#beyondourreach

The woman screamed. She launched at the figure, her sobbing voice repeatedly saying the same name, over and over again - Sammy. The four year old was in a deep slumber before he was awakened by his mother’s screech, his wide eyes indicating that he was unsure whether this was a nightmare or not. The woman didn’t get far as she was suddenly slammed against the wall beside the baby’s crib, her body slowly dragging up the pale yellow tone of paint before settling in the centre of the roof. Her hands and legs were spread and stuck, disallowing her any kind of movement. Her sobs echoed off the walls; the baby began to cry once more, the toddler still frozen and unsure. It didn’t take long for John to stumble into the nursery. The first thing he took notice of wasn’t the multiple sounds of distress, but the piercing yellow gaze taunting him. His world slowed down as he continued to stare at this stranger - unsure why he couldn’t look away - and he didn’t, until the fire.

Red hot flames licked at the ceiling and engulfed the poor woman, covering every inch of her frame in a deep warm glow. Her screams grew louder, full of distress, pain, worry. John threw his arm over his eyes to shade them from the sickly bright tone of the spontaneous fire as he called her name - Mary… Mary! He felt useless as the shrieking of his youngest children was drowned out by the image of his love burning a few feet above his head. John grew tempestuous between his head and his heart - what to do, what to say. It wasn’t until an eager tug at his oil-covered work shirt pulled him back into the disastrous reality. “Dad, dad we have to go! Dad!” A young voice pleaded, his small knuckles turning white from the strong grip he had on the worn material. With a trembling shake of his head, John peered down to his side, a boy with light brown hair and large, scared, green eyes gazed up at him.

It was immediate when John leapt to the side, his hands sliding under his baby daughter as he scooped her into his protective arms. He bounced her vigorously due to the adrenaline of anxiety coursing through his veins. The man looked at his eldest child whose hand was still grasped in the polyester shirt; he offered a sad smile, an apologetic smile. “Dean, I need you to do something for me. Take Y/N… take her outside, away from here, okay? Get her to safety. I’ll be right behind you with Sam. Go, Dean!” Within a split second, he was sliding his daughter into the boy’s arms and pushing him from the room. Dean stopped, eyes averted to the ground as his arms tightened around his sister - he didn’t want to look at his dying mother, but he still worried for her. Dean’s voice cracked, “What about mom-”

“I said go, Dean! Leave!” The man’s voice was erupting, his back turning to his eldest son to solidify his demand. By the time John was facing toward his final child’s bed, the shadowed figure with the gleaming golden eyes had vanished. Tears sprung at John’s bloodshot eyes as he tried to ignore the wails of Mary, the fire spreading down the walls and trouncing at the furniture. He hastily picked up a sobbing Sam and held him close to his chest, holding the boy’s head down to his shoulder to shield him from not just the smoke and flames, but the devastating scene of his dying mother.

Dean’s knees skidded harshly against the grass of the front yard, his body folding protectively over his baby sister as his childhood home began to slowly fall to its timely demise. His hands trembled with adrenaline as attempted ‘shushes’ fell from his lips, his hold tightening around her tiny frame. Shocked was an understatement for how he was feeling - anger, confusion, sadness, disbelief - they all ran through his veins simultaneously, a concoction that would forever haunt his dreams. Nine was too young of an age to experience trauma to this extent, and he didn’t know it yet, but it would also fuel every move he made for the rest of his life.

The night of the fight.

The turbulent weather outside the run-down motel couldn’t be a better backdrop for the storm that was brewing within the four decrepit walls. A timid Y/N sat in the corner of the couch, her knees pulled up under her chin. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the itchy upholstery that was bothering her, but rather so the roaring argument between her father and older brother, Sam. She wanted to disappear - and frankly, raiding a vampire's nest would be less stressful than the commotion happening in front of her eyes. She managed to flick her gaze toward the kitchen counter on the other side of their booked room, her eldest brother Dean leaning back against it, his ankles and arms crossed, head hung low in disappointment. She could see his fingers flexing in anticipation as his head shook. He wanted to jump in the middle of the argument in the center of the room and raise his own voice in hopes that the harsh venomous words between father and son would stop; and Dean would have, if it wasn’t for his extreme protectiveness over his little sister and her emotional wellbeing. He didn’t want to hurt her more than she already was.

