Now, he had to make peace with this one. He had to do the one thing he could to help Calley.
With one hand stroking her hair and the other holding her close to his chest, Dean let himself love her.
He only knew this woman from words, from pictures, and from the last few minutes lying with her in bed. But he loved Emily and what was inside Emily had come from her mother so how could he not love her, too?
Calley's breath was coming in weaker and weaker gasps and she was holding her spirit here by her fingernails. Dean kissed her forehead and said, "Calley, you deserve to rest now. You've done all you can do. I'll take it from here. It's okay to let go."
"Promise me she'll be happy and safe and you'll tell her about me. Please?" The words were almost inaudible, breathed out with exhaustion and desperation.
"I promise."
"She likes music…'True Colors' favorite song…blue Koolaid not purple…princesses everywhere…"
The words were coming out in chilled gasps against his skin as Calley forced out the last messages about her child. She'd be willing to stay and suffer but it was her time to go. She was close, but not willing to jump and he'd have to show her how.
"Calley, open your eyes for a second. Do you see a light?"
It took all of the energy she had to raise her head to look around the room, and then she laid her head back against his body. "Over at the door. It's so beautiful."
"Reach out to it when you're ready." He swallowed hard, holding her close one more time. "There's no more pain, no more fear. Nothing but peace."
Pulling herself upward, Calley pressed her lips against his and reached out toward the light with one hand. Dean had to close his eyes as the light wrapped around Calley's body and brushed against him before taking her with it. He'd seen souls go into the light before but he'd never felt it touch his body. For a brief moment, he saw her smile, an expression of perfect bliss, bliss so strong he could feel it soak into his own body as Calley crossed over.
He jerked himself upright in bed, the sudden aloneness hard to bear. One second she'd been with him, close and needing him and the next the room was empty. For a few moments, he just lay there, perfectly still, with the quiet pressing down against him. When he forced himself to move, his body rattled from the inside out. One thing he knew was that he couldn't stay in this room another second with Calley's agony still rattling around in the dark. He had to move and he swung his feet to the floor.
Crossing quickly toward the door, he made his way across the hall to Emily's door. She was splayed over the covers, dead to the world and peaceful. It struck him as painfully sad that Calley had chosen to come to him instead of Emily in her last moments on earth. She did it to save her, again, but now Emily was truly motherless. No human mother, no spirit hanging around to watch her grow up.
He'd told Sam that children should know they came from love, like John and Mary. If it was possible to learn to love someone in those few minutes, he could make it true for Emily, too. He'd never know Calley completely, but he knew the good and loving parts of her, the brave part, the strong part that could have easily done away with Emily before she was born but chose a child's life over her own fear. Calley could have saved herself in that burning apartment. Calley could have let go and moved on to bliss and no pain but she stayed to give him information to protect their child.
And he loved her for that. He could tell Emily that he loved her mother and it wouldn't be a lie.
Quietly, Dean closed Emily's door intending to wake Sam and tell him what Calley had said. His knuckles were ready to rap on the door, and he stopped himself. Things were simply to close too the surface now. Morning would be soon enough.
Unable to face going back to his room, Dean grabbed the banister and went downstairs to think for a while.
**
Something jerked Sam's arm and he jolted awake. He pulled his arm away, trying to focus, trying to think where the closest weapon was to each free hand.
A frightened sob reordered his senses and he looked down to see two big brown eyes staring at him from beside the bed.
"What? Emily, what's wrong?" Sam gave his brain a shake and threw back the covers.
Emily looked frantic, her lip was trembling and she grabbed at the side of the bed to get his attention. She took hold of his wrist, trying to drag him to the door.
Not resisting, Sam got out of bed and followed. "I'm coming, Sweetie. Show me what's wrong."
She was pulling him through the dark, her tiny hand shaking as she held on. Emily's hand felt hot, almost tingling and Sam reached out to touch her forehead, expecting to find a fever but she was moving too fast for him to connect. They reached Dean's room and Sam pushed the door fully open. His brother was nowhere to be found and Emily rushed over to his bed and patted the side where Dean should have been sleeping at two-thirty in the morning.
"You're looking for Dean?" Sam took in the empty bed then checked the bathroom, which was also empty. "I'm sure he just went downstairs. Let's go—"
Emily's face was terrified and Sam could almost feel the fear rumbling through her body. She was so lost it was painful to watch. Before he could reach her, Emily took off running out into the hallway.
She was fast and he was still sleepy and half a step behind her by the time the little girl hit the hardwood in the hall. It was dark and Sam was afraid that if she got to the stairs, she'd fall.
"Wait, Emily!" Sam called behind her. He got to the hallway just in time to see her four-year-old body fling itself up into Dean's arms.
Dean was almost to the top of the stairs and was gripping the railing tightly to hold them both in place. He had one hand wrapped around Emily's body and was slowly making it up the last couple of stairs.
"What happened?" he asked, looking to Sam for answers, and then stroking Emily's back. "It's okay, Cutie. I'm here."
"I think she woke up and when she didn't find you in your room, she got scared," Sam answered, moving out of the way so Dean could walk by him.
Sam watched Dean be Emily's father. He was holding Emily tightly against his chest and her hand had crept across her father's shoulder to rest on the handprint branded there. It was an amazing thing to see.
