Piece of the Puzzle

Résumé : Even by the Amazones criteria, Emma was a abnormality : a freak among the freaks. Must be the Winchester genes talking. Her mother had really chosen the wrong man to procreate with. AU from S7E13 "The Slice Girls", OS.

Rating : T

Disclaimer : Shocking news, Supernatural isn't mine, and I'm not making any money with this fic ! (I'm not making any money at all actually...)

Note : So this is my first fic...ever, English isn't my primary language (not my language at all now that I think about it) buuuuut now I'm beta'ed ! How awesome is that !? Which is why I'm posting the edited version, corrected by the amazing kaida171!

Anyway, I'm working on a sequel (on the form of another OS), thanks to my beta again

Song : "Human", by Daughter

I. Lydia

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There was something seriously off about her daughter, Lydia thought.

She wasn't sure where the feeling came from exactly. After all, Emma was her first born, so the young woman didn't have much experience with raising little Amazons, but from what the Elders had told her and the other first-time mothers, and her memories of her own upbringing (not childhood...because Amazons don't have such a thing), her daughter really didn't fit the usual behavior pattern of a demonic warrior in the making.

Amazon youngsters were usually silent and intense, and most importantly obedient, and couldn't Emma be like that? Nooo, because apparently the little monster couldn't stay still for more than a few minutes, always trying to go explore or whatever she was trying to accomplish. It was just 9 in the morning and Emma had already managed to escape the crib twice. Not to mention, the girl had this weird craving for contact and required constant attention, or, dare Lydia say it, affection. She had absolutely no idea on how to deal with this emotional stuff. She really hoped her daughter would grow out of it.

Amazons were warriors, they didn't do cuddly.

But worst of all, Emma was so damn curious about everything. She was such a chatterbox, and Lydia was growing really tired of the myriad of questions her daughter kept on firing at her: "Why is the grass green?", "Why do I have to stay in the crib?", "Why can't I go outside?"

"Why can't I stay with Mommy?" She shouldn't even want to, for the Goddess' sake. Lydia truly couldn't understand that girl.

However, Emma couldn't be considered to be too unfocused or fickle, far from it. Indeed, when she felt like it, Emma was to humanity what bulldog was to the canine race: stubborn. The nicest word Lydia could find to qualify that aspect of her personality was determined, and it certainly didn't come from her. Lydia had always been more of the good little soldier type, much like her sisters, and how Emma should have been.

The point was, when the small girl was set on a subject, it was near impossible to make her let it go.

Like on the matter of her father.

"But why can't you tell me about him?" she had asked all morning, raising big doe eyes from the crib she was confined in.

As if she sincerely believed that the Puppy Look would work on an Amazon. Please.

"The Elders will tell you everything you need to know soon enough", Lydia would invariably reply.

Not that she would have plenty of thing to say on the matter anyway, except that the guy would be dead soon by his own daughter's hand.

The Elders probably did know more about him that she did.

However the answer didn't seem to satisfy Emma, who keeping coming back to charge every 10 minutes or so like some kind of demented bull. Lydia was starting to get really tired with the whole motherhood thing. And she was supposed to do that every two years?

Even her appearance was…unexpected, for the lack of a better word. Amazon offspring usually took from their mother predominantly. Emma did look like Lydia, inheriting the same eyes and small lean frame, but she had taken a lot from Don, or whatever his name was. Her hair and nose were all his, as well as a certain look, a peculiar glint in the eye, that the older warrior would qualify as adventurous, or cocky. Sure, she had appreciated that small wicked smile very much that night on Emma's father's face, but wasn't overly fond of it on her newborn daughter.

And this is of course the moment the happy new father of the week chose to come knocking at door to get his stupid flask back. Joy.

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II. Dean

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There was something seriously weird about that kid, Dean thought.

Her very existence, for a start. He was here, like, two days ago, and there wasn't a freaking trace of a child. He was a bit occupied at the time to conduct a complete inspection, for sure, but it was the kind of thing a one night stand expert like him would notice.

Seriously, if Lydia didn't want to talk about her kid with her one time lover, well, that was her problem, but she was acting so damn nervous his radars were spinning lightning fast.

