Ella

He begins to dig through what looks like an old house, and I'm tempted to walk over and pretend like I'm digging, but actually cause him extra work. If I wasn't so hungry and if my body didn't hurt all over, I would. I can't waste my energy though, so I walk away from him and try to find ruins of a house myself.

Although we walked somewhat of a ways from my house, I feel as if I could still find it among the smoke and ash that has buried it. I don't want to find it though. If I see my family lying beneath its ruins again, I don't think I'll be able to leave this town. I'm already losing hope, I don't need to drown what's left of it.

My heart burns with ache and anger. I'm so mad, I could probably kill Dean if he was to walk over to me right this very second. I know he doesn't care about finding any humans, just his precious Norovians. I get that he wants to find more of his kind, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't care about mine. That probably also means that I should care more about his. Maybe if they weren't such douche wads and always spoke their minds and weren't so selfish, I might not have a problem with them. To them, we're the Indians and they're Columbus.

My feet kick at rocks as I walk around what used to be my town. My eyes still sting from the smoke, but I'm beginning to adapt. I'm numb to the cuts and bruises powdering my skin, for what's a handful of cuts to losing your family and friends? I love my mom and dad with everything that is inside of me, but I wish I could see Peter just once more. I was at peace with my parents, but right before he died we had a petty argument. If only I could take it back. I'm sorry, Pete, you know that.

I remember calling him a bastard, just after decking him good in the jaw. I wish I never said that. I regret that the most, because now I am one. A father-less child. An orphan. No mother. No brother. No friend.

"Ella," I hear Dean walk up behind me. "I found some supplies to get us through a couple days. There's not much daylight to travel with, though. Do you want to stay here for the night?" I don't even remember sitting down, but here I am sitting on a pile of gravel, staring off into the smoky distance. I wonder how long I've been here.

"No," I wheeze, my throat dry and raw. "I don't want to stay here any longer."

"You sure?" Stay where my family all died and be reminded for the next twelve hours, when I'm reminded enough? No, thank you.

"Yes, Dean, I am sure," I snap. I don't know where his calm and caring attitude came from, but I don't want any part of that crap.

"Fine," he mutters, the coldness leaking into his words. There's the heartless Dean I know.

"Okay," I mumble back, before slowing rising to my feet and brushing past him. Not forget to push his shoulder with my own as I walk by. I can hear him let out a frustrated sigh, letting me know he's annoyed once again. Good.

"Do you want to eat now?" He asks as he catches up to me, his voice still holding its edge.

"No, I want to save as much as I can. The farther we get from town, the harder it will be to find food. It will come in handy more, then." But just as I speak, my stomach lets out the most unattractive growl that I have ever heard.

"Come in handy more, then?" He laughs, a sarcastic and pitiful laugh, and I want to punch his brains out of his filthy alien skull. "Your stomach sounds like a police siren."

"I'm not going to eat," I whisper, my voice a low volume.

"Why? We won't run out. I practically raided a kitchen of whatever does not need refrigeration and whatever wasn't ruined with dust and rocks." He holds up a large backpack, dotted all over with small holes.

"What about wa--"

"Water?" He opens the front zipper, displaying about six bottles of water. How long was I sitting on that pile of gravel?

"How many houses did you look through?" He shrugs, before counting on his fingers, displaying the blisters and red marks he's acquired.

"Four or five, I can't quite remember."

"How long have I been sitting here?"

"About four hours." As much as I dislike the guy, I do kind of feel bad. He did all this work, and I just sat on a dirt pile, trying to make amends with my dead brother.

"Oh." I look away, not wanting to talk about this or anything else with him. I can't even stand in his presence.

Walking away, I try to remember where East was, which causes me to stop in my tracks. "It's this way, Ella." I turn around, and he points in the opposite direction.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"Here, you need this," he whispers, before digging through the pack and pulling out a bottle of water.

"I'm good, save it."

"Your voice sounds like you ate a box of nails."

"You don't think I already know that?" I cough, giving away how bad it really is. "Save it for when we're out in the scorching sunny desert and there is nothing but mirages to quench our thirst."

"You're being difficult," he huffs.

"I don't really care if I'm being difficult," I almost laugh. "I've lost everything, and I have never lost a person I've loved before, so sorry that I'm kind of touchy right now." He opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him. "Oh, that's right. Dead Scholric has been through everything that is in a really sad biography book, because you know everything that has gone on in my planet, right? So, you know pain and what it's like. Well, congratulations, Dean, you actually might have some feelings inside your heartless soul."

"Enough!" He shouts, his chest rising and falling in anger. "Your species is the heartless ones! All you do is nag and nag and nag! We have tried to be at peace with you all, but there is always that one that can't accept someone being different from the rest. Why can't you accept us? So we speak our mind, who cares? At least we don't walk around and lie like your species. 'Does this dress make me look fat?' 'No, of course not honey. You don't look like a sausage casing, it looks great.' Wake up! She looks likes hell in the dress, but no one admits it. We admit it, and we're called emotionless. We have emotions, you pathetic little human! We care. We care for the Norovians, and that is all. And you wanna know why? Your species is full of judgmental little whores!" The anger in his words and eyes, does not match the anger swimming inside my pores. You pathetic little human. You pathetic little human. You pathetic little human. Is all that I can hear.

"You--you--" I begin, before my fist makes a move and connects with his jaw. He lets out an umph, and I try to hide the pain of how much that hurt my hand. Word to the wise, no matter how upset you are, don't punch two people in the span of twenty-four hours, it stings really bad.

"Why would you do that?!" He screams, as his yellow eyes begin to turn a light brown. "More pain to deal with! Did you think of that!" But with his words and anger, I can't help but know that he's not talking about his jaw. His eyes are scanning over my coddled hand, and I look away as he steps forward.

"Don't. I don't want your petty help. I'm pathetic, remember? I'm selfish and I can't accept someone being different. I don't want to be the only human you help, especially when it's out of pity. I don't need your pity, Dean, I don't need anything from you. So take your little supply pack and leave me alone." I'm not crying, but I'm on the verge, and I have to close my eyes to hold back. I don't want him near me, I don't want him talking to me. Heck, I don't even want him breathing.

"Well, you're going to get my freaking help, whether if you want it or not." I don't have the energy to fight back. I'm tired and hungry and sad and hurt and I can't fight any longer.

My eyes remain closed, but I can feel his rough hands looking it over. "Nothing's broke, but it's beginning to bruise. It will heal all on its own."

"Thanks." I open my eyes, to be met with him looking down at me.

"You're welcome."

"Why are you helping me?" I ask, not sure if I'm ready again for his honesty.

"Because I'm not selfish."