Just like that Mcfly guy
Dean opened his eyes to be greeted by a gaudy curtain with the fluffiest pink flowers ever imagined by Humankind.
He blinked, hoping that the flashing moment in between eyelids coming down and going back up, would magically dissolve such a horrendous and terrifying sight.
He was wrong. Blinking only turned things worse.
Now, in addition to the fluffy pink curtains, there was a little kid's face, inches from his. So close, that Dean could see the golden flecks in the kid's brown eyes breaking containment and spreading across her cheeks in a splatter of freckles.
"Ahhch," Dean eloquently voiced, doing his best to sink deeper into to the soft bed, fluffy, horrible bed.
The tiny movement, however, was enough to let him know that his body was kind of pissed off at him. As in, pissed off that Dean had done something reckless and gotten it broken.
"You're awake," the little kid, a girl of no more than four years old, told him.
Which, given that that was about the only thing that Dean already knew, didn't helped much.
Other than the fact that he was in someone's house, Dean really had no idea where he was. One thing was sure: who ever had decorated that god-awful room had the mental capacity of a four yea—oh… he was probably in the little girl's room.
So… that explained the 'where'.
The 'how' and the 'where the hell is Sam' were next on the list. The 'what the fuck happened' would have to wait until minors were out of ear-shot.
"My name is Maggie and you are 'Damnidiot," she announced, pausing only for a second before wording the strange name.
Dean's brows drew in a deep furrow that made his brain hurt. Damn idiot?
"That's not my name," he told her, managing to sound pretty sure about that.
"That's what the nice giant downstairs called you," she told him.
Dean sighed in relief. For one, he hadn't been mistaken about his name being 'Dean' and not 'Damnidiot' and second, there were only two people in the world who called him 'big damn idiot' about as often as they called him by his proper name. Which meant that, given that it had been at least two weeks since he'd last seen Bobby, Sam was nearby. Now, if Dean could just remember what the hell had happened…
Using the bed covers as leverage, Maggie hoisted herself on top of the fluffy comforter, which Dean dizzily realized was the same gaudy material as the curtains, her big brown eyes once again on Dean's face. "Does it hurt muchly?"
Dean's eyes crossed over his nose, foolishly trying to look at the same spot the little kid was looking at. He gave up when nausea started to flair up and tiny, little white spots danced around his vision. Dean closed his eyes for a minute. There was no point in redecorating the little girl's room in puke… even if that could be seen as an improvement.
"Margaret Louise Andrews," an older voice, a 'mom's' voice, burst from some point on the other side of the room. The words were gentle but definitely held the promise of a good scolding.
Even though the tone wasn't overly loud, Dean flinched in synchrony with the little girl. How bad did it look that he was in the kid's room, in her bed –apparently- and with a four year old all but sitting on his legs?
"What did I tell you about letting our guest rest?" the woman went on, the sound of her voice coming closer. She was completely ignoring all the valid points that Dean's brain had come up with.
Dean was surprised to find that, instead of the baseball bat to bash his brains in that he would've expected to see in her hands, she was carrying a tray with what smelled like toast and tea. She looked about his age and had the same brown eyes as her daughter. And nowhere in her gaze could Dean see any murderous intent.
"Sorry, mommy," Maggie whispered, properly chastised and jumping to the carpeted floor with a small thud. "I just wanna to say thank yous to him."
The mom smiled at the kid before looking at Dean for the first time. "I'm really sorry about that. We told her to wait until you were feeling better, but I guess she gave us the slip… again."
Dean gulped. Maybe this was some sort of hallucination… or maybe he was trapped in some Djinn's lair, pumped full of Djinn's LSD… or maybe he'd—
Memories came flooding back, their images so sudden and savage, that Dean couldn't hold back the audible gasp at the brutality of the impact.
He'd been filling the Impala's tank in some small town gas station, mindlessly watching the cars pass on the road just beyond. Sam had gone inside to stock up on essentials –chips, beef jerky, M&Ms, popcorn and sodas- before they left town to hit their next hunt when, all of a sudden, Dean had seen her.
The little kid was wearing a pair of blue overalls and she was nothing but a flash of blue as she exited a restaurant's door and raced to the middle of the street.
The squeal of childish laughter, followed by a frightened shout to stop drew Dean's attention closer.
On instinct, Dean quickly looked down the road. And sure enough, there was an SUV speeding up, heading straight towards her.
