"Hey…" Dean gently shook Ashton. "Ash, we're here." Though she had been deep asleep only moments before, Ashton shot up, eyes wide and panicky. "Hey woah there." Dean took her by the shoulders, peering into her eyes with concern. "You okay? How'd you sleep?"
Ashton shook her head clear, wiping a hand over her tired face. "Uh, yeah. I mean I slept fine." In truth, she hadn't. She had horribly real dreams of being kidnapped and tortured for weeks. But she was under the impression that her father was not exactly a huge fan of talking about feelings. Her father. That was weird. When she was little, kids just asked where her daddy was, why he never came on field trips or school plays. As she got older, the questions were less curious and more taunting. The names grew worse as kids realized her dad didn't want her. And now, years of name calling and now here he was saving her from her nightmares and holding her. And as nice as it was to feel his concern, she couldn't help wondering why her mom never called him, never mentioned him. Who was this guy that after one night her mother couldn't stand to see or talk about him?
"Here, give me your hand and Sam'll take the stuff in. We already got the room." Dean broke her thoughts. Slowly, painfully, Ashton made her way in, leaning primarily on Dean,her ankle still throbbing and her head spinning. She sat down immediately on one of the beds, taking a breather, watching quietly as the boys played rock-paper-scissors for who had to sleep in the recliner. Dean promptly lost, brushing away some snide remark made by Sam. Taking a deep breath, she broke the silence that had filled the room, as Sam grabbed his computer and Dean pulled a beer from a six-pack in the mini fridge. "I'm taking a shower."
They looked at her in surprise, as if they'd forgotten she was there, which they probably had.
"Okay," Sam said. "Do, um, do you have any clothes other than the ones we found you in?"
Ashton glanced down at her current attire. She was swimming in one of Dean's shirt and sweatpants given to her by the hospital. Her old, ragged pair of jeans and ripped t-shirt were in a plastic bag by the door. "No…".
"That's fine. I can grab you something. There's probably a store around here somewhere that sells clothes." Dean jumped up and grabbed his keys off the table, stopping to pick up the old bag of clothes. "As a size reference", he explained.
Ashton undressed carefully, painfully aware of her bruised arms and legs and bones sticking out at odd angles. Gingerly she peeled off the soft cast and stepped into the shower. Grime swirled down the drain, a light brown and red-tinged trail of dirt. She scrubbed her hair with shampoo, rinsing her hair before rewashing it. As she rinsed again, her fingers brushed the side of her neck and a searing pain burst from the point of contact. She stumbled forward in pain, one hand on her neck the other supporting her full weight against the shower wall. She closed her eyes in pain and her head began to throb, but the reprieve she sought would not come. She clutched her head in pain, losing her stability when she removed her hand from the wall. Her head slammed into the wall then, losing all consciousness.
A haze kept her from seeing clearly. Straps cut into her wrists. She felt blood ooze down her skin, a sick tickling feeling covered her as it dripped from her neck. A metallic taste filled her mouth; she tried to swallow it down, but bile rose in her throat. There was a loud clang to the left and she flinched in fear. She tried to turn her head but winced in pain at the wound in her neck. Footsteps. They grew louder until they stopped right behind her head. She was shaking with fear, teeth rattling. A hand reached down, brushing the tangled, dirt-encrusted hair off her forehead. She flinched, hard. The hand grabbed her face, rubbing a thumb over her swollen cheekbone.
"Shhh. Hush now." A gravelly voice whispered next to her ear. She responded with a whimper as the thumb trailed down her jawbone, dusting over her neck. With one hand on her shoulder and the other pushing her chin in the opposite direction, he leaned over and sunk his teeth into the wounds. Her scream filled the room as the man dig his face into her neck, twisting his razor teeth into her vein. After a minute, he pulled away, wiping the blood from his mouth. A dirty rag was pressed against the wound, but despite the pain running through her, she was too weak to cry out. Tears filled her eyes and she dry-heaved, sickened by the smell of her own blood. The man leaned over her, one hand pressed to her chin and the other clasped around her arm, leaving purple bruises lingering on her face and lower forearm. He pressed his bloody lips to her own, biting her lower lip in his passion. She pressed her head into the pillow in an effort to evade him, but to no prevail. After a moment he pulled back and sighed, patting her dirt-covered, tear-stained cheek. "Sleep tight, sweetheart." Spots drifted over her vision as she slipped back out of consciousness.
Dean came home to find Sam passed out on the couch, TV playing quietly in the background, Ashton nowhere to be seen. "Ash? Ashton?" He dropped the bags that ran over to the bathroom door, banging on it loudly. The water was running but he didn't hear any movement. "Ashton!? Open up!" Sam stirred on the couch but upon hearing the panic in Dean's voice he shot up.
