And Then There Were Three | Winchester Sister I
Summary - A baby shows up on the Winchester's doorstep, and their entire lives change.
Pairings/characters - John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Meg Winchester (OFC), Sam & Dean Winchester x little sister, John Winchester x daughter
Warnings - very mild cursing, John Winchester
Language - English (British)
Notes - This is the first instalment of the Winchester Sister series featuring my OFC Meg Winchester! Please be kind <3
Credits - dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics
UPDATE - I have moved my writing to @winniewritesstories to make my writing easier to find than on this mess of a blog! I won't be taking this down but all future writing (for Meg and reader inserts) will be there!
Dean Winchester was strong. He was brave, and fierce. He fought monsters - has done his whole life, as long as he can remember. He liked to think he was unbreakable, invincible. The hits kept coming, and he kept taking them. Fear, pain, worry - he pushed it all down, kept it locked away. In some ways, he had a heart of ice. He never broke.
Dean Winchester was strong.
And then one day, just before he turned nineteen, a baby appeared on a motel doorstep. A baby who wasn't his, but was. Would always be. A baby in a pram, with a note addressed to John Winchester, a note that eased the fears this baby was his, but it would be his, really. John Winchester was never a father. Not to him, not to Sam, and therefore not to this baby.
It was early October, and already Maine was cold. Dean's breath clouded in front of him in the cool, dark night. A glance around the parking lot revealed nobody, no cars, nothing to indicate where this baby had come from. His first instinct was to bring the baby in from the cold, and he did, careful to fix the salt line the wheels of the pram disturbed.
The first thing that struck Dean was that this kid was definitely a Winchester. They were a carbon copy of baby Sammy, same little button nose and eyes, barely any hair gracing their head. A memory tugged at the corners of his mind, four years old and holding Sammy for the first time, his mom supporting Sam's head while dad took a picture. Still a kid with two parents but keenly aware of his responsibility, of how his centre of gravity had shifted from himself to his baby brother.
But his mom wasn't here now and Dean would have to support this baby's head on his own. And his dad hadn't taken pictures of his kids since Mary died. So his centre of gravity shifted again to the baby in the pram. Another of John Winchester's kids for Dean to raise. Part of him was angry, part of him defeated. Sammy was fourteen, able to look after himself now. Dean didn't have to worry about him in the same way - Sam fed himself, did his homework, all that crap. Dean had almost been free.
But he couldn't blame the baby. He didn't. It didn't ask for this. Didn't understand anything. Dean reached a hand down, pulled the little yellow blanket away from their face. It was small, smaller than Sammy had been, and not just because Dean was grown now and over six foot. Small in a way that told him this baby was young. Small in a way that put fear into him. Small in a way that made him desperate to protect them from the horrors and cruelty of their world.
He felt sick knowing he could never protect them from that. From their lives. This baby was a Winchester, which basically meant it was fucked.
The bathroom door opened, and Sam walked out.
"What is that?" he asks, damp hair curling against his forehead.
"A baby," Dean replies, still looking down at them.
"A what?" Sam asks incredulously, crossing the room to stand by his brother. He looked down and saw there was, in fact, a baby. "The hell did this come from?"
"Was on the doorstep. Came with this." Dean said, handing Sam the unopened letter addressed to their father.
"It's dad's?" Sam was having a hard time digesting all this. He had to admit, his first thought was it was Dean's. "Where even is he?"
"Bar, I think. Reckon he knows about it?"
"If he knew he had another kid out there, don't ya think he would've mentioned it?"
"Yeah, 'cos Dad's a real open book." Dean replied. Sam turned the envelope over and made to open. "What're you doing? Don't do that, is addressed to Dad."
"Figured this might give us some answers. Maybe a name for the mystery baby."
Dean snatched the letter from his brother. "We ain't reading this til Dad has."
"Is Dad dating anyone?" Sam asked. "He's never mentioned anyone."
Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Doubt Dad dates. Probably a one time thing."
"And after he gave me the safe sex talk. Hypocrite." Sam said. Dean shot him a pointed look but didn't say anything. After all, Sam wasn't wrong. Dean'd received the John Winchester safe sex talk, too (an uncomfortable memory).
As if summoned, the rumble of the Impala's engine and the beams of her headlights signalled their father's arrival. The brothers exchanged a look, knowing that a mystery baby showing up on their doorstep would not go down well with John Winchester. Dean didn’t know why, but he positioned himself in front of the pram, standing between the baby and the door John would walk through. Sam copied him.
The door opened and John walked in, stepping over the salt line. He nodded his head towards his sons, locking the door and shrugging off his leather jacket. He turned around; neither Sam nor Dean had moved, or even said anything.
"What?" he asked gruffly.
"Um, so something kinda... turned up. For you." Dean started. John cocked an eyebrow.
"This ain't exactly our forwarding address. What is it and how'd it get here?" John asked, heading to the fridge for a beer.
"Well... it's..." Dean figured it was easier to just show him, so he stepped to the side and motioned for Sam to do the same.
John nearly dropped his beer. He immediately fixed his gaze on Dean.
