Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or BtVS. They belong to Kripke and Whedon. Angel's mine, though.
AN: I'm hoping I put this in the right category, because the choices are limited and while Dawn is IN this ficlet, it's not really centered around her... if I messed up, someone let me know and I'll fix it!
It was pink. Dean blinked a few times and stared who the hell thought of making pink camouflage
at the little duffel bag again, as if maybe he’d seen it wrong and it was going to change colors did they think someone was going to be trying to hide in a Pepto Bismol factory?
if he waited long enough. He didn’t think he’d seen pink camouflage before possibly because he’d never before had to pay attention to little girls
and it was making him a little crazy. Dawn had brought it with her when she met them in Nevada and it was packed with Angel’s clothes. Angel had been excited to see her “Dawnie” and, if Dean wasn’t mistaken, Sam was pretty happy about it too, only there had been less squealing and jumping up and down from his brother when Dawn stepped into the airport terminal.
After the requisite hugging and nearly tearful greetings Oh, Angel baby you’ve grown!
Dean led the way out of the airport. He noted with an odd sort of pride that the moment he said it was time to go, Angel grabbed the handles of her duffel and lifted it, swinging it over one shoulder in the exact manner Dean usually did. The bag had to weigh at least half as much as she did, but she carried it without complaint, a smile on her face. She fell into step beside him and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips when her face fell into that cool, watchful expression that said she was looking carefully at everything around them. She’d learned to be vigilant in the last few months, learned how to spot things that didn’t fit and damned if she wasn’t good at it.
Dean and Sam had taught her plenty, about living on the road and about hunting. She knew how to line the windows and doors of their motel rooms with salt, she could draw a Devil’s Trap like a little demon hunting Picasso and she could, most of the time, recite the exorcism ritual in Latin like a pro. She also knew what to look for in roadside diners Daddy, that one says they have a special on pie!
and which ones there’s no truckers there, food must suck
they should avoid. She’d learned that if she put in the right kind of tapes that Daddy would let her touch the stereo and she knew all the words to Metallica’s Black Album. With just the right tone of sweetness she could talk Uncle Sammy into sitting in the back seat and she was the master of playing pranks on either of them.
Dean had told Dawn all this on the phone and knew he sounded just like a proud parent. She’d laughed at him a little and Dean was careful to leave out a few of the other things Angel had learned she had a better vocabulary of swear words than most truck drivers
. It was September, about three months after Dean had buckled that booster seat into his car for the first time and promised Dawn he’d keep his daughter safe. They’d called her for their weekly check in, so she could talk to Angel and Dawn had asked him what they were going to do about school.
It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes after that for Dawn to offer to join them on the road. She knew hunting, could fight and was a whiz with the research. She and Sam could home school Angel and it would give them an extra set of hands, so that someone could always be with Angel and no one would be going into a dangerous situation without backup. She had listed a lot of logical reasons that it would be a good idea and there were some she and Sam had always danced around each other like a couple of shy teenagers
that she didn’t say out loud.
They’d agreed to meet her at the airport as long as Dean didn’t have to get on a plane
and she’d flown out the next morning. Now she walked beside them, watching Angel with a smile as she scanned her surroundings. Sam had offered to carry her bag, a bright purple at least its not pink camouflage
duffel. She had a smaller backpack as well girls always needed more stuff
that she carried herself. The four of them crossed the parking lot Angel’s hand slipped into his as they stepped outside and he squeezed her fingers without comment
quickly, unlocking the trunk of the car and adding Dawn’s bags to the others, followed by Angel’s new duffel. He heard the others getting into the car, Angel calling shotgun in a singsong voice and he stared at the bag again. It was still pink who’d have thought in a million years there’d ever be a bag like this in the Impala
and he shook his head, closing the trunk with a sigh.