Title: Save yourself
Rating: M or MA, for language, violence and sex.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except Amy and I'm making no profit out of this.
Summary: Who would have thought that a children's game in his youth would be the key to saving his soul? Set after Season 3 finally, spoilers up to that point. Banter, love/hate relationship, Dean/OFC.
Nineteen years ago
The distant combination high pitched giggling and rapid tapping of small feet barely registered in his mind as his hand leaned on the cold metal and he hesitantly pushed the weighty door open.
He'd been specifically told not to go downstairs by his father. The way it had been growled at him left no room for doubt on whether it had been an order or not.
After ten minutes of nervously pacing around, drawing circles on the Persian carpet in the living room while his brother and his new found friend raced around the massive household, his mind had begun to rebel against the instruction.
Taking one step at a time, he'd made his way to the basement. He'd clumsily scrambled to grab hold of the railing when something slippery had caused him to suddenly falter in his footing.
Looking down, even in the dark hues surrounding him, he'd immediately recognised the pool of thick liquid under his sneaker. Six years of travelling cross country on hunts had made him an expert in identifying blood. Even though he was only ten years old, the sight of it had ceased to bother him a long time ago. But this time is was different. His stomach turned, the acid content crawling its way up to the back of his throat, causing it to clench. Sure it was just blood, but it was his father's blood after all.
He couldn't help narrowing his eyes as the door opened and the the bright room unveiled before.
After a few procrastinating seconds they seemed to adjust to the new found brightness and he was able to see him. His father, shirtless, sat on a cold metallic table, his facial muscles contracting riotously while a figure leaned over him, its identity concealed by its position.
With its back turned to the door, all he could see was a messy bundle of curls cascading down its back. The shimmer of burgundy in the auburn locks contrasting with the long white coat it wore.
"You were lucky, John."
"Doesn't feel lucky."
His father's harsh and ragged tenor clashed with the soft feminine voice of the woman who was now reaching for a bit of gauze.
John hissed as the antiseptic-embedded tissue made contact with his injured shoulder.
"Sorry." She said apologetically. "I'll give you another shot of-"
She halted at his reaction.
"John, there's no point in letting you feel pain, if we-"
But he harshly cut her off again.
"It's just a local anaesthetic; it's no going to-"
"I said no."
"Ok." She reluctantly agreed. "Just a couple more minutes and I'll be done."
John nodded, unable to keep from letting out a sigh of relief.
The boy watched as she continued to work on him. When she picked up a syringe his hand was instantly on her wrist.
"It's just a shot of antibiotics." She explained.
He seemed to ponder the option for a couple of seconds before giving his silent consent by letting go of his grip on her.
She moved towards the IV and slowly injected the clear fluid into the system.
Almost immediately, John's demeanour changed, his muscles relaxing, causing him to slouch a little, his eyelids fluttering a couple of times. And that's when he saw him.
"What are you doing here?"
The ten year old boy froze as two pairs of eyes locked on him.
"I told you to stay upstairs and keep an eye on your brother."
John made a move to get off the table, but faltered. Closing his eyes, he clutched at the metallic surface for much needed balance before redirecting an accusing gaze toward the woman tending to his wound.
"That wasn't antibiotic." It wasn't a question, more of a statement.
Her lips curled slightly for a guilty smile.
"No, it wasn't." She admitted.
Her hands cocooned around him, helping him lay down as he gradually drifted into unconsciousness.
The sight of his father so helpless snapped the boy into action and he marched into the room demanding:
"What did you do?"
"It's ok Dean. Your father just needs to rest. He'll be fine." She assured him pulling a thick blanket over the now slumbering man.
Dean didn't know why. Maybe it was because his father had told him that she was going to help them, or maybe it was just the peaceful kindness irradiating from this woman's emerald eyes but, at that moment, he believed her.
"Go upstairs, Dean. I'll be up in a couple of minutes to fix you guys something to eat, ok?"
He nodded and giving his father one last glance he turned and walked out of the room.
He sat on the ground in the middle of the large library. He had to admit he wasn't a big fan of books and the floor to ceiling bookcases coating every wall irked him a little, but on the other hand he'd been fascinated by the artefacts and trinkets scattered across the open space, displayed in various glass casings.
He'd picked at every one of them; unfortunately, the only one that had been unlocked was also the less interesting of all. He'd much rather be holding the sliver platted gun to his right, but in stead he was stuck with this wooden box.
He'd popped it open to find a dusty old scroll and two intertwined rings inside.
Ignoring the jewellery he picked up the paper.
"What are you doing?" Her snooty and demanding tone caused him to jump up and snap into attention, directing his annoyed gaze toward the door.
Just under the threshold stood Bony Amy, as he called her, much to her exasperation.
With her mouth set in a chastising straight line she entered the room fully, coming closer. The red curls she'd clearly inherited from her mother, were trapped in two pigtails and bounced gingerly with each severe step she took towards him.
He threw her one last irritated sideways glance before returning to the scroll he held in his hands, intent on ignoring her.
