Helpless Little Girls
A Supernatural/Anita Blake crossover
: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. Anita Blake belongs to Laurell K. Hamilton. No profit has been made from this fic, and the only benefit to me is personal satisfaction and the creative process. Spoilers
: Up to Supernatural 2x08, Crossroads.~~~~~~
"Maybe I should hide in the trunk."
Sam looked at Dean. "Why would you hide in the trunk?"
Slumping down lower in the passenger seat, Dean glared out at the darkened I-70. "You want to explain to the St. Louis cops why you've got a wanted fugitive in your car?"
Sam clenched his jaw. "Like it'd be any easier to explain the guns we'd have to move to fit your sorry ass in the trunk? Relax. We'll be through St. Louis in an hour, and should be in Boonville before morning."
Dean slouched lower. "Shut up."
Sam couldn't help but laugh. "What happened to being like Dillinger?"
"Let's just skip going to the movies and I'll be fine. Now drive. But not too fast."
Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. "No offence, Dean, but I'm not taking driving tips from you tonight, okay?"
That got Dean moving. "Hey, you're going to talk like that about my baby, you can pull over and I'll fucking drive!"
"I'm not pulling over!"
Eyes on the road, Sam sucked in a sudden gasp of air and slammed on the brakes while attempting to maneuver the car onto the freeway shoulder.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean shouted. "I wasn't serious!"
As soon as the car stopped moving forward, Sam killed the engine and jumped out of the car. Some part of his brain kept him from taking off directly into the woods. He popped open the trunk and almost dove into the weapons kit.
"What are you doing?" Dean demanded, slamming the door of the Impala. "Sam?"
"There's something in the woods," Sam whispered. He slipped a handgun into his belt and pulled a hunting knife out of the case.
"Hell, why didn't you say so?" Dean grabbed the shotgun before Sam slammed the trunk closed. Dean grinned, feral, in the moonlight. "Let's go."
"It's not that," Sam said. "It was a little girl."
"What, a ghost girl?" Dean asked as he followed Sam into the trees. "Succubus? Woman in white? What?"
"Just a little girl," Sam said. He knelt in the dirt, noted the tiny footprints in the dry earth. "A child."
"It's past three in the morning," Dean said. "What would a kid be doing out by the side of the road?"
"I don't know." Sam blinked, waiting for his night vision to clear. "But she was."
"If it's just a little girl, why did you arm up?" Dean asked.
Sam touched the marks on the ground. Something about this didn't feel right. Little children didn't appear by the road, then run off. But it was more than that. "Just a feeling."
The sound of the shotgun being cocked was loud in the darkness. "Let's ride," Dean said.
Together, the brothers crept forward in the woods. Sam kept his eyes on the trail in the woods, knowing that Dean had his back.
They came to a small clearing, wide enough for the moonlight to illuminate the ground. In the centre of the clearing stood the small girl that Sam had seen by the road. She couldn't have been any older than six, with perfect little curls held back from her face with barrettes, an immaculate dress, and polished shoes that shone in the moonlight.
The girl smiled brightly when she saw Sam and Dean. Clasping her hands behind her back, she rocked back and forth in her tiny shoes. "Are you here to play with me?"
The childish voice and the innocent words sent a chill down Sam's spine. A normal child wouldn't have been asking questions like that, not at this time of night, not this deep in the woods. Sam gripped the handle of his knife harder. "Are you okay?" he asked, Dean a silent presence at his side. "Where are your mom and dad?"
The girl frowned, her full cheeks accentuating the downward curve of her lips. She lifted her gaze to the boys. "I don't know." The child held up her arms, her lower lip jutting out in an innocent pout. "Take me home?"
Sam forgot everything but the child. She needed protection, she needed safety, she needed--
He stumbled as Dean grabbed the back of his shirt. "Sam, stop."
The order was familiar and Sam's body obeyed before his brain could catch up. Sam jerked his head around to ask Dean what was going on, when he finally spotted what Dean was staring at.
And it was a "what", not a "who". The slight Asian woman was small, delicate, her feminine curves accentuated by the tight-fitting clothing. She looked fragile as sin, but everything about her screamed 'predator'.
The little girl whirled around, glaring daggers at the newcomer. "What do you want, Meng Die?" she demanded.
The woman tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. "Jean-Claude sent me to find you, Valentina." The name was spat out like a curse. "You know better than this, than to do what is deemed illegal by our Master."
The girl pouted. "I wasn't going to kill them. I was only hungry."Hungry for what?
Sam wondered. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the little girl probably meant to put him and Dean on the dinner menu.
"You know what?" Dean interrupted. "We're going to go. Now. Been nice for a freaky little walk in the woods and--"
"Quiet, human," Meng Die shot at him. "If it were up to me, I would let Valentina bathe in your life's blood."
Even Sam had to roll his eyes at the melodrama. Dean flashed Meng Die a grin. "As cheery as that thought it, we're just going to be on our way. See you later."
Dean fisted his hand in Sam's shirt and pulled him along. They backed out of the clearing until they hit the trees. Then, by unspoken consent, they turned and ran.
Sam reached the Impala first. He slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition as Dean slammed the door closed, tossing his shotgun on the seat. Sam waited until the car was doing seventy down the road before pulling the handgun out of his waistband and dropped it on the seat next to the shotgun.
Crawling shame ate at Sam. He waited for it, the blame, the 'what the hell were you thinking, running into the woods with no idea of what was there?' that he expected. Hell, that he deserved. He had no clue as to what sort of monster Meng Die or Valentina were; the particular flavor of monster they were.
But damned if they weren't the most perfectly camouflaged monsters Sam had ever seen.
Dean shifted on the seat. Sam tensed, knowing this was it. Time for the lecture on how he was a stupid bastard, falling for the oldest trick in the book.
"I fucking hate St. Louis," was all Dean said. "Do me a favor, okay? Next time, let's send anything to do with Missouri over to Ellen?"
Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter. All he could think about was what if he'd gotten Dean killed? "Sure."
"Great." Dean turned on the radio to an all-night metal station. "Wake me up when we hit Hicksville, would you?"
"It's Boonville," Sam answered automatically.
"Whatever." Dean settled down. "I still hate this state."
Rain started to spatter down on the road, making Sam turn on the windshield wipers. The soft swish-swish
didn't mask the chattering in his head. He'd almost gotten himself and Dean killed, by diving into a situation without thinking it through. How many little girls appeared at the side of the road? Was Dean's hero complex spilling over onto him, making him act before he thought?
He wondered how many more times he'd fall for the monster in the guise of a helpless little girl.the end