Firefly – Chapter 21

By: Suz Mc

Sam's frustration was reaching Mt. St. Helen's level as he sat trapped in the plane, crammed against the window in the tiny coach class seat. The huge sweaty guy beside him could give Dean a run for his money when it came to flight anxiety. He was trying to be quiet about it, but the pinched tight eyelids, red face, and mumbling of the Lord's Prayer were a dead giveaway. At the moment, the guy didn't
want to talk and was way too involved in his own crash-and-burn fantasies to pay much attention to Sam.

Things had been fine and running on schedule until they boarded and a raging thunderstorm had shut everything down. Now Sam was stuck here with this panicked loser beside him, watching the time tick by. Sam kept replaying the arguments for and against calling Dean. He wanted to let him know the bastards had shown up at Ellen's but the risk of triggering some cell tracking program was too great when it was likely that the bad guys had no clue where to go to find Dean and Emily in the first place. Sam had expected that, of course, but not this quickly. These people obviously had no problems with transportation.

Coach seats were not built for Sam Winchester bodies. Dean bodies, yes, but not his. The tingle in his legs was getting to ant bite stage so he shifted more toward the window and tried to find room to pull out his Latin pages and get more of the text translated into something useful. The dark work drew him in and it took a while before he felt his fellow passenger's interest over his shoulder. Sam turned slightly, just enough to throw an annoyed glance at the man and then go back to his work. In a few minutes time, the guy's breath was back on Sam's neck. Sam sketched a couple of pentagrams on his notebook and the guy quickly leaned back into his own seat and resumed his praying.

Sometimes, scaring civilians had its place in the grand scheme of things.

***
Dean looked down at the seat where he'd tossed his phone. He knew it wouldn't be smart to use it unless there was no other option but that didn't stop him from wanting to track Sammy. Right now, there was no signal at all. Mountains totally screwed up cell reception so that settled his dilemma. Emily was snoozing in the backseat, mouth wide open, body held in place by her seatbelt. They'd fallen
into a rhythmic routine over the long hours of driving. Dean would see her sucking down one of the blue juice boxes, enthralled by some princess, then thirty minutes later she'd be tapping her fingers on his shoulder to signal a bathroom break.

That was a problem in itself. At the first stop, he hadn't known what to do. He couldn't go into the ladies room with her without being hauled away by the cops and it didn't seem safe to send her in alone. Dean sure as hell couldn't drag a little girl into the men's room. He'd been saved at two stops by moms with kids offering to take Emily with them and at another stop by a hot waitress who shared
the notion that a guy with a kid was pretty desirable. The last daddy's little helper had sent Emily back to Dean with freshly washed hands, straightened ponytail, and her phone number on a card under a lipstick kiss.

That demonstration had made quite an impression on Emily, who proceeded to kiss each of the coloring book pages she finished for the next hundred miles before she ripped them out and handed them over the front seat. A stack of pages with butterflies, princesses, mermaids, and lots of tiny flames had taken shape in the passenger seat. The little girl in the backseat was just trying to be sure he still understood what had happened and how it was still there inside her, even though she was fighting the fear with everything she had in her little kid arsenal. She couldn't speak but she certainly said a lot.

Emily was still snoozing when they pulled into Cheyenne Wells and the Blissful Valley Motor Court. Of course, it was now the Blissful Valley Motel and Resort. Evidently, a slightly green swimming pool qualified it as a resort. It was basically the same sixties era motel he remembered from the week he'd spent here with Sam and Dad as they tried to stop a rampaging werewolf from snacking on the locals. Dropping that monster in mid-leap was a rush he'd never forget. Being fifteen and wasting a werewolf was better than feeling up the head cheerleader, or at least it was equal on the teenage buzz scale. Dean told and retold that story to Sam, who'd almost been wolf chow until Dad popped the one who'd circled around them to the car. The story had been titled "Bloody Valley Massacre" and it got bloodier and more toothy every time he told it. The only problem with having that great story was that Dad and Sam were the only ones he could tell it to and not end up in the high school counselor's office.

The Impala slipped into a parking space close to the motel office and Dean eased Emily awake before they went inside to get a room. He signed the guestbook as "Wolf Blitzer" knowing Sam would roll his eyes and expect to be bombarded with the Bloody Valley Massacre tale once again. After moving the car, Wolf and Emily Blitzer walked down to their room at the end of the building and she carefully removed her things from the backseat and brought them inside. A hot pink suitcase, a stack of coloring books, a DVD player, and Cinderella Barbie. That was her world and Emily arranged it carefully on one of the beds in the weird room with a cloud motif.