"What did you do?" he asked. Dean sighed. Why'd everyone assume it was his?
"It's yours," Sam said bluntly, taking the letter from Dean's hand and holding it out for him. "Showed up on the doorstep with this."
This time John did drop his beer.
The bottle smashed on the floor, glass and alcohol flying everywhere. The sudden noise startled the baby awake, and they promptly burst out crying. John reached for the letter, Sam for a broom, which left Dean with the baby.
He gently lifted them out of the pram, careful of their head. The yellow blanket fell away slightly, revealing a light pink romper underneath. Presumably a girl then. A little sister. Dean rocked them gently, the way he remembers his mother doing with Sam, quietly shushing to calm her down.
In his arms, he was again struck by how small she was. He held her easily in just two hands, one under her head, the other on her back. She opened her eyes then, wide and blue like all babies, taking in the motel room around them before settling on Dean's face.
"Hello, you," he whispered, unable to keep the smile off his face. "I'm your big brother." His heart clenched in his chest as he held her.
"What's the letter say?" Sam asks, knelt on the floor to pick up the glass. John was staring intently at the letter in his hands.
"It's from her mother. Says she can't look after a baby. Too young."
"Jesus, Dad. How young?" Sam asks. Dean groans inwardly. Not the time for this, Sam.
"What the hell are you trying to ask?" John fired back. "She was early twenties. Drinking age, anyway. I don't know why the hell she'd think I'm any more capable of this than she would be. How the hell'd she even find us?" Sam and Dean both shrugged. How were they to know?
"What's her name?" Dean asked, still swaying gently back and forth.
"Amanda something. Don't really remember, to be honest. It was two nights. The sex was alright, nothing special. Didn't exchange numbers."
Sam and Dean cringed. They did not need details.
"I meant the baby, Dad." Dean replied. John at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
"Right, of course. Says here..." He scanned the letter. "Margaret." Dean screwed up his nose. That's an old lady name. His little sister was going to be cool, and that couldn't happen with a name like Margaret.
"That's a terrible name for a baby," Dean said aloud, looking down at her. "She doesn't look like a Margaret."
"Meg March was actually a Margaret," Sam said. John and Dean looked at him, perplexed. "Little Women? Louisa May Alcott?" More blank stares. Sam just rolled his eyes.
"Meg." Dean repeats, squinting his eyes at the baby. It fit. "Meg Winchester."
"It doesn't matter what she's called," John said. "We ain't keeping it." Dean's head snapped up.
"What?" Dean asked incredulously.
"How the hell are we going to look after a baby, Dean?" John asked. "We don't have a house, or any baby supplies. We're always on the move. We're hunters, not nannies. I spent two nights with a woman a year ago and then a baby appears. Kid's probably not even mine anyway. We'll take her to a fire station or something."
Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. They'd managed before. Sammy had been but six months old when they started hunting, and Dean - though he tried - hadn't been able to help out as much as he could now. This baby was family. Family is everything to the Winchester's.
"Course she's yours, Dad, look at her! She's a spitting image of Sammy as a baby. Besides, Sam was a baby and we raised him on the road. You can't just abandon her." Dean cried out.
"Maybe Dad is right, Dean. She'd be better off with a family - "
"We're her family! The three of us."
"A real family, with a mom, a dad, a house. She'd be normal, Dean, safe. We can't give her any of that!" Sam replied. True, he was projecting his own dreams onto a baby, but he had a valid point, or so he thought. All Dean heard, however, was that Sam didn't believe they were a real family.
"We are a real family, Sam. Just because we don't have a white picket fence, don't mean we ain't a real family. Besides, you really want this kid growing up in the system? Anything could happen to her!"
"Anything could happen to her here, Dean! All it takes is - is a spirit, or a pissed off monster out for revenge, and she-"
"But we can protect her from that. You think some civilian family would keep her safe if a monster decided to get revenge, Sammy? You have know idea what happens in the foster system. She could be abused, or trafficked, or-"
"Enough!" John snapped loudly, startling the baby again. He couldn't hear himself think. And he did need to think, long and hard, about what was best for them, and for the baby. Sam made a good point, of course, and God knows John's not equipped to look after a baby. But Dean was right, too. Anything could happen to her out there. "Sam, get me a beer."
Sam sighed but did as he was told. John walked over to Dean, who was gently rocking the baby to settle her after John's outburst. He looked at the baby for the first time, really looked at her. Dean was right; she was a carbon copy of baby Sam. And she was cute, too. Dean, admittedly, had been a funny looking baby, especially as a newborn, a squished face and large head he eventually grew into. But this baby - Meg, he reminded himself - was sweet looking, almost doll-like, with her pouty pink lips and button nose.
He and Mary had never talked about more kids - Sam had only been a baby when she died - but he'd always imagined them having one or two more, and he'd always wanted a little girl. Mary had, too, he had no doubt.
But Mary wasn't here, and this wasn't her baby. Part of him felt guilty, as though he'd been unfaithful, despite the fact she'd been dead almost fifteen years. John thought of his own father then, Henry, who'd taken off when John was only four, leaving him and his mother on their own. Even all these years later, he still felt bitter about it - bitter and hurt. Of course it hurt, knowing your own father didn't want you and took off into the night. And that's what he was about to do to this little girl. Her mother had already bailed. John was all she had left.