Sam’s arms flailed wildly as the vein in his forehead protruded, his voice loud and filled with resentment, “What about Y/N, huh? You have her, you don’t need me, Dad! You don’t need me and I don’t wanna be here!” Y/N’s head snapped upward when her name was spoken amongst the verbal altercation, Dean following suit with an expression of curiosity and hint of irritation. She felt even smaller now that she was dragged into the conversation. Across the room, Sam shook his head at his father, waiting for a response - to which John only rubbed his stubbled chin and released a strained laugh. The tension around the topic of angry conversation had been bubbling to the surface for a while now; focused on Sam’s feelings of estrangement about the world of the Supernatural and his affiliation, mixed with his desire to live a life of normalcy and go to College. This was opposed to the Winchester Father’s want to keep his son within the ‘family business’. It was always going to be a losing battle - for both John and Sam.

John was the one now shaking his head at Sam’s comment, quick to hold his hand up as a gesture to stop. The tone of his voice instantly transformed into a strangled growl, “She isn’t going anywhere near this, and you know it, son.” He briefly forgot that his said daughter was in the room until her small frame stood from the couch, provoking a loud squeak of the worn-down springs. Her head was tilted to the side, eyes wide with innocence. John momentarily studied her stance and expression before releasing a heavy sigh; she was every inch the spitting image of her mother, which is why she had to stay far away from the hidden dangers of their world. He already did all he could as she was growing up to stop her from interacting with the elements of a Hunter, but she could only stay under the care of family friends Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer for so long before she caught onto the fact that she was missing out on ‘family activities’. She begged to help and to hunt, to research and investigate. Sometimes, John would allow her to do a basic internet search on their creature of the month, but nothing more. He saw with his own eyes how the world can be so cruel to the one woman he loved, he wasn’t going to lose the other in the same way. That would have worked, however, if Sam and Dean didn’t teach Y/N ‘Hunting 101’ behind John’s back. She was beyond grateful.

Furrowed brows contorted the girl’s face into her own form of anger, arms crossing over her chest to create a defensive barrier. She was speechless at her father’s statement and the pain caused from such few indirect words became evident in the hurt of her eyes. Y/N licked her cracked lips, voice shaky, “The hell is that supposed to mean?” She asked, never speaking to father in this way before. She was too offended to be terrified of his reaction. She watched as his mouth opened and closed, for once, he was a deer caught in headlights and unable to proceed. Y/N clicked her tongue, annoyance still evident in the high pitch of her voice, “My whole life, I’ve been sitting on the sidelines. I was brought up with the feeling that my help wasn’t wanted, that I wasn’t wanted… that I wasn’t good enough for you.” The girl laughed in a condescending manner, unable to miss the disgruntled gleam in Dean’s eyes as they flicked between her and their still silent father. Sam, on the other hand, released a pent up sigh of relief as the attention wasn’t focused on him anymore, his tall tanky body taking a step back until he nudged the edge of the small dining table.

The youngest Winchester continued her spiel, years of emotion causing cracks in both her appearance and mental state, “I am strong, dad. I am capable. I am a goddamn Winchester, so treat me like one.” Her chest was heaving erratically, eyes focusing on the trembling of John’s lips as he recovered from the shock of his daughter speaking so out of turn. Before he could allow any words to slip, she threw a hand in Sam’s direction, her pointer finger stiff as it was directed to his chest, “And honestly, what’s the fucking harm in letting Sam have a damn future? Because what you’re doing to us now, this isn’t life, it isn’t love… it’s actual hell. This is gonna get us killed, not going to stupid Stanford.” Venom spat as she spoke, every word enunciated with years of utter indignation caused by her father. She always hated the unfair treatment that John Winchester put his children through, and eventually the bottle filled with her emotions and thoughts had to bubble over and explode.

It was within a split second when John recovered from his shock; his eyebrows furrowing so deep that his eyes were covered by their bushiness, his jaw clenched tightly and teeth gritting with too much strength, his knuckles turning white from the tight fists they found themselves in. He wasn’t just angry, he was beyond pissed. “How dare you speak to your father like that, Y/N. After every single goddamn thing I’ve done to keep you safe, to keep you alive. Have you no respect?!” His voice rose, a snarl gathering in this throat, his conversation with Sam gone with the wind for now as his focus was primarily on her. Y/N could see Dean push forward from that dingy kitchen cupboard, his hands forming fists of his own accord, fueled with that oh-so familiar protectiveness. He was conflicted on whether to step in or stand to the side, very much aware of the military-style rules that his father laid out and the mandatory following of those set guidelines. There were four people in this room, and they were all helpless.