"It's not so bad, is it?" Dean said, looking around the worn room. As Winchester accommodations went, this wasn't all that freaky, but what was fine for him and Sam to stagger back to after a bloody hunt just didn't seem good enough for a little girl. It would feel better, more acceptable, when Sam got there and he just wasn't sure why, but he knew it was so.

They were safe here for the time being. Nobody on the planet knew about this place or at least not their connection to it. Sam might as well have thrown a dart in a map to pick it. Dean knew they weren't followed because he wasn't a fool and knew a tail when he saw one. No reason to stay cooped up in the room when there was a perfectly good restaurant next door.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to check the clip in his gun, Dean held out his hand and said, "Let's go eat, kiddo." Her hand fit inside his and they left to wander down the sidewalk, Dean talking and Emily listening.

***

Chicken Little had maintained a white knuckled grip on the armrests since the plane took flight. Every sound, every motion seemed to inspire a gasp and it was going to drive Sam insane before they landed.

They were only a half hour away from the landing by the time he got to the last two pages and translated the words that stopped him cold. He thought he'd made a mistake. He hoped he'd made a mistake. He mumbled the Latin words to be sure of the sounds.

His hand was shaking as he wrote the words across the white notebook. Two pages of sickness and disaster that made a burned apartment seem like nothing. Two pages that summed up the reason Emily was conceived in such a violent and horrifying way. Two pages that explained the power he'd felt in her small hands. Two brutal, unmerciful pages that detailed a little girl's entire reason for existing. He should have known this was the endgame they were all speeding toward, the one thing Amora would need to earn her license to torture and unleash no peace on earth for anyone in her path.

Cell phone tracking didn't matter anymore so he dialed Dean's number.

"Uh, I don't think you're supposed to be using that right now." The frightened passenger was looking at Sam like he was about to bring the plane down in a nose dive.

"Mind your own business!" An irritating repetitive beep jabbed into his ear. No signal. He jerked the phone away from his ear and punched a text message. The stupid envelope icon flipped over and over then vaporized across the screen when the message couldn't be sent.

The approach went slowly and he popped his phone open over and over trying to get a signal. The stewardess stopped to gently suggest that Sam close his phone and wait to get inside the terminal because electronic devices weren't allowed at this point in the flight. Sam tried to use that stupid receiver plugged into the seat in front of him and his credit card wouldn't work because he'd maxed it out to buy the ticket.

"Shit!" he yelled, slamming it back in place and getting another frightened look from the guy to his right.

Sam had his bag in hand and was on his feet when the plane coasted to a stop at the gate and the stewardess gave the word to disembark. Manners and courtesy could be damned and he stepped over the guy in his way, shoving away anyone between him and the door. The phone was in his hand while Sam pounded his way through the endless tunnel leading to the terminal. When the screen changed from no bars to full signal, Sam frantically dialed Dean's number again and pounced on the "Hello" that rang in his ear

"Dean! Thank God! Listen, I know what's—"

"Psych! Leave a message."

"Son of a bitch!" Sam screamed at Dean's retarded voicemail greeting.

Breaking from the area in a run, he tried to keep believing that the mountains between Dean's phone and cell towers were killing the signal and sending his calls straight to voicemail. He slowed down to type a text message and send it before searching for the Avis booth. At least he'd had the forethought to pay for the rental car when he bought his ticket. There was a two hour drive between Sam and his family and he had to beat a monster to them.

*****

When the waitress offered Emily a booster seat so she could sit a little taller in the booth, her little face screwed up into a disgusted scowl that made her father laugh. Dean could imagine her saying, "I'm no baby." He could imagine that her little voice would sound squeaky and annoyed at the idea that she would even consider using something for toddlers, even if she needed it.

He was hoping any time now he wouldn't have to imagine it.

When the waitress returned, she was all smiles and making a big deal about how cute it was to see a daddy and daughter out for a date. "What would you like, sugar?" she said, leaning down with her pad in hand. Emily remained silent, looking at the woman with wide eyes. "Don't be scared of me, darlin'," the waitress whispered in an easy, maternal tone. Noticing Emily's arm, she added, " That must be a bad boo-boo to need such a big bandage." She reached out to pat the little girl on the head and she flinched.

"She's really shy," Dean said, offering an explanation.

"Okay," the woman responded and turned to him, tapping her pen against the paper.

"I want a double cheeseburger and fries and bring her the, uh," he paused, trying to figure out what she'd like and not like with zero information to go on.

"My little boy loves the mac and cheese and chicken fingers." She smiled at him like he was clueless and he was.

"How's that?" he asked, relieved to get a positive nod in response from Emily.