And let's talk about the root of the problem, the kid herself. She sure was one hell of a cute child, though a serious looking one: big brown eyes she had probably inherited from Lydia, soft sandy hair, pink rose pouty lips, and round face.

Yep, a very cute already talking kid. And not the babbling a two-something-year-old should be doing, noooo, more like full sentences, with verb and adverb and all the grammar fancy stuff Sammy was so fond of. And don't come telling him about precocious crap, Dean could recognize precocious when he saw it, he had raised one.

If that kid was full percent normal human, he would eat his boots.

Besides, Lydia wouldn't be so damn nervous if there wasn't something up with her. The woman was so skittish his radars would be spinning madly even without taking into account the alien kid factor. Sure, nobody was totally cool with meeting their one night stand again. Lydia was taking this shit too far though. Dean would know.

"Sooo... didn't think you had a kid" And wasn't that the euphemism of the day.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, which Dean translated to: "So I don't tell my one night stand about my kid, how unusual". Who would have thought spending years decrypting Sammy's bitch face variations would come in handy eventually.

"Yeah... cute one anyway. Your first?"

She nodded, and frowned unconsciously, as if thinking about more than one kid didn't seemed like a joyous prospect from where Dean was standing, but hey, he wasn't going to judge.

Not on that, anyway.

"So, what's her name?" Not that he really was interested, but he needed to gather as much info as he could.

"Emma", answered simply her mother.

Well, someone wasn't feeling chatty today. Though if she did, she would probably be screaming something like "you've got your stuff back, what are you still doing here, stop the chitchat and get the fuck out of my house!"

Yeah...maybe it was better Dean was the talkative one on this round.

He carefully approached the crib, purposely ignoring Lydia's oblivious reluctance. The kid was standing, her tiny hands firmly holding the bars, her whole body almost vibrating in silent excitement, her large and intense eyes fixed on Dean like he was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Her expression was so Cas-like Dean almost froze on the spot. He promptly pushed the uncomfortable thought away, and crouched down to be at her level.

"Hi, kiddo, I'm Dean", he said with his trade-mark half crooked smile.

The child nodded seriously, then silently mouthed his name, as if she was testing the sounds.

"Hello, Dean, my name is Emma. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Riiiight, that was perfectly normal.

"Great, this is enough now." Lydia finally cracked. "Dean, pleasure seeing you again, but you have to go now. Please."

Well, there wasn't anything he could say to that. Uncannily, Emma didn't seem that much happy about his imminent departure than he was, though probably not for the same reasons.

"But why can't..." the smaller girl started, before she was shut down by a stern look from her mother.

"Right, right, then I will be on my way. Thanks for my flask Lydia, and nice to meet you too Emma." Dean smiled at the babe as he got up.

The kid brightened a bit at that, waving her tiny hand at him as her mom practically pushed him out of her house. He didn't miss how relieved Lydia looked before she slammed the door at his face.

Well, that was very suspicious. Why Dean couldn't have a one night stand once in a while without stumble on a case, he had no idea.

Actually, he did. Winchester genes, you bastards.

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III. Amelia

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There was something very odd with her clan-sister Emma, Amelia thought.

Not that Amelia was an expert on what was normal or not, since she was born only two days ago. Besides, she really had no wish to alienate one of her sisters. But that persistent impression in her gut wouldn't leave, and Amelia couldn't help but feel that Emma was different from herself and the others.

The relationship between sisters born the same day was a special one. Amazons were all sisters of the same tribe, but a generation shared the same experiences at the same time. For a few days, they ate and slept together, they went through the sacred rites of the tribe together, learned the way of the Amazons together, were marked as an member of clan together, and finally would kill their father and become the warriors they were meant to be on the same day.

Amelia really couldn't wait for that moment, when she would finally become an Amazon, and truly rejoice with her kin. The killing was a reward in itself, the accomplishment of these days of intense preparation. Her blood sang for the moment she could feast on the despair of men and prove herself as a true warrior in Harmonia's eyes. She would honor the tribe through her offering, showing them she owed her life to their divine Patroness, not to some inferior weak man.

Amazons had no father. Only sisters and mothers and the Goddess.

And she knew Alice, Trudy and Rebecca felt the same way. She could see it in the impatient glint in their eyes that reflected her own, the eagerness to get rid of the annoying scrap of humanity, of weakness they had left.

