I wake up the next morning on the couch I fell asleep on, with a blanket wrapped around me and a pillow underneath my head. My entire body is like one giant pulled muscle. Damn it, Dean was right. Still, in spite of that, I had no regrets. I sat up (very painfully, I might add) and looked around. Dean was making breakfast already. "Morning, Skylar," he says. I groan and flop back down on the pillow. The light hurts my eyes, and everything else feels sore, so I wasn't having the best morning. "I told you," Dean says.
I want to sit back up and give him the stink eye, but my stomach muscles hurt too much to give me that ability. "You suck," I say instead.
Dean laughs and comes over with a plate for me about a minute later. "Come on, sit up," he says. It takes me a while, and a lot of pain, but I eventually make it so my feet are hanging over the edge of the couch, and I am upright. Dean gives me a mug of hot chocolate with a tower of whipped cream on top. The plate is full of pancakes, also with whipped cream on top. "I watched the rest of that movie last night after you fell asleep," Dean says just after I put a bite into my mouth.
I swallow before saying anything. "Did you like it?" I ask him.
Dean shrugs. "It was good, but wizard stuff really isn't my kind of thing. Witches are usually evil and mischievous, so I didn't find the whole innocent little kid thing to be accurate," he explains.
"You've met witches before?" I ask, excited.
"They were never pleasant experiences, Skylar. Like I said, they are evil. Also, most of them sell their souls to demons in order to get their power," Dean says.
That gives me a whole new perspective on the world of Hogwarts, but I shake that strange feeling off quickly. I just eat more and drink my hot chocolate. "So, what do you want to do today?" Dean asks me after the silence goes on for a while.
"I am a giant bruise," I say. Looking at my arms, I am covered in purple and blue spots. "I blame you," I say, sounding completely serious, but I'm really not at all.
"It's your fault for being so stubborn," Dean says, shrugging.
"I thought you said I was determined," I pointed out.
"I didn't realize that you would be, as you said earlier, a giant bruise. The physical evidence states that you were stubborn," he says.
"You honestly have no clue what you're saying, do you?" I ask him. He doesn't admit it, but he doesn't deny it, either. That makes me smile. "I suppose that, since I can't do any wrestling, I can work on my weapons skills," I suggest.
"Don't you want to do anything fun?" Dean asks me. I shrug. "I don't think I brought home a normal kid. There is something seriously wrong with you," he says.
"You aren't the first one to say that," I say with a big grin on my face. All of my friends thought I was crazy, so this isn't the first time I have heard this. Dean's kind of silent, so I finish up my breakfast. When I'm done, I get up, which hurts more than you would expect. I am literally a giant bruise. I clean off my dish and put it in the dishwasher (without being asked, I might add). Sorry, those kind of little things are important to eleven year olds.
"Come on, let's go," I say as I start walking to the weapons room. Dean gets up and off the couch and follows me. His long strides combined with my sore muscles make him catch up to me very fast.
I pull out the bow again and shoot over and over again until I get three bulls eyes in a row (that takes about half an hour). Dean is watching me with interest, probably calculating a bunch of crap that I can't think about. After I get the three bulls eyes, I walk over to the knives. "Can you teach me how to throw these?" I ask Dean.
"Honestly, I've done very little with throwing knives," he says.
"Why?" I ask him.
"Because I've got a gun," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world-which it really isn't.
"What if you don't have a gun, Dean? Ever thought about that? You could be stranded in the middle of nowhere and have nothing but a piece of rock and some wood. What would you do then?" I ask him, putting my hands on my hips all sassy like.
"I'm not saying that I don't know how to use a knife, Skylar. Knifes are very useful, especially because they don't make an infinite number of angel blade bullets. I just don't throw them," he says.
"What if you have to throw one? What if that's your only hope of survival. Sometimes, Dean, you may not have the chance to run up and kill the guy. Sometimes you don't have enough time," I say, bitterness and sadness in my voice.
"I'm sorry we couldn't save your family, Skylar. I wish we could have done something. You wouldn't be here if they were alive," Dean says, pity and sadness and guilt in his voice.
I sigh. "I don't blame you or Sam or Castiel for my family dying. You saved my life-that's good enough. It's just… I would give anything if it meant my brother survived," I say.
"You loved your brother, didn't you?" Dean asks me. I nod as a tear rolls out of my eye. "I understand that more than probably anyone. I've done some crazy things to make my brother live. When he died once, I even sold my soul so he could live," he says.
"By saying once, I assume you mean that he's died more than once?" I ask. Dean shrugs. "You guys are crazy," I say.
"You're just getting that?" Dean asks, a smile on his face. I pick up a throwing knife, and chuck it at the target. My aim is very far off. I don't even make it on the target. Also, the knife hits with the wrong end. I put my fingers on the sharp end of the blade and flick it with a lot of force. This time, I make it on the target. No where close to the bullseye, but close enough. I throw over and over again, until I make it just outside the bullseye. "Wow, kid. You're really good," Dean says.
"I pick up things like that fast," I say, shrugging. I wasn't the most physically apt, but I had good aim. I made up for all my lack in physical strength in determination and sharpness of the mind.
"I can tell. See if you can make a bullseye," he says. I throw a few times, and after what seems like a hundred throws (it was only 20, according to Dean) I finally make a bullseye. "Good job. I think with a little practice, you could be pretty lethal."
It's strange that he thinks an eleven year old can be lethal, but I don't say anything about it. "I think once I get better at wrestling, I'll be lethal. Also, I haven't actually tried shooting on the move or anything," I say instead.
