The Runt of the Litter

Parodic Tragedies

Note: Thank you to everyone for reading, commenting, voting. It's really nice to get feedback, or even just to know people are taking the time to read my work. Also feel free to make a request for a chapter anytime. This chapter is kind of sad but not in a very specific way, and that probably doesn't make sense but you'll understand when you read it. It's very intricately put together despite how short it is, so hopefully you all enjoy it. This is another one that jumps between different ages, but I'm not going to list them, because her age is mentioned at least once in each section.




Parodic Tragedies

Anna's first time in front of a funeral pyre was too early to live on in her memory. She was just seven months old, held tight in her father's arms in the warm May morning. She cried because beside them Sam was crying, pressed against Dean's side. She cried because the fire was scary and Daddy was too quiet and still. She cried because Dean wasn't smiling like usual, but was holding Sam against him in an iron grip and mumbling something to his brother that was supposed to be comforting but just sounded pained. Her first brush with death hurt her by hurting her family.

()()()

Dean was holding her tight enough to make her side ache, but Anna didn't dare move. She was afraid of breaking him. Her brave, fun-loving older brother had never looked so fragilely stoic before. Worse, Dean looked close to breaking and yet he was still the more put together of her two caretakers at the moment. As Anna looked over Dean's shoulder at their father, standing a few feet behind and to their left, she felt a pain in her stomach. Her Daddy was crying. John Winchester. Crying.

How they had arrived here, she couldn't fathom. The day had started so easy and happy. She'd played Tag and Hide and Go Seek with Dean for almost an hour that morning while John pored over research with his new hunting friend whose name was Nick. Nick liked to play Tag and Hide and Go Seek, too, he'd told her, but he liked hunting more. With their father's friend helping out, Dean was free to play with Anna for most of the day, even taking her to the playground in town-- a treat Anna always secretly hoped for but never asked for because there was just never time, according to her family. She'd gotten onion rings at lunch without being scolded about money. It had been more than an easy day; it had been a good one.

But when they'd gone out on the hunt, they'd all gotten really serious, a little graver and more somber than usual even. When they'd left her in the car with a salt gun, John had given her strict instructions not to move from her spot no matter what she heard or saw.

As per usual, Anna had tried her best to stay awake and alert as she knew she should, and as per usual, she'd lost the battle shortly after night fell. She'd slipped into dreamland expecting the hunt to end as most did-- before she woke up. But instead of waking to the starting of the Impala's engine to find her Dad and older brother both exhausted but content, she'd woken being jostled and pulled out of the Impala.

On a brief, tense walk toward a big wooden structure that certainly hadn't been in the clearing when they pulled in, Anna got an immediate sense of the heaviness in the air. Something had gone wrong. That much was abundantly clear. But it wasn't until they grew nearer and she saw the body, covered in some kind of white fabric with blood showing through where the head was, that Anna realized just what had gone wrong. She was only four years old, but death was a familiar concept.

"Dean," she whispered, voice wobbling as she realized that Nick was nowhere to be seen. "Did Nick-?"

"Nick's gone," Dean cut her off in a rough, quiet voice.

As they stood in front of the pyre, Anna watched their father toss the matchbook. When the small flame landed and created an inferno, her face crumpled. She'd been here a few times before. That fire meant terrible, terrible things. It meant someone was never coming back. It meant Nick was never coming back.