The Runt of the Litter

Incubus

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anna is eighteen here

Incubus

It was just about the last thing Dean had been expecting as he sipped on his first cup of coffee on a Tuesday morning. Tuesday morning. Nothing interesting was ever supposed to begin or end on a Tuesday.

But on this Tuesday morning, Anna raced into the kitchen with impressive bedhead, slipping along the floor in her socks as she took the corner, and asked, "You remember the lamia that tried to kill me when I was, like, eight?"

Dean squinted at her, mind slowly trying to process the question she'd asked way too quickly and urgently for 6:00 in the morning. He took another sip of coffee, set his mug on the table, and it clicked. "What the hell are you thinkin' about that for?" he asked, perturbed.

Anna looked very alert for a kid who usually couldn't be dragged out of bed before 7:15 even when she had to leave for school around 7:30. "It happened, right?" she asked in a rush. "I mean, like, the cave and the other kids... it all happened?"

Dean frowned at her, confused as to why this was suddenly on her mind. "Did you have a nightmare or something? Why are you even talking about this?" It wasn't exactly a pleasant memory for him either, but he hoped to hell that Anna wasn't suddenly remembering that particular trauma. Because for her, it ranked as one of the most rattling experiences she'd had as a kid. He knew that because he'd been there for the aftermath. He'd seen her lose sleep and forfeit smiles.

"It happened," Anna pressed again, "right?"

"Yes, Anna," Dean said more shortly than intended. "It happened. Would you sit down, please? You're practically vibrating."

"It's fine," she said, her eyes gaining some distance. Maybe she had wanted him to say the whole thing had been in her head. "I drank a lot of coffee."

Well, that was startling information. "How long you been up?" His suspicion wasn't meant to sound so scolding, but Anna certainly looked defensive in the next second.

She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as the knotted curls were tugged against their will. "Few hours," she admitted. "I had a weird dream. Not even like a nightmare, not really, but it just reminded me. And I mean, I don't think I ever really forgot that it happened. I just didn't remember it either. Like somehow I just never thought about it. For, like, ten years."

"Eleven," Dean corrected, voice dropping an octave. He could feel himself growing distant just the way Anna had. "You were seven."

Anna swallowed and finally sat down across from him at the table, "Dad came back."

Dean looked up at her in surprise. "Yeah. Of course he did."

Anna bit her lip for a minute, a sure sign that she was thinking too hard. "He didn't stay, though," she said after a minute. "I mean, I don't remember him staying."

"It wasn't you, Honey," Dean promised and hoped the words would get through. Anna had a way of mulling things over and committing herself to believe the worst possible answers before she even knew everything that had happened. "That was that year after we got Sam from Stanford. You remember? Dad was in the home stretch, still hunting Yellow-Eyes. He got near-sighted."

Anna nodded thoughtfully, chewing on her lip again. "He came back, though," she said and smiled slowly. "It's weird- I don't even remember what he said to me. I remember you coming in, and I remember you had Halloween, and that's pretty much it."

"Count yourself lucky on that one," Dean murmured. "And don't go poking at those memories too hard, Rugrat. Sometimes you don't remember things very well for a reason."

"That's not ominous at all," Anna deadpanned. She stole Dean's coffee, making him let out an unmanly noise of indignance. "It's okay," she said after taking a sip. "I just wanted to know it was real. I used to have nightmares about it all the time, and I thought it was just some sort of latent fear my subconscious was preying on."

"When did you have nightmares about that?" Dean asked, tilting his head in concern and confusion.

Anna shrugged one shoulder, wrapping one hoodie string around her finger. "I don't know. Like, forever, I guess. That year Bobby died," she said softly. "That doesn't really make sense, but I guess it struck something."

"Coulda said something," Dean told her. But he knew precisely why she hadn't.

The year of Bobby's death had been one of the worst of Dean's life. He'd hit the bottle a lot harder than he'd fully realized he was doing. Sammy had been hallucinating and barely sleeping and very nearly died more than once. He and Sam had been at each other's throats half the time and clinging to each other the other half. They'd been on the run from the law for months, had been forced to ditch Anna with Bobby more often than anybody wanted. And then, to top it all off, they'd lost the closest thing they had to a father. Only to see him return as a vengeful spirit who they eventually had to put to rest.

It killed Dean now realizing how much he hadn't done for his siblings during that year. But he had to remind himself time and time again that he'd been hurting too. And they were his siblings, not his children. He would never stop treating them like his own kids, but he had to forgive himself for making mistakes with them too. He'd never signed up for this whole oldest brother gig. And he'd done pretty well all things considered. He had to try not to kick himself for things that were best left in the past.

Now if only he could teach Sam the same lesson.

"I was fine," Anna waved him off. "I mean, come on, everything that was going on? Kinda seemed inconsequential."

"Okay, first of all," Dean said, pointing a finger at Anna's face, just an inch or so from her nose. "You've been spendin' too much time with Sammy. Don't use big words at 6am. It's unbecoming."

Anna snorted, but her smile was genuine and didn't disappear right away. That was a win.

"Second," he added, and took back his cup of coffee. "It ain't your job to hide shit to make life easier, alright?" He didn't wait for her to answer, because odds were good that she'd either stay silent or argue the point. He just stood up, went to the coffee pot, and poured the kid her own cup of coffee. He delivered it to the table and said, "You're cut off after that one."

Anna rolled her eyes. "That only makes, like, four. In the course of three hours."

"Yeah, that's plenty," Dean laughed. "You want another kick after that, try-"

"Cocaine," Anna joked. "Can do."

"Not funny."

"It's hilarious, and you know it. You just can't laugh because that would make you irresponsible."

"I got no problem being irresponsible," Dean countered. "But if you want coke, drink soda. Soda's not healthy either, right? I mean, that's cool."

"Coke is not cool," Anna rolled her eyes. "Mountain Dew? That's cool. And way more caffeinated."

"Oh, nice," Dean said, following her out of the kitchen as Anna ducked into the hallway. He called after her as she slipped away, "I'm not doin' CPR when you have a coronary!"

Anna's reply was muffled as it traveled down the hallway to reach him, "Good, I have a DNR, and I'll sue you."

That was another very unfunny joke he wanted to scold her for. But she'd made her getaway. Dean shook his head, staring down the empty hallway. He wondered if it was Anna specifically who was so good at dropping A-bombs like they were casual conversation starters, or if all kids did that type of shit.

For years, he'd hoped she would forget easily about the lamia she'd encountered at seven years old. And it turned out he'd been failing to protect her from the damn monster all these years. He should never have expected it to go away like magic. There was no cure for an incubus like that.

La Fin