But Emma? Emma was oddly... reluctant to do the whole killing-the-paternal figure business.

Though it wasn't fair to say she was always unenthusiastic about their activities. She was actually an amazing fighter, the best by far in their little group of apprentice killers. And Emma obviously thrilled in the exercise and the competition. In any other group, that fact alone may have been sufficient to arouse envy from the others, but they were Amazons, and human pettiness was above them. All in all, Amelia was just glad her clan-sister was strong enough to watch her back.

Skills or strength wasn't the problem. Devotion to the cause, or lack of, was.

The young warrior wanted to trust Emma, really, she did, because if she couldn't trust her kin, her sisters, she couldn't trust anyone.

But there were oddities about her behavior and character that Amelia couldn't completely ignore, no matter how much she would have liked to.

Emma was among them, but not one of them. Amelia couldn't help but pity her. An Amazon life was lonely enough even being part of the clan. And certainly Emma wasn't fit for loneliness.

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IV. Madeline

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There was something seriously...different about the novice Emma, Madeline thought.

Probably not that surprising, with the father Lydia had very unfortunately chosen for her first contribution to the tribe. A hunter, no less. And not just any hunter, no, but Dean Winchester. As in, went-to-hell-and-actually-came-back-human Dean Winchester.

As in starting-and-stopping-the-Apocalypse Dean Winchester, for the Goddess' sake.

Even among the Amazons, not the most receptive to the exploit of men, THAT man was legendary material.

Lydia really knew how to pick 'em, didn't she.

At least Emma was stronger due to that unexpected heritage. Like, a lot stronger. The girl was so talented with her knifes that Madeline had yet to find her equal among her sisters her age in fighting skill. The girl was born two days ago, but she fought like she had partaken in battle her whole life. A born huntress.

But the older woman wasn't sure it would be enough for their youngest member to be able to the hunter.

Besides, Emma clearly lacked enthusiasm at the prospect.

When the time had come to tell the recruits about their target, Madeline had talked to them one by one, keeping Emma for the last. She, oddly, had seemed upset about the identity of her procreator.

The task she had been given was difficult enough with a hunter of this caliber, but if Emma didn't put all heart in it, she was destined to fail, and Madeline couldn't allow that.

By chance, the most famous weakness of the Winchesters was family, and Emma was of their blood.

Too bad the girl wasn't a very talented liar, but she was smart and strong, and her father would be at least reluctant to kill his offspring.

Besides, hunters didn't know of their ways, so they shouldn't expect Emma to come put an end to their life.

If Emma didn't manage to kill Dean Winchester and his annoying brother tonight, the whole tribe would be in danger, and Madeline couldn't let that pass.

Which is why the Amazon leader followed the novice in secret when she left to accomplish her mission that night.

If Emma couldn't kill the bastard, Madeline would. Unfortunately, this decision happened to be a huge infringement to the sacred ritual, but a necessary one due to circumstances. The Goddess would understand.

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V. Emma

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There is something seriously wrong with me, Emma thought as she stood rigidly in front of the motel door, suitcase in hand, knives in her pockets and a mouth full of lies.

Amazons were like small pieces of a giant puzzle. They only existed as a part of the tribe, and for the Goddess' honor. They were warriors, and sisters, and teachers, and baby makers, but they weren't people. Individuality was a concept they couldn't even begin to understand.

Tiny, sharp pieces of a whole, pawns in Harmonia's hands. A perfectly uniformed puzzle, and Emma, no matter how much she tried, didn't fit in.

She was damaged goods before she could speak her first words, and Amazons had no use for anything less than perfectly oiled machines. Not enough of a monster to be an Amazon, not enough of a human to be a Winchester. Emma Without A Name, the freak stuck in the middle.

She blamed her father for that. And her mother, for a lack of insight. Of course Lydia had to choose the leader of Team Free Will, of all men on Earth.

Emma was a piece on her own, an engrenage that run backwards, and she was going to die tonight.

Of course she was, they was not way she could kill Dean and Sam Winchester. Not her. Maybe if she had been more like her sisters, completely devoid of doubt for instance, she might have stood a chance... But she wasn't, and after three pathetic days of existence, she was going to rejoice the ridiculously long list of monster killed by the infamous Winchester. Lucky her.