"What's wrong? Why isn't she answering?"
"I don't know Sam, I come in and you're sleeping while she could've drowned herself!" Dean's fear had turned to anger. "Get back." Dean took a step back and swiftly slammed the sole of his boot next to the lock. The door busted open and Dean rushed in, followed quickly by Sam. Dean yanked the shower curtain open to find Ashton slumped against the wall, pinkish water pouring down the drain. Sam threw him a towel and he scooped up the girl. She was so skinny, so light in his arms Dean's eyes filled up. He watched her ribs rise and fall, each bone sticking out at an odd angle, sharp and angular. He carried back to one of the twin beds and lowered her to the mattress, draping a blanket over her pale body. Dean stepped back as Sam grabbed a bundle of paper towels and pressed it gently to her head.
Ashton peeled her eyes open, still reeling from the vision. Dean was leaning over her, a piece of gauze in his hand, applying gentle pressure to her head.
"Hey, honey." His voice was soft and gruff. "It's been a while."
The scene was too familiar for her and she felt something creeping up her throat. She leaned over and retched on his shoes. "Sorry," she coughed out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Yeah. That's alright. Get some sleep." Dean glanced at his shoes, covered in bile, and dragged a hand over his ragged face. Ash had been out for six hours, six hours of worrying, stress, and hushed discussions with Sam. He sagged back in relief; she was okay. There were a thousand other battles to fight, but right now she was okay. The image of her limp body in his arms still haunted him. A gentle tug on her shirt revealed bony hips and ribs jutting out disturbingly, and the veins and tendons on her arm popped out of her translucent skin. She was a strong kid, Dean could see it in her eyes, but he was determined to protect her. He had to. It was his job and thus far he'd failed to accomplish it. Instead, she'd spent years believing he didn't care, he didn't love her. It broke his heart- he could see in her a certain hardness that he had seen everyday in the mirror. Anger, anger and frustration so deep he doubted she knew of it. His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening; Sam was back with food.
"Hey. How's she doing?" He dumped styrofoam containers on the rickety 80's table by the window and walked over to the bed, perching on the edge.
"She woke up, threw up, and fell back to sleep." Dean scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "She's okay."
"Good. We still gotta keep and eye in her. We don't know what those vamps did to her."
"No yeah I know. But a battle at a time. I'll take it, you know?" Dean brushed back her hair and kissed her sweaty forehead. Carefully he leaned down and untied his shoes before throwing them in the tub. Sam handed him a container of fries with a double bacon cheeseburger nestle in the middle. "Thanks, man." He shoved a fry into his mouth- he'd been too busy worrying about Ashton to worry about himself.
"So, I was reading." Sam avoided Dean's eyes. "In the newspaper this morning, the obits. This other girl, a soccer mom, beat in two other ladies heads in with a bookend. There was a fourth girl there too, she was not unconscious, not killed, thankfully. What do you think, you want to talk to her?"
Dean slurped his soda. "Hmm."
"What?"
"Sam, this is my daughter. You know that right?"
"Yeah Dean.'Course I know that. What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means we've got to come home at the end of the day. It means the guns blazing might need to be taken down a notch. And we've got to factor her into the equation now. There're stakes now, Sammy. We've got to come home at the end of the day. I've got to."
Sam furrowed his brow, facing his brother full-on now. "I know that. I know. She's a part of the family now, I get that. And that means she gets taken care of and we protect her."
"No, it's more than that. I have you, and Cas and we've had Bobby and there's others, hunters. Ashton has no one. She's lost it all, everyone. I'm it for her. She needs me, right here."
"Dean, I know that. I'm her uncle, too, you know. I care about her, too."
"I know you are. That's not my point. My point is demons, vamps, Lucifer, Crowley, I don't care. You and I got to make it home. No matter the circumstances, no matter the big bad. She needs us and we are going to be there. Alright?"
"Alright, Dean I get it. There's no need to make it sound like we throw ourselves at death."
"You're joking, right? Sam, that's exactly what we do. We invite Death to our Christmas parties. We run at him with open arms. How many times have we offered to sell our souls to each other? This is a whole new game changer here, Sam. Because she comes first. No matter what. So I don't care how I will do everything to get home at the end of the day. I've failed her for sixteen years. She's been alone for who-knows-how-long. Her mom's gone, she doesn't have anyone. I'm not going to leave her alone anymore. I left her alone for too long. I don't care how we get home, I don't care what kind of bat crazy situation we're in, I don't care what I have to hack, slice, or rip through to make it back at the end of the day. Whatever it is I'm going to do it. Whatever."
