Meet Amelia Henrietta Winchester, the youngest Winchester sister by nine years. The baby of the family, if you will. And her older brothers sure do treat her like it - as if she's as helpless as one.
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starts season one
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Dean was nine years old when he met his baby sister.
Sam was five.
John had left them alone for a couple days in a motel, giving them the usual run down of the rules; "Don't open the door to anyone except me", "Call me immediately if something happens", "Keep an eye on Sammy," etcetera, etcetera.
He made a mistake.
He got drunk, made a mistake, and now he's gotta do something about it.
A baby.
He got a girl pregnant, after a one night stand and eight shots of vodka. She was a pretty blonde, he was drunk and pissed and lonely, and couldn't think straight. He shouldn't have done it, but he did.
Nine, nearly ten, months later, he gets a phone call from the hysterical girl, she's screaming in his ear that she couldn't take it anymore, it was his, take it from her, she was done.
She didn't want the baby. She told him, to his face, she would have gotten an abortion if her parents hadn't found out and made her keep it. She would have put it up for adoption, but her parents stopped her. She didn't want it. She tried caring for the baby for a while, but it got to be too much.
John arrived at her apartment, to find the door unlocked, a baby crying, and the girl was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, face blotchy and tear-streaked, her hair a mess, and her clothes disheveled. John still didn't know her name.
"Take it," she croaked, throwing a baby bag at him. "Take it!"
John had picked up the bag, and approached the crib, looking down at the crying baby thrashing around. It was wearing a pink onesy that was lazily buttoned up the front. John was assuming the baby was a girl.
Pale, porcelain baby skin peeking through the gaps where buttons had been skipped. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, snot dribbling out of her nose, drool sliding down her chin. John pressed the back of his fingers to her forehead, sighing when he felt she was very warm. A slight fever.
A part of John was angry at himself for making such a careless mistake. Another part of him—that had always wanted a daughter—was glad the girl was giving him the baby, seeing as she couldn't care enough to keep her own child healthy.
He leant down, gently lifting the small, fragile body into his arms, and carried her out of there, shushing her gently, trying to soothe her.
He stopped for medicine on the way back to the motel, grabbing a baby car seat as well. She fell asleep a few hours into the eight-hour car ride.
And when he lifted her sleeping body into his arms again, he stood there, staring down at her.
He had forgotten what it felt like to hold a baby in his arms, one of his own nonetheless. He never thought he would hold a baby again.
Then a thought struck.
What would Sam and Dean think of her?
And he pushed open the door to their motel room, holding a pink bundle, waiting for the onslaught of questions.
Sam and Dean just stared at him—or, more accurately, the bundle in his arms.
"What's that?" Sammy asked, moving closer.
Dean approached as well, entranced by the small human in his father's arms.
"Sam and Dean, this is your little sister, Amelia Henrietta Winchester."
She woke up then, her great big doe eyes fluttering open, staring at the larger humans looking down at her.
John handed her to Dean, saying he needed to make her a bottle. He looked down at his half sister, Sam waking over and peering down at her as well.
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They looked at each other, and back down at her, and Dean knew. He knew, even though he was only nine, that she and Sammy were the most important thing in his life. And they always will be.