John growled under his breath, evidently done with the mutiny that two-thirds of his children had taken on him. His attention now flicked back to an eerily quiet Sam, his eyes still wide from the way tonight’s arguments had turned. John approached him with long strides as his chest puffed out, trying to remain taller than his six-foot-four son. His teeth gritted again, “You so gung-ho on leavin’, son? Well fucking leave. And you know what, take her with you too! I don’t need you holdin’ me back anymore, tryin’ to keep this damn family breathing!” Every word was a rise in octave for John’s raspy voice - surely, the occupied rooms next door would be having a field day trying to figure out what the overwhelmingly loud commotion is really about. Sam’s eyes flicked between Y/N and Dean, his siblings wearing matching surprised expressions. He gulped deeply as John spoke again, this time, much quieter, “Just so you know, if you step out that door, you’re never coming back, boy. You hear me? And neither are you.” The father turned to his daughter, stern sincerity licking at his tone. She didn’t even hesitate before grabbing the duffle by the side of the lounge, solidifying her choice to leave.

Sam shook his head as he too picked up his lonely duffle, catching Dean’s gaze before his green eyes looked away in shame. This was it. He walked past his father and purposely knocked his shoulder against the much broader one, quick to push the motel door wide open before disappearing out of view. Y/N looked into John’s eyes as she scoffed, her own disappointment now seen contorting her facial features. She took small steps until she was nearly flush against her father’s chest, maintaining her strong and touch composure. She spoke clearly and slowly, “I’m sorry I'm not mom, but I'm not gonna apologise for being my own person.” Y/N didn’t leave in the same way as Sam as she just walked around a seething John, however, she did stop in front of Dean, his eyes looking back up from the scuff on his boots. He appeared much sadder than she thought he would. With a gentle hand, she cupped his cheek, mouthing an ‘i’m sorry’ before spinning toward the door. Y/N didn’t look back, but she wished she did - maybe the begging expression on Dean’s face would have made her stay, maybe her father realized that he was acting out of order. Instead, she continued forward to stand by Sam’s side in the middle of the gravel car park, as they headed off quietly down the dimly lit road of Casper, Wyoming.

The night of the death.

Three siblings occupied a clinically white hospital room; the middle child was hunched from his full height as he leaned against the blind-cladded windows, the youngest was curled up as small as she could be on an uncomfortable plastic chair, and the eldest laid close-to-lifeless in a hospital bed with tubes and cords attached to nearly every visible surface of his body. The room had remained quiet for nearly forty-three minutes now, yet nobody was necessarily fussed over the silence. There wasn’t much to say, especially as Dean‘s life could slip away at any moment, and his brother and sister had already exhausted their frustration and worries in tear filled confessions.

Y/N’s eyes were trained on Dean as she held her slung arm to her chest, the heavy cast pressed forcefully against her chest as her body remained folded as a defense mechanism. She could still hear the screeching wheels of the Impala before the collision, memories lost until she was being pulled from Dean’s protective arm as he was blood-covered and slumped against the destroyed backseat door. Her vision had faded quickly again after the flashing lights of an ambulance created a grim atmosphere across the deserted road of the night. Y/N had woken up in a hospital bed, much like Dean’s, with her broken arm and a few paper stitches decorating her forehead. It didn’t take long for her to find Sam in a similar situation, but by then, he was dressed and sitting at her bedside. John Winchester was across the hall, damaged and bruised, but still recovering from an extreme case of demon possession. It had been a day or two that now led our Winchester siblings to their quiet, lonely hospital room with red eyes and wet cheeks.