Maybe she could run? Far away from here, live hidden and perhaps her sisters wouldn't find her?

Right. As if.

So she knocked. One does not make destiny wait forever.

And he answered. With the door only partially open, but that was a start.

From his surprised face, she could safely deduce she wasn't the one he was expecting. The Elders may have been right after all, hunters weren't familiar with Amazons and their customs. She should say something, because this was getting more and more awkward, but her brain is frozen, and she couldn't remember anything of the speech Madeline had make her rehearse again and again all day.

"...Hello", she finally managed to mutter awkwardly. "I am...Emma."

You know, your monstrous three days old daughter. The one who looked like she was two when you met her yesterday. Smooth move, girl.

At least, Dean seemed just as stuck as she was in awkward department. Perhaps another thing she had to thank him for. Along with the hair and fashion sense. She should totally make a list: "All the Things I Owe To The Winchester Genes". If she managed to live out the night, of course.

"Emma, right. The expression 'growing like a weed' takes on a whole new meaning." He managed to say, his right hand still hidden from her eyes behind the door. She bet father dearest was holding a gun with a bullet in it that had her name on it.

This was the moment she was supposed to tell him the crap about being in danger, and needing his help, not to forget the whole "you're my father" bomb. Madeline was so very fond of that part. Probably the drama queen in her.

Too bad Emma's brain was still in comatose mode.

"Sooo... what are you doing here and how did you find me?" the hunter asked after it became obvious she wasn't gonna say anything without proper encouragement.

I'm here to kill you, and I knew how to find you because you're my prey and you can't escape me.

Emma sucked terribly at lying. One more proof of her inadequacy in being a proper Amazon, if another one was needed.

Which is why she stuck to the truth.

"They never lost you. You're on their black list". And probably Public Enemy Number One, as far as the Monster Community was concerned.

"I don't know what to do." She couldn't think of anything more true.

"I'm different from the others. It's probably your fault." When in doubt, always flatter the guy, Lydia had told her on one of their so rare mother/daughter bonding moments.

"They're completely crazy." Like nutshells, really.

"I need your help. I can't think of anyone else who would help me." Please, save me. That's what fathers do, right?

Dean took a moment to fully register her little heartfelt speech.

"And how did you escape exactly?"

The young girl let out a bitter laugh.

"I didn't escape. You don't understand, they are not locking us in. No one ever tried to run away before. I'm a...freak." Totally true, though it wasn't how she got here. Emma was better at the half-truth game then she thought, after all.

"Right", he moved away from the door. "Well, come in then."

She entered, her ridiculous suitcase rolling in her trail. Pink, really. As if it would be enough to make her appear innocent.

As she thought, the motel looked at least as bad on the inside it did on the outside. Well, she wasn't here for the décor anyway. What a pathetic place to die. For whoever was going to die tonight.

Her father turned to face her. If he was carrying a gun (as she bet he was), it was well hidden. Though, the Amazon supposed, you didn't live for long in this line of work without knowing how to properly hide your weapons. And Dean was very good at his job.

She sat after he asked (ordered) her to (more like crumbled actually, but let's not dwell on the embarrassing details).

"So. Let's imagine for a second that you're not lying to me, and that you're not...like them...yet. What do you want from me exactly?"

The words flew so easily from her, from the heart, straight to the mouth. Didn't even need to think.

"Not much. Just that you protect me until I can get away from the harpies and can live on my own. I promise I won't be much of a burden, I may be...very young, but I'm a good fighter, really. Then I'll leave you be, and I won't kill anybody, and...!"

Dean froze, clearly not an expert on the procedure to follow when confronted with a juvenile half meltdown.

"Whoa ,whoa, easy there, sweetheart!", he put his hands on her shoulders, apparently trying to calm her down. "Just...don't cry, okay?"

And wasn't that hilarious, the harsh man completely frantic in front of the instable little girl.

"I'm not going to cry." Emma objected, because cry. Seriously.

Dean seemed relieved by the protest.

"Well, great, you do that... what's up with your hand anyway?"

Smooth way to change the subject. Emma should add communication skill to that Winchester's list of pathological incapacities.