John, and his boys. Sam had kept his distance, almost wary of the baby in Dean's arms, but Dean - he was whipped. That was the only word for it. He was smiling softly down at her, cooing gently to soothe her. Deep down, John knew Dean would end up doing more for this baby than he ever could. But maybe that was a good thing. Dean wouldn't make the mistakes John did. Wouldn't leave her alone like he did, leave her to raise herself.
The guilt twisted in his gut like a knife, but he knew what he had to do.
"We'll keep her. It'll be safest for her. We'll... we'll make it work somehow. We'll have to." John said, placing a large, calloused hand gently on his daughter's head. Dean looked up at him with Mary's green eyes, raw hope etched onto his face.
"Yeah?" He asked softly. John nodded once, clapping his eldest son gently on the shoulder. Sam handed him a beer, then stood on Dean's other side.
"Can I hold her?" Sam asked. Dean looked reluctant to let her go.
"Be careful. She's really small and can't hold her head up on her own yet, so make sure you support it. Don't drop her, for God's sake." Dean rambled on as he gently shifted the infant into Sam's open arms, already fretting like a mother hen. John smiled softly at his children - all three of them.
Sam smiled at the baby, rocking her gently the way Dean had. "Hi, Meg. I'm gonna be your favourite big brother." He said. Dean rolled his eyes.
"No way, Sammy. I'm already her favourite."
"That's crap, she doesn't speak, can't even smile. You don't know that."
"Sure she can, she smiled at me just now."
"Yeah, that was gas, Dean. She farted on you." Sam replied, and Dean's smile faltered.
"Speaking of," Dean said, changing the conversation abruptly. "We're gonna need supplies. Diapers, a car seat, formula."
John nodded, moving to the pram that Meg had turned up in. There was a bag in the basket underneath the bassinet. John leafed through it quickly. "There's some stuff here," he said, holding up a muslin cloth and some diapers. "Enough for tonight, at least. We'll find somewhere in town tomorrow that sells baby stuff. Maybe pick up a book, too."
"A baby book?" Sam asked. "Why'd you need that?"
"It's been a long time since I did any of this, Sammy. Besides, I didn't do it on my own before, I was working a lot. Your mom... your mom looked after you guys most. Did all the hard stuff." John admitted quietly. The room fell into reverent silence the way it always did when someone brought up Mary. Sam didn't point out that he'd still been a baby when she died, and John had raised him for most of life alone. It didn't seem like the time. But a book seemed overboard, in Sam's opinion. How hard could a baby be?
Only a minute or so later, Sam's question was answered. Meg began fussing in his arms, quietly at first, but getting louder despite Sam's gentle shushing and swaying. When her cries turned to wails, he looked up at his father and brother, panic in his eyes. "I think I broke her."
It was Dean that stepped forward, plucking the baby from his arms. "You didn't break her," he assured Sam. John stepped up too, looking down at the infant whose fist she was trying to squeeze into her mouth.
"See how she's sucking her hand?" John spoke quietly. "Mean's she's hungry. C'mon Sam, I'll show you how to make a bottle. If I can work it out, that is."
Sam and John stepped away to prepare the formula. Dean watched them as he swayed the baby. "It's okay, princess. Daddy and Sammy will get you some food."
Dean watched his father, usually so confident and self assured in everything he did, falter at almost every step. Checking the instructions on the formula, then checking again. Rinsing a bottle and filling it with hot water. Hands hesitant, unsure of what they were doing. Hands that could assemble a shot gun in under a minute, but seemed to tremble as he shook the bottle. Testing the temperature on his palm, his wrist, then his wrist again. He had no idea how warm it should be.
Although it was strange to see John so unsteady, Dean found it strangely... comforting. Humanising, perhaps. He pictured briefly John doing the same thing for him as a baby, the unsure hands of a first time father. Pictured his mom along side, walking him through each step.
John handed the formula to Dean. "You gonna do it?" he asked. Dean nodded. He didn't want to relinquish the baby, even though John hadn't even held her yet. Although, he'd made no move to hold her either. John talked him through it, how to hold the bottle, at what angle, as best he could remember.
Dean paced slowly around the small living space of their motel room with his sister in his arms. Sam had pulled out some homework, John writing something in his journal, beer in hand. But for Dean, it was just him and his sister in the world. Hell, his sister was his world now.
Dean Winchester was strong.
But he could feel his heart thawing out for the baby in his arms. He knew he needed to be strong for her, yet he'd never felt so weak. The fear of what could happen to her, the need to keep her safe, was almost overwhelming. Was this parenthood?
The love, too, he supposed was overwhelming. The kind that made his heart clench, made him want to fix the world for her and burn it down at the same time. The kind he'd kill and die for.
And somehow, despite everything he'd seen and done in only eighteen years, this was the scariest thing he'd encountered to date. He kept it together for her. He was strong. He had to be.