Y/N and Sam hadn’t seen their father since that inimical night in Wyoming, spending the next few years trying to forget the pain that seethed deeply into their hearts.The taller of the two stood by his word and attended Stanford as a pre-law student, living a life of much-wanted normalcy with the absence of anything supernatural. He felt content, until Dean showed up on his doorstep, explaining that the father of which Sam shared bitter words with, was missing. Sam’s life was forever changed after that night. Y/N spent her time learning the basics of being a hunter with Bobby Singer, her practically adoptive father and forever family friend, as well as with Dean when he managed to work on a case away from John’s obsessive need to find the man that killed his wife. She was right when she said she was capable, but even physical proof still wouldn’t be enough to convince her father. Her life, too, allowed her to feel content until Dean was bashing against the worn-down wood of Bobby’s front door with Sam in tow, explaining that Papa Winchester was missing, and he had to be found. He had disappeared on a hunting trip, and never came home.

Demon possession was far from what the Winchester siblings expected when John was in their sights, the boys flattened against the wall of a rickety room, whilst Y/n was held up by her throat with her father’s face staring back at her. His eyes were altered to a deep golden glow, mirroring the man who brought their mother to her timely demise. The demon could have killed her, but the strained cracking voice that fell from her lips, begging for her father to let her go, managed to break through the curse that John was wrapped up within before he let her body slip to the dusty wooden floorboards. The events following caused their car accident, leading all four Winchesters to the local hospital, two siblings watching over their dying brother, and a father… one filled with regret, with love, with sacrifice… staring down the barrel of a metaphorical gun as he met with the same yellow-eyed demon in the dim basement of the infirmary.

The silence had reached past the hour point now, Sam breaking the noise barrier slightly as his toe nudged the abandoned Ouija board beside his brother's bed. Dean was there, in some kind of form or spirit, but that could only mean that it was moving further away from his body - further away from life. A soft knocking of bruised knuckles echoed off the open door, dragging Y/N’s eyes upward from her tangled fingers and widening at the image of her slumped over father. He cleared his throat, staring back at his daughter, “Y/N… can I speak with you, just for a moment?” His words provoked a curious flick of her eyes as they now looked at Sam, him sharing her unsure expression. She shrugged lightly at her brother before standing from the seat, her legs wobbly and aching from the awkward position she was sitting in for so long. She stumbled as her hand pressed against the dingy white wall to regain composure, a small pointer finger holding up in John’s direction to indicate that she will only be a moment. He nodded almost immediately and stepped back into the corridor. Sam’s ringtone was the next sound to break the silence as he held the screen up toward his sister, Bobby’s name flashing. Y/N nodded before dragging herself out of the room.

John was leaning against a counter not too far down from the room, a large coffee machine meant for public use was perched on top, his hands warmed by the fresh cup settled between them. His expression embodied the whirlwind of every emotion that crossed his face during that stormy night in Wyoming a few years earlier - a hybrid of sadness, shock, anger and most especially… guilt. That was seen particularly across his eyes as her feet neared him, purposely looking in every direction but hers. The girl stopped at least two feet from his frame, her hands held behind her back as she rocked nervously on the balls of her feet. This would be the first time that she would have a proper conversation with her father in at least five years. She cleared her throat before pursing her lips, “You wanted to talk? Can we make this quick, ‘cause I really just wanna be with Dean at the moment-”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” John spoke, his voice quieter than a whisper, yet Y/N still heard. Her eyes widened substantially as her jaw remained dropped, utter consternation coursing through her blood. An apology was the last thing she expected to hear, ever. John finally pointed his gaze toward Y/N and released a loud sigh, exhaustion hovering over him like a personal dark cloud. Large fingers tapped against the side of the styrofoam cup in a mismatched pattern, an obvious nervous habit for anybody with news stemming from a bad source. “I was never a good father. It took me a while to realize, but I do know that I love you and your brothers. Everything I did… I do... is to protect you three.” The usual deep and raspy tone of his voice was cracking down the middle, and if you weren’t mistaken, you were sure that he was on the edge of a silent sob. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment, contemplating his next set of words. Y/N remained rocking on her feet in a sudden midst of anxiety. John’s head fell into a heavy shake with a bobble in his throat, falling deeper into sadness each passing second, “Your mother died horribly, we both know it. Sammy still has nightmares. All I wanted was to get revenge for the pain that demon caused… for you, Sam and Dean… I got obsessed. I got angry. I got out of line, but I never stopped doing this for my children. You once told me you were your own person, sweetie, I know that… but, for fucks sake, aren’t you also the spitting image of your mother. I couldn’t lose you too, Y/N. I really couldn’t, it would have killed me.”