"Okay, Dean I get it. I know, okay? I know that everything's going to be different and we have responsibilities now. I know-" Sam started
"No. No, see you don't know. Because I look at that little girl lying there, having been through who-knows-what, and I have to deal with the fact that I couldn't protect her. I couldn't catch her when she fell, I couldn't keep her safe, I couldn't do anything for that girl. I will never forgive myself for that. I will always be the reason she has scars. I will always be the reason she has nightmares. It's my fault and I can't fix it. All I can do is make sure I don't leave her alone. Ever. And even that will never be enough. So no, you don't understand." Dean was standing now, his voice a harsh whisper in an effort to keep from waking Ashton up.
Sam took a step back. "Dean, I'm trying to be understanding and help you. I care about this girl, too. I'm not going to let anything happen to her. I'm here for you and for her."
Dean shook his head. "It's different. It's not the same. So I'll do the case, yeah, but nothing will keep me from her side. And I don't care what I have to do to get there."
Sam nodded and opened his mouth to explain, but in the bed Ashton stirred. Dean was up in a flash, talking before she could even open her mouth.
"Hey, stay there. I'll get you some water." He grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water from the sink. "Here. Sip."
Ashton swallowed slowly. "Thanks," she croaked out. "Can I have some food, please? Like toast maybe? Or crackers?"
Dean glanced at Sam, worried. Sam grabbed a plastic he'd thrown on the counter. Out he pulled a box of saltine crackers, a six-pack of ginger ale, and a multitude of smaller boxes. "I grabbed some medicine and light food. I figured you wouldn't be up to our usual dinners." Sam handed Dean a sleeve of crackers and a can of ginger ale, who nodded his thanks. Dean pulled Ashton up a little, helping her sit up to eat and drink.
"You didn't sleep very long there, Ash. How you feeling?" Dean hesitated before brushing her damp hair off her face.
She swallowed her soda slowly, considering her words. Her head was throbbing, she felt sick to her stomach (the crackers might not have been a good idea, though she was starving), and she could barely see straight. But looking at Dean's pleading face she mustered the biggest smile on her face as she could. Ash knew it looked more like grimace but Dean's face cleared, if only slightly. "I think I'm feeling better. Sorry about the shoes."
"No worries, I'll wash them later. How's your head? You took a pretty big fall." He combed his fingers through her hair.
"I'm okay I think. Nothing some aspirin can't fix."
Dean glanced over at Sam, who tossed him one of the small boxes. He shook out a couple pills and poured them into Ashton's outstretched palm. "So what happened?"
Ashton's tossed her head back, a sharp pain struck her head, piercing the thundering inside. After swallowing, she shook her head. "I don't know. I was washing my hair and I don't know, I just sort of fell…" she trailed off, considering the odd dream she'd had.
"What?" Dean saw her hesitation, his brow furrowing suspiciously.
"No, I just, I had a dream or something. No big deal."
Dean glanced back at Sam. "I'm going to grab a soda. I'll be back later." Sam grabbed Baby's keys and left, the engine starting with a pur before roaring out.
"Okay, now talk to me. What happened? Please, I won't be mad or anything. Just talk to me." Dean sat back on the bed.
"I don't know, I just." Ashton shrugged, picking her words carefully. "I was in this, like warehouse, right? And there was this guy, okay, and I was like in a bed and chained up and all torn up and he… I don't know, he, it sounds crazy, but he bit me. And I started bleeding and he, he licked my neck. Like he was licking the blood. It's crazy, right? Like just my imagination?"
Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, just your imagination. Don't worry about it. It's nothing. That's all?" Ashton nodded, searching his eyes trustingly. "Get's some sleep, then."
Ashton nodded, lying back. "Yeah, okay. Good."
Dean took the can from her and grabbed the sleeve of crackers and placed them on the counter. He glanced back at his daughter, who'd rolled over, facing the wall. He leaned back against the counter, palms placed solidly on the counter edge. He closed his eyes tightly, exhaling through his nose. He wiped a hand over his face, before running his hand through his hair. Everything he'd wanted for her, even a semi-normal life, was too much to ask for. Her life would never be normal, and that was his fault. Everything he tried to fix, his attempts to keep her from the world he'd lived in, was already destroyed. He should've left her at the hospital. She'd go to a home and yeah it'd be rough, but she wouldn't be stuck with him. He swiped his arm across the counter the soda, pill bottles, and box of crackers crashing to the floor. Ashton stirred but didn't wake up. The bottles rattled around on the floor as the soda spilled into a puddle. After a minute, he grabbed some paper towels and wiped the ginger ale up, threw the bottles into a plastic bag, and placed the cracker box back on the counter. Sam would be back soon and they needed to start the case, and Ashton needed to get some sleep as well. He slumped into the chair, head in his hands, waiting for Sam to get back.