"Oh, that?" Emma showed him her right wrist. "It's just part of the initiation. The Elders brand us, both as a test to endure pain and as a symbol of our membership to the tribe."

For a second, she could have sworn she saw a spark of pure anger flashed in her father's eyes, before he eased his face back into a neutral expression. It made her warm for a second, the idea that he would be angry on her behalf, before she crushed the annoying feeling.

"Oookay. So, do you want something to eat?"

Dean walked to the fridge. "I got, like, cheese or half a burito..."

Emma indulged one moment the fantasy of actually leaving the Amazons, to go with her father. He was a good man, she could feel it, and he took care of his family. He probably wouldn't even ditch her the second it was convenient. Maybe he could teach her things, like hunting, and maybe she wouldn't feel so alone.

And then she remembered. She was an Amazon. No happy ending for her. She didn't have a choice. She didn't.

Emma rose from her chair, as Dean was still inspecting the almost empty fridge. The ritual knife fell from her sleeve to her hand, and she held the blade within her shaky fingers. She had never shook before.

But before she could make a move, her father swiftly turned around, firmly holding a gun towards her chest. And he wasn't shaking.

"I figured you would try to chap me out. Try to catch me off guard. Almost worked. I was expecting your mother."

She didn't say anything. There was not point. She couldn't throw a knife faster that he could fire a gun. She wasn't that good, at least not yet. He was a hunter, and she was a monster. Emma could do the math.

Dean was going to take back the life he had never meant to give. She could almost appreciate the irony.

"Aren't you gonna to try and say something for yourself, Emma?"

She briefly closed her eyes. She was so young, but so tired already. Maybe it was better that way.

"What would be the point? Someone has to die tonight, and apparently, it's gonna be me. I didn't think I would be able to do it anyway. You do have quite the reputation, you know. Let's just end this comedy, shall we?"

Dean looked stunned by her complete lack of combativeness.

"I thought you would try to weasel your way out. You're awfully resigned, kid, you know that?"

"Why do you care anyway?" she growled. "I'm just another monster, in case you've forgotten. Shut up and hurry up, would you? I don't have all night."

But Dean didn't seem very keen on ending the confrontation. He was just standing there, finger on the trigger, and, dare she say it, looking torn.

Despite her best judgment, she felt hope rise in her chest. Maybe Dean wanted to kill her as little as she wanted to kill him.

Emma had thought of many outcomes for this night, analyzed the different parameters, but she didn't take into account the possibility of another party stepping in on her favor.

The Amazons were adamant on their ritual was something the recruit had to do on her own, to prove her worth. The other Amazons weren't allowed to help, even if they had wanted to, which was unlikely. Emma wasn't the most popular girl in the town, to be completely honest.

Which is why Emma didn't think the newcomer could be on her side. She didn't think at all, actually.

Just reacted.

Why, she had no idea. Probably she thought it was another threat and acted by reflex.

(The real reason, the one she wouldn't admit to herself until months later, is because she felt Dean was in danger.)

She heard the sound of the door being forced open, quick footsteps and the click of an armed gun, and without taking a breath, turned around and threw her knife on the intruder. Right into the heart. The knife sunk into her victim's chest, and her opponent fell on the floor. Dead.

Emma's first coherent thought was: "Well, I can throw quicker than a gun after all."

The second wasn't a thought at all. Just a mass of crushing feelings that overflowed her. Incredulity, anger, horror, and then the terrible, atrocious guilt. She had killed Madeline. One of her kin, her sister. Her mentor. Emma couldn't think of a worst betrayal to her kind than this one.

The Amazon wished Dean had killed her instead of procrastinating for what felt like hours. At least she would have died a failure, instead of a traitor.

She didn't heard the hunter's trademark "sunofabitch", neither did she saw him rushing to her side nor felt his arm as he held her, keeping her from crumbling like a broken doll.

She could only see the face of Madeline, eyes round with shock, a trickle of blood on the corner of her mouth, even after Dean had turned her head into the crook of his neck, surrounding her with the warmth she had so deeply wished for.

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It took her years to understand that Winchesters were pieces of their own, of all kinds of shapes and sizes, but still managing to revolve around each other.

She had yet to decide if it was a curse or a benediction.