Y/N was conflicted on whether she wanted to take a step forward to comfort John, or a step backward out of the sudden scared feeling in the pit of her stomach. Years of supernatural hunting alerted her that there was definitely something wrong. Speechlessness still crowded her ability to respond as he finally pushed away from the counter, making the decision to step toward her and close the gap. Y/N’s lip quivered, “Why are you telling me this?” Her focus bored into his culpable facial features, flickering over the slight glaze of his eyes and the heavy bags underneath them. It was her turn to now shake her head, “Dad…” She started, her tone now juvenile, representing the girl at a much younger period of her life, “What did you do?” Y/N took a single stride backward, mumbling her question over and over under her breath. It was time for John’s expression to soften, a final smile tugging at his lips as he stared at his grown daughter. He shone her one last look of pride as his shaky hands cupped her face, thumbs running gently over her cheekbones. He didn’t even try to hide the tears gathering on his own cheeks. Y/N didn’t understand how such depression could turn into a teary smile so quickly, especially when it concerned her father. Trembling, John sighed out, his chapped lips pressing against his daughter’s forehead. It was only a few seconds before Y/N matched her father’s wet cheeks. She released a soft sob, “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

John pulled back before silence settled between them, the only noises bouncing off the walls consisting of beeping machines in nearby rooms and the gurgling of the large coffee machine. His head tipped to the side, catching the light of the rising sun from the window beside them. With dropped hands, his eyes gazed at the analogue clock on the wall behind them and winced, his mouth struggling as it released strained words, “I love you, baby girl. Please… just remember that everything I ever did was for you and your brothers.” She couldn’t move; frozen in place as John moved away, her eyes unable to even blink as she struggled to process everything from his apology to the softness covering his face, and of course, the words that didn’t outright speak of a goodbye but were dripping with every telltale sign possible. Y/N choked on another sob before returning to reality and realizing that she was alone. She flailed out of nervousness as her feet spun her around and back down the hallway, throat burning from the silent crying that gathered in her now scratchy throat.

“Sam!” She called, her boots slamming on the linoleum flooring, body dodging the random doctor or patient visitor in her way. “Sam, Sam-shit”. She halted as she ran head-first into a familiar tall frame, her brother’s arms quick to tangle around her trembling body and hold her close. Her small hands gathered at his plaid button-up and pulled it close toward her, knuckles turning white from the strong grip she held. He leant down as far as he could to shush in her ear, a soothing attempt to settle her down. The girl could barely hear him ask her questions about where she had been and what was wrong, her potential answers drowned out by the rampaging footsteps of medical professionals rushing to a room down the hall. The tallest Winchester slipped his lengthy fingers between his sister’s and guided her toward the commotion, a sickly feeling settling in his stomach as he slowly put the puzzle pieces together. When the two stopped, it was as if every sound in the universe ceased to exist - except for the thumping of their heavy hearts.

Bodies around them moved in slow motion toward a collapsed body on the floor, doctors rolling them over to commence CPR as an attempt to restart their breathing. Beside the body was a crushed styrofoam cup and a stream of dark liquid, the smell of caffeine provoking nausea within Y/N. John Winchester laid lifeless as all endeavors to reverse his death fell short. The smaller girl’s grip loosened on her brother’s hand until her knees fell to the ground, crunching from the hard surface, yet she couldn’t feel any pain - she couldn’t feel anything. She didn’t even realize that a loud screeching scream pushed through her lips until a crying Sam pulled her back from the doorway and encased his arms around her. He once again held her against his chest, also unable to look away from the corpse of their father, John Winchester.

Chaos remained around the two for a short while, the siblings forgotten as they were pressed against the opposing wall to the room. The tears had stopped as shock began to take over. They even struggled to break their trances until a rattling sound neared them, wheels scraping against the ground only getting closer and closer. They both looked up on instinct, a bittersweet smile reciprocated between them when their big brother came into view. Dean reached his hand down to them and squeezed as Y/N and Sam held on to him, silent words of sorrow shared for their fallen father collided with relief for their siblings’ survival. They didn’t know it then, but John Winchester sacrificed his life for not just his son, but for all his children. They didn’t know that he made a deal with the demon who cursed them all these years. They didn’t know that he was at peace when he died because he knew that they would still have each other. What they did know, however… was that their lives from now on would definitely never be the same. The Winchesters would always be cursed.