QUESTIONING THE FURY

The door slammed open, smacking against the back wall. "Sam," Dean's cracked voice echoed, coughing into his hand. The hunt had gone well, but Dean had walked away with more than just a few cuts and bruises - no thanks to Cas. They'd been hunting down the monster when Cas froze, concentration drawn on his face, and the next moment, he was gone. Dean was left all by himself, not only to take down the monster, which had been an ex soldier vampire, but to also drive home, and he was not impressed with the amount of blood he managed to get on his car. No bleach will be able to get rid of the taint of betrayal. 

The scratch on the car and now this; his baby had suffered enough. 

He coughed again, having to lean on the door for support. This wouldn't have happened if Cas was there, and didn't abandon him like everyone else. "Sam," he cried out again, hoping his little brother could hear his pain and come to his aid. His plea was met with silence, and grunting, he powered forward, blood dripping down his hand that clenched at his abdomen. It left droplets behind him, a trail of agony, and marred the once pristine floor. 

"Sam!" He screamed, pressing harder on his chest to stop the relentless flow. Dean was becoming more desperate: he could feel the tan leaving his face, only a waxy complexion remaining. 

"Sam," he whimpered, dragging himself down the stairs, the cold of the metal rail sending shivers down his spine but reminding him he's still alive. He's still there. The blood pouring out of his chest was another reminder, and despite the pain it was he felt over the moon for being alive. A smile lit up his face, and this thought gave him the courage to let his body carry him down another step. 

His foot made contact with the step and in one heart stopping moment he slipped. Rolling down the stairs, he groaned non stop, his head clashing violently with each stair. The world twisted and turned, and he felt as though he had been sucked into Wonderland. His head spun, and he felt a pull towards sleep. 

Crashing at last at the bottom, he sprawled out, hand no longer blocking the wound pumping blood. It bled more furiously, as though it was begging to leave his body, dampening his plaid shirt and pooled around him. His head was lolled to the side, and his face was a picture of peace - a strange and rare emotion to pass Dean Winchesters face. 

Sam bolted up at hearing the bangs, grabbing his pistol and pushing Ebony behind him. She rolled her eyes, quickly rushing into the kitchen to snatch up a knife and shoving past Sam, sneaking to the front of the bunker where they heard the noises. She thought it was extremely foolish of Sam to think she was safer behind; she had the perfect angle to attack. In the three days they'd stayed alone in the bunker he really had taken a shine to her, she noticed smugly. 

Creeping along on her tiptoes, she gestured for Sam to wait where he was and she'd check it out. He didn't like that one bit, glaring at her but not moving from his position, his finger never off the trigger. 

Sam heard Ebony's footsteps halt. "Sam!" She shouted desperately, putting her knife in her back pocket. She raised a trembling hand to her lips as she heaved. "Get in here, quick!" 

He didn't have to be told twice. He sprinted in, hair flowing behind him majestically as he rushed into the room. Skidding to a stop he took in the scene before him. Ebony on her knees, her jeans being stained with the colour of murder and her hands slick with blood. Her hands pressed down on his wound, Dean's wound, her tears mingling with his blood. "Get some bandages, alcohol, a needle and some thread." 

"I don't think we have thread." Sam stuttered, eyes never leaving his pale brothers. 

"Then use floss! Go!" She shooed him away, hands glued to the spot. He ran out, slipping and sliding, his footsteps soon becoming more distant. 

"Don't die on me Dean," she whispered in his ear, face grim. "Don't die before I can kill you," she mumbled incoherently to herself. Yes, it pleased her greatly seeing the life rush out of a Winchester, making him feel what Celeste felt in her last moments, but it wasn't her hand that did the deed. Only when he died at her hands would she be satisfied.

No God, no higher power was in control of his fate but her. She had the power right now to kill him, to draw her knife from the depths of her pocket and plunge it deeper into his already existing wound, slicing up the organs he needed for survival. She could do all of this, and Sam wouldn't suspect a thing. He would grieve and weep and be lost, and Ebony would guide him, and keep leading him down a path with a dead end where she would turn around and watch the light die from his eyes. 