"I'm sorry you were scared, Cutie Pie," Dean said quietly, rubbing the back of her nightgown to soothe her.
Sam followed them into Emily's room. Dean carried her over to stand by the window, rocking her body back and forth in the moonlight. He was carrying around a lot more than a little girl but he seemed more content than he had in years, standing in the dark, holding a scared, wounded child. It was hard to tell who needed who more.
Emily's eyes began to droop and she was just a few movements away from sleep. Sam joined his brother at the window. "You shouldn't leave her, Dean," Sam whispered. "I'll go to Austin tomorrow alone."
"I don't like the idea of you going without backup. Bad idea," Dean said, keeping his voice low.
"She can't spare you right now and we can't take her with us," Sam said, trying to do what he could to help his brother. "Let me do this for you, Dean, for both of you."
Emily was now fully relaxed, lips open just a touch, breathing deeply in sleep. Dean leaned his head against her hair, closing his eyes in thought.
"Okay," Dean said, giving in to Sam's offer. "But I need to talk to you before you go."
Sam nodded, quietly leaving his brother to tend to the more important business of helping a little girl sleep through the night.
When he returned to his room, Sam was greeted by the rude sound of his cellphone blasting through darkness. Quickly, he yanked his jeans from the floor and fumbled through the pockets until he found the noisemaker.
"Bobby?" Sam said, trying to keep his voice in more of a three a.m. tone. It wasn't out of character to get a call back from Bobby Singer at some ungodly hour of the night. Bobby didn't operate in the same time zone as other people. If you asked for information, he'd be passing it on the second he found it.
"Hey, Sam. Sorry 'bout the time but you said it was urgent." Bobby's tone was more suited to three p.m. and Sam shut his door to keep the conversation private.
"No problem," Sam answered, taking a seat on his bed. "What did you find?"
The sound of paper rattling made its way through the phone. "Did you tell me this symbol was done by a painter? An artist?"
"Yeah, she was."
"And we're thinking some demon was after her?"
"And got her, actually," Sam replied, keeping the unnecessary details to himself. Dean wasn't ready to start spilling the new family secret about his daughter just yet.
"Okay, this damn thing was new to me, too, and it's heap big mojo. This girl either got lucky or had some demon intel I've never come across. I had to cast a pretty wide net and call in a few favors to pin this down."
"What is it Bobby? What does it mean?"
"At first I thought it was some sort of identification mark, like a big 'I heart demons' sign. But it's not. This thing is one of the most powerful symbols I've come across to ward off a demon."
"Like the tattoos?"
"Kinda, but this thing is demon specific."
"For a particular kind of demon?"
"No, that's kindergarten demonology compared to this. This mark is so far back B.C. a Way Back machine wouldn't get you there. It's designed to repel a specific Demon. If it's on you, it can't possess you. The demon can't cross it and can't enter a house marked with it. If this particular demon even touches it, it'll freakin' explode."
"Well, that's great but it evidently doesn't work because the woman using it is toast now, thanks to said demon."
"Ah, what I was about to say was that this thing works but there are catches."
"Always."
"First, you have to know the name of the demon to translate into the symbols around the circle and those bastards can be pretty protective of their true names."
"Can you make out the name, Bobby?"
"Not quite there yet but I'm workin' on it. Got a book on the way to help. But that's not all. Next, you have to have touched the demon and include a drop of your blood in the paint used to render the mark."
"Would possession count as touching?"
"Duh."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"But the final kicker is that this mark has to be perfect. I mean completely perfect. Proportions, curves, edges, angle, thickness of lines, everything. I'm talking nearly computer reproduction perfect."
"The kind of perfect an artist could manage?"
"Exactly and from what I saw in the pics you sent, this girl had the touch. The marks were perfect and if she was using this for protection from this demon, it should have worked." Bobby's voice had taken on the manic, excitable cadence of a man long on coffee and short on sleep. "By the way, just how did you two stumble across this case from up at Ellen's?"
Sam thought through the list of facts and culled the unnecessary information. Dean could tell Bobby the full story when he felt it was the right time. "Calley was someone Dean knew a while back." Lies of omission were always best when bagged up with a touch of the truth.
"Sorry to hear that," Bobby said, falling silent for a moment. "I suppose you're planning on going after the demon?"
"I'm heading to Austin in the morning for a closer look."
"What about Dean? He holed up in bed with some girl and leaving you the heavy lifting?"
Dean was holed up in bed with some girl. A four-year-old girl who'd been scared mute and couldn't make it through the night without a panic attack.
"He's got something else to take care of right now so I'm taking this one," Sam said, detouring the conversation.
"Be careful, Sam," Bobby said, putting on a more fatherly persona. "If Dean's friend needed something this powerful for protection, this ain't your run of the mill smoke bomb. If I had the name, I could tell you more."
"Thanks, Bobby. I'll call you if I get that name."
"I'll keep looking, kid. Keep it between the ditches."
"You now it."
Sam clicked the phone shut. Stretching out over the bed, he closed his eyes and tried to process Bobby's information. Calley had seen this coming and had put up a fight. Even the best make mistakes. One error in one symbol could have been enough, but it still didn't make sense. She was too good an artist to blow her most important work when Emily's life was at stake.
He rolled over into the blanket, forcing he's eyes closed. Austin, Texas was a long drive on your own.
TBC