After that, it was all a blur of hasty reactions, adrenaline explosion and dread of being too late. Dean never saw the horror etched on the faces of the parents as they chased their child outside; he never saw the cheeky smile the little girl tossed back at them, as if to say that she already was a big girl because she was crossing the street on her own; he never saw the wide-eyed panic of the driver as he cut the wheel, going into a mad swerve to avoid hitting the kid.
Dean noticed none of this because his legs had started moving long before his brain could register any of that.
What Dean did notice was the feeling of his hands grabbing hold of those blue coveralls and realizing they were made out of cotton; the strong smell of strawberry from some lollipop that she'd probably just finished eating; the realization that he was not going to be fast enough to escape the swerving car; the notion that being hit by a car in the side of the face should've hurt more than it actually did and the relief of rolling to a stop with the kid safely tucked against his chest.
"You saved my daughter's life," the woman said, breaking Dean away from his returning memories. Somehow, he had missed when she had set the tray next to the bed and had sat down, much in the same position as Maggie had been, on the other side of the bed. "Words can not express the debt of gratitude that my husband and I owe you."
Dean almost opened his mouth to say 'it was nothing' but he managed to stop himself in time. For those parents, saving their little kid from being hit by a car so big that would've surely killed her, it was far from nothing. It was everything.
It didn't matter that Dean hadn't put much thought behind his reaction; it didn't really matter that he would've done that for just about anyone.
What was really important was that he had been in the right place at the right time and that Maggie was okay.
"You're more than welcome," Dean whispered instead, his voice breaking with genuine emotion.
Now that Dean could remember that his head had been playing ping pong with a rather large car, the damn thing was really milking the whole 'hurt like a bitch' thing. Gratitude expressed and acknowledgements made, Dean just hoped that the mom would be satisfied with his words and let the matter drop now that she had expressed her feelings and Dean had acknowledge it as best he could.
Obviously, she didn't get the memo.
Grabbing hold of the hand Dean had over the covers, she trapped his fingers in between her two palms. Her fingers were warm and soft, hands so small that they were barely enough to circle Dean's larger hand.
Dean realized that he was staring at their intertwined fingers like a lunatic, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't remember the last time someone had grabbed his hand like that.
Sure, there had been plenty of female contact, and the occasional shaking of hands when he and Sam were passing themselves for agents of the law or some other bull crap. But none of those hand-contacts had the same level of closeness… of emotion… of intimacy as that of a mother holding the hand of the stranger who had risked his life to save her child.
Dean knew he should break that contact before it became awkward for either one of them, but the truth was, it never did. So, he never did. It was as honest and free of compromise as human touch comes and it took Dean a grand total of five seconds to realize that he had been starving for it ever since he'd returned from Hell.
"Can I say thank yous now?" Maggie's voice broke through the enchantment that had descended over that room.
Maggie's mom blinked the tears from her eyes, their presence only noticed by Dean now that he could force his gaze away from their hands, and both of them looked at the little girl.
Maggie was carrying a stuffed bear, white fur so soft that it looked made out of cotton. She jumped on the bed a second time, this time wasting no time in throwing her arms around Dean's neck and burrowing her head against his bruised face. It should've hurt like hell, only… it really didn't.
"Cotton used to be called Cotton, because he's so soft and he's my friend and I love him very, very much and he keeps me safe when I go play outside because he's a bear and no one messes with bears, even soft ones. I'm calling him Damnidiot now," she announced, pulling the white bear near Dean's face as if to say 'hi'.
Dean threw an apologetic look in the mom's direction. He didn't know that many kids, but he was pretty sure that 'damn' was not a word parents liked their kids to learn this soon.
But, if the mom was blaming anyone for that, it didn't look like Dean was it for now. Secretly, Dean hoped that she'd given Sam hell for that one.
"So," Dean cleared his throat, "you're naming your bear after me?" he asked, basking in the little girl's presence as much as he had with the mom's warm touch.
"Yeah, because you kept me safe when I was playing outside, and this way we can be the bestest friends for ever and ever and ever," she finished, throwing in another hug just because she felt like it. "Thank yous," she whispered against Dean's ear.
And if Dean's eyes were as wet as the mom's, that had nothing to do with a little kid's sincere gratitude and love.
It was the concussion.
It totally was the concussion. Because being hit by a car would at least give you one of those… right?
AN: This story was written for a request of having Dean save a little kid and being taken in by the family of the kid. And that was exactly what I tried to deliver :)
AN.2: As always, my biggest thank you to Jackfan2 for her marvelous beta work. Any lingering mistakes are mine.