"You seem like the kind of person who will pick that up quickly," Dean says.
"Can I try shooting on the move?" I ask him. What I'm really asking is if I can go outside, I just don't say it that way.
"Maybe later. The sun already set today, so you can't exactly do that right now," Dean says. I look over at the clock in the weapons and training room.
It says four o'clock. "Really? Sorry, I don't buy it," I say. Dean doesn't move and continues looking at me with that same stern expression. "You just don't want me to go outside," I realize. Dean doesn't deny it. "Oh my god, really? I haven't been outside since I came here," I say.
"The safest place in the world for you is inside the bunker. Can you blame me for being a little skeptical about you going outside? A demon could get you," Dean says.
"I could also drown in the shower," I say. Of course, his thing is more likely to happen to me, but not in the hour I'd be outside. Besides, I'd have Dean watching me. The point was that I was trying to get him to sound how ridiculous it was.
"Dean! I'm home!" I hear a voice from the kitchen say. Damn, Moose.
"Sam's here," Dean says and leaves the room. I follow behind him, because I have nothing better to do. Dean goes a lot faster than I do, and it takes a lot of pain to catch up to him.
"Dean, what did you do to her?" is the first question that Sam asks when I come into the room. Dean looks like he has no idea what Sam's talking about. "No offense to you, Skylar, but she looks like a giant bruise," Sam says to his brother.
"It's not my fault," Dean says.
"Really?" Sam and I both ask him at the same time. Sam looks over at me. "Well, it wasn't completely his fault, I'll admit. Still, he should have known to go easier on an eleven year old," I say, and end up kind of rambling on.
"Dean, you should have gone easy on her," Sam says.
"I didn't attack her," Dean says.
"So you didn't go easy on me when I attacked you?" I ask Dean. He shrugs. "I'm covered in purple, Dean. You should go easier on me next time," I say.
"Well, you got better, didn't you?" he asks me. I have to admit, he's right. "See? Also, it wasn't completely my fault. This girl has more determination than most of the hunters I know, and that's saying something."
"Yeah, it was partly my fault. I kept going, even after I got slammed on my back a thousand times," I admit.
"So, you figured-I just got my ass beaten, let's go do that again," Sam says, more confused than anything else. He's not being irritable or anything. He is genuinely concerned about why I would want to get my ass kicked over and over again.
"I wanted to get better," I say, shrugging.
"Are you sure you didn't hit her head too hard, Dean?" Sam asks his brother, although I can tell from his tone that he is joking.
"I think it's incredible that she was so determined," Dean says. He walks over to the fridge and pulls out two beer bottles. He pops the caps off of both of them and hands one to Sam. He turns on the TV to this one baseball game, and I sit down on the comfortable chair that is next to the couch.
Later that night, Dean puts me to sleep. "What if the nightmares come back?" I ask him. I was so scared the night before when I woke up. It was a painful memory.
"You can wake me up, and I'll be there for you. I promise," Dean says. I smile. I don't think anyone's been that nice to me in my whole life. Especially not someone who I just met.
I thank him. "I just have one more question. Why are you being so nice to me? You don't have to be. I mean, giving me a place to live is enough," I say. It doesn't make sense to me at all. People aren't supposed to be this kind to strangers. Human nature makes them that way.
"Other than just the fact that you're a really awesome kid, I think you're just the friend that I need. A while ago, I had a kid named Ben, and things didn't exactly turn out well. That's why I'm so insistent on protecting you. I can't let anything happen to you, not after everything that happened," Dean says. I can tell from just looking at his face that he feels responsible for what happened.
"I'm sorry that whatever happened to Ben happened. Don't blame yourself, though. Whatever happened wasn't your fault," I say, with true sincerity.
"You don't know that. You may be smart, but you aren't that smart," Dean says.
"I can read people, Dean. I can tell that you always blame yourself for things that aren't your fault. You are a good person-I know that for sure. You're just dangerous to be around, and most people who know you already know that risk," I say.
"Okay, kid, you're starting to freak me out with how much you know. It's just crazy," Dean says.
"I also did see all of those news stories about you from a couple years ago. I had to do a research project this year at school about a criminal. My teacher was completely insane. Anyway, I was looking through some stories when I found you and Sam. I spent three weeks doing research on you guys. Everything I found was very interesting, and my presentation and report both got A's," I explained.
"Well, you're welcome. What was the most interesting thing you found?" Dean asks me.
"Every single time that you were accused of robbery or murder or something, there were several witnesses who swore you and Moose saved their lives. It made me think that you guys were a little like folk heroes, which is a topic I included in my report. The title of the presentation was actually 'Modern Robin Hood' or something like that," I explain.
"It sounds like you took a lot of time and put a lot of energy into this. What was your teacher even expecting your class to have?" Dean asks.
"Not a ten page report, that's for sure. She nearly had a heart attack when I shoved this huge stack of papers on her desk. I even said 'I'm sorry, I didn't have enough time to do enough research.'" I smile at the memory, because it was a pleasant experience. I got so into the subject I was given, and I was so interested in it. I obsessed over it completely.
"Why would you do that? I mean, it was just a school report. You didn't have to do ten times what was expected," Dean says. Just from that comment, I can tell that he never did more than the bare minimum at school.
I shrug. "You and Sam have a pretty interesting background. I got really interested. What else can I say?" I ask.
"Okay, you're officially crazy," Dean says. I shrug. "Night, kid," he says and leaves my room. I settle into an easy sleep. Knowing I have someone looking out for me can do wonders for my mental health.