"Amy? Where" gasp "are you?"
A breathless six year old Sam ran into the library.
Great! Now his little brother was going to merrily jump on the 'annoy Dean to death' bandwagon.
'Just great!' He thought, shaking his head.
"Go away." Dean growled, his eyes never abandoning the piece of paper.
Maybe if he didn't look at them they would just resume their playing and leave him alone.
"You can't touch that!" Amy practically ordered coming to hover over him.
'So much for ignoring.'
Still, he held onto his strategy and disregarded their presence completely, narrowing his eyes as he tried to make sense of what was written.
"It's in Latin." Amy informed him.
"I know that." Dean lied at Miss 'Know it all'.
Why hadn't he paid more attention in Latin classes with his father? Oh, right! Cause they were boring.
"Dad's going to get mad." Sam joined in.
"Not if you keep your pie hole shut."
Dean let out of a frustrated sigh as the two younger children now surrounded him, each perched over one of his shoulders.
Taking a deep breath he began reading the words out loud.
It wasn't long before Amy was interrupting him.
"It's pronounced animae." She corrected eyes focusing on the two rings she'd picked up and now held in her tiny palm.
Dean continued and once again...
"Inplicare." She chirped absentmindedly, too absorbed in pulling at the two interlaced metallic loops to catch the death look Dean was throwing her way.
He hadn't spoken three more words before she cut him off again:
"That's it!" He snapped making a move to snatch the rings from her hand, but she instantly fisted her fingers around them defeating his attempt. "Give me those." He ordered glaring daggers at her.
The tiny redhead girl, however, didn't seem threatened at all and instead seized the opportunity to grab the scroll from him.
"Hey!" He protested, but before he could make a move, the sneaky brat was already on her feet and scurrying around the room bellowing the words written on the parchment paper off the top of her lungs.
And the chase was on.
Sam sat tamely in the middle of the floor while the two children raced around the room.
Oh, they were going to get in trouble!
He watched as the two came to a halt, one on each side of the giant mahogany desk.
"Give me that!" Dean demanded.
Amy's response? Her tongue jutted out mockingly and Dean's eyes widened in anger as she continued to read from the scroll and the pursuit resumed.
It wasn't long before Amy was tackled to the floor and the two fell in a bundle of flapping limbs and loud curses.
"Guys, you shouldn't-"
"Shut up, Sammy!" The two said in unison as they tried to untangled themselves, ending up where they'd started, Amy with the rings and Dean with the scroll.
"A-ha!" He said triumphantly.
"I still have the rings." She pointed out haughtily.
"Not for long." As he spoke he managed to loop his index finger through one of the hoops while she held onto the other. "Let go." He commanded.
"You let go. This is my father's." She snapped back.
Disregarding her, he resumed where she'd left off.
"God, your Latin sucks." She pointed out, pulling at the ring she held.
He just merrily read on causing her to cringe at his terrible accent.
"Guys..." Sam meekly tried to step in but they ignored him.
Saying the last words Dean tugged at his ring and suddenly a metallic click echoed in the large room; the conjoined rings splitting and causing each child to plummet in opposite directions.
"Oh-oh." Sam mumbled wide eyed.
And for a moment all three stood perfectly still.
It didn't last long, though.
"You broke them!" Amy accused scrambling to her knees and crawling towards a dumbfounded Dean, seizing the opportunity to steal the ring from the boy's hand. "Oh my God, mom's gonna kill me."
She froze when she realised that no damage had come to either of the loops, the only difference being they were no longer intertwined.
"What the hell?"
Amy looked over her shoulder to find a confused Dean scratching his head.
"How did that happen?" He questioned.
"Amy? Sammy?" The familiar voice of her mother carried from the hall.
"Oh, shit!" Dean cursed before he and Amy jumped into action.
By the time Mrs. Carrington reached the library the separated rings and scroll were safely tucked away inside the box, which was placed in its rightful place and all she found were three apparently innocent children obediently perched on the couch grinning up at her.
Amy sat in the middle, sandwiched between the two Winchester boys, a book on her lap.
"Amy? What are you doing here? I thought I told you you weren't allowed in the library." Mrs. Carrington scolded.
"Sorry, mommy. I was just reading to the guys."
Frowning, the woman came closer and picked up the book her daughter had been holding. Checking its cover her brows furrowed further when she realised it was volume one of Shakespeare's complete works.
"You were reading Shakespeare?" Her left eyebrow rose high on her forehead as the two older children nodded emphatically.
Sam's lack of response caused her to direct her accusing gaze towards him.
"Are you sure, Sammy?"
He just stared bug-eyed up at her until Amy's foot connecting painfully with his shin caused him quickly stutter out the lie:
She watched them carefully for what seemed like ages before she spoke again:
"I've made you something to eat. Let's go."
The moment she turned around Sam found himself the target of two pairs of menacing eyes.
Gulping dryly he jumped off the couch and scurried after Mrs. Carrington.