Dean checked his phone again and it still had no signal. If Sam was right about the length of the drive, he should be here any time now and the knot inside his stomach should unravel a bit. Things weren't going to feel right until they were all in the same spot dealing with the problem together.

The food came and Dean dug in, sure this was one of the top three biggest burgers of his lifetime. The place wasn't bad and the crowd was slim. He liked it that way because it made it easier to monitor everyone within reach of Emily. He could see into the kitchen and watch the one guy slinging hash. There were two waitresses and three other customers. Both doors were in his line of vision and there wasn't any loud music to interfere with his hearing.

All he had to worry about at the moment was this kid and her need to believe she was taller than she really was. Emily was stretching and straining to sit high enough to comfortably scoop up her food and her stubbornness was showing.

"Do you want the seat? I'll get it for you."

Her head shook back and forth in a hard jerk and she frowned deeply while she did it, the look and gesture clearly saying, "Hell no!"

Dean held up his hands. "Okay, do it your way, kid."

With great effort, Emily continued to reach and stretch to gobble up her lunch. By the time the waitress returned, she'd cleaned her plate and had a satisfied grin on her face.

"Wow, you are one hungry little girl." She took in Dean's bare plate and added, "and dad, too." She held out two dessert plates to give them a choice. Looking down at Emily, she put both plates down on the table. "Here are your choices, if you still have room in that little tummy. Bread pudding or chocolate pie."

Dean watched her eye both plates and when Emily pointed toward the pie a very big, very goofy smile broke over his face. "Make that two," he said to the waitress, unable to stop the laugh from coming out. Pie. This was his kid and she'd just met him a few days ago, but she wanted pie. Pie was a big deal.

"You like pie, huh?"

Before she could nod, the pie arrived and Emily attacked it with a great deal of enthusiasm.

He'd only had one bite and this kid had nearly inhaled her whole slice. "Guess that's a yes." It wasn't the best pie he'd had, but it felt like it. Dean left the check and his cash on the table and the two of them left to go wait for Sam. The parking lot was mostly empty except for a truck and empty silver rental car but there was no Sam to be found.

"We'll give him thirty minutes then we're going to locate your Uncle Sammy." Something didn't feel right about not knowing Sam's exact location.

Emily's grip on his hand suddenly became lighter and she was falling behind a bit. Dean looked down to find her head drooping down and he laughed a little at how quickly she went from sixty to zero. "Full belly making you sleepy?" he asked, holding her hand more tightly. Might come in handy for her to take a little nap and let him do a quick supply check and bring in some of the more substantial weapons from the trunk.

She didn't look up at the sound of his voice and staggered against his leg. Dropping down to his knees, Dean held her chin up in his hand. Her eyes were unfocused and barely open. Emily's normal pink cheeks were suddenly pale. "What's wrong, Emily?" Her body wobbled as he ran his hand over her forehead and then she crumbled into his arms without warning, limp and unconscious.

This wasn't an exhausted kid full of pie. Panic rose up into his throat as he snatched her up close to his chest and pounded toward the car. Her breathing was slow and her pulse was just as faded. He was halfway to the Impala when his vision began to blur. Catching himself against a metal post, he fought to keep the spots in front of his eyes from blending together into total darkness.

Stupid son of a bitch.

He gripped Emily's ragdoll body to his chest and focused on getting into the shelter of the motel room instead of the car and not dumping them both onto the ground. They were caught; out in the open, ripe for the taking.

Keep breathing, Baby.

The drugs or spell or whatever the fuck they'd thrown at them was working fast and he had to get into that room. They were probably watching him stumble down the walkway like a drunken bitch, laughing at him and how easy it was to fuck him up and steal his kid.

Stupid son of a bitch.

His stupidity was going to get them both killed unless he could make it to that room on his feet. Arms going numb, his hand found the gun in his belt by instinct alone. Colors and sound were bleeding together, mocking him when he fell into the room, barely keeping upright.

He could defend the room until Sam got there if he could stay conscious.

Stay conscious, damnit!

He was crawling now and his arms were light where her little body had fallen away from his grasp between the beds. He took cover there, pushing Emily behind him. He couldn't see the door, but it was there in the general direction he pointed and they were coming in. Dean propped his gun on the bed, planning to take out as many as he could. There was movement under his other hand. She was still breathing. That was good. Dean concentrated on breathing in and out with her and feeling and hearing so he could stay in the conscious world and guard the door.

Hurry up, Sammy. Please.

There was the sound of splintered wood and light flooded into the room where the door should be. He thought he fired, told his finger to squeeze but couldn't hear it. He told the other hand to hold onto Emily and make them cut it off to get her.

Stay the fuck away from her or you're dead!

He thought he said it but he was drowning in the black now and then he didn't think anymore.

TBC