Shaking off the temptation, she focused on Dean. She'd save him, to kill him another day. 

*

Sam had found the items, and after some stitches they carefully moved him onto the table, laying a white pillow under his head and wrapping his chest in bandages that instantly turned red. "You should get some rest," Ebony muttered to Sam, placing a crimson hand on his arm. 

His face heated up, but he didn't shy away from her touch. "No, it's fine. I'll stay here." 

"Sam." Her tone darkened, and she looked him right in the eyes. "Go to bed, before I knock you out."

"I will do, but not now." Sam smirked, and Ebony threw her hands up in the air, huffing. 

"You are a cheeky bastard, you know that?" 

"I've been told." She shook her head, twisting her face from his so he couldn't see the small smile that had crawled onto her face. Busying herself with cleaning up, she let her mind go blank as she let her hands take over, mentally exhausted. 

"Just go to bed before you collapse." She sighed, stopping her actions for a second to rub at her grey eyes. Flakes of dried blood flew off, decorating her face with red sprinkles. 

Sam ignored her, hand twitching at his side. He needed to do it. "You've got, um, something on your cheek." Reaching out a large, calloused hand Sam brushed gently at her delicate porcelain skin. Her breath caught in her throat - she'd not been this intimate with someone in a long time. Her stomach churned, and batting away the feeling of nausea she burrowed her cheek into his hand, letting the cracked skin scratch non too softly. 

"Did you get it?" She purred, cursing herself for forcing herself to do this. It's for a good cause, she reminded herself, you'll never have to touch him again soon, nor will anyone. 

"Yeah." He breathed out, not moving his hand from her cheek. She imagined that it wasn't really Sam who was holding her cheek, but that it was Celeste's gentle hand caressing her. Picturing this was the only way she could handle being so near a man, especially since her attraction to the male species was zero. She would've felt guilt if she wasn't adapted.  

They stayed there for a few moments more, him enjoying the feel of her cheek on his hand and hoping one day he could do it again, her waiting for the appropriate moment to yank herself out of his grip. 

"You should go to sleep," she murmured, pulling herself away from his hand. His hand was left suspended in the air for an agonising minute, and with a crest fallen face he agreed, using the very hand that was touching her cheek to cover his mouth as he let out a huge yawn that seemed to break his jaw. 

He shuffled out of the room, his back turned to her. "Wake me when he's up."

"I already was going to do that, because I'm a good citizen." She nearly smiled at the irony. No good citizen plans someone's murder. She was proud of it. 

He left as soon as those words passed her lips, and she couldn't hear his sarcastic remark. She was glad in a way, because she didn't want to kill him so soon. 

Distracting herself from her drooping eyelids, she wandered over to Dean, pulling a chair out, oblivious to the ear splitting scrape it gave and crumpled in it. She was so tired. Tired of acting. Tired of playing nice. Tired of constantly plotting against them. 

Maybe I should just get it over with, she thought. Her hands drifted over to his bandages, and she applied pressure to the wound. Maybe I could just tear these stitches right now and kill Sam in his sleep. Instantly she dismissed the idea; it wouldn't be fulfilling. 

She pulled her hand back, and sat there, staring and waiting.

*

Hours later, Deans eyes began fluttering. Bolting up, Ebony took one step towards Sam's room when she went against it. What if Cas had told Dean about her threat? She didn't want Dean spreading rumours around, so she stayed put. 

"Hey, Dean? Are you okay?" Ebony asked, filling her tone with care, making her sound sickly sweet. She placed a hand on his muscular shoulder, squeezing it a little too tightly. 

His eyes fluttered more, and his eyes flew open, dancing around the area. His breath was laboured, and he tried sitting up. 

"Oh no, cowboy." Ebony chastised, gripping onto him even harder and shoving him back on the table. 

Dean's eyes shot to her, and instantly he attempted to get up again, fighting against her strong hold. He wiggled and squirmed, yet Ebony still held on. "Unhand me you son of a bitch!" 

"Let me help you," she hissed, climbing on his body in one swift movement and grabbing both of his swinging hands and pinning them to the table. "Stop fighting me!" 

Glaring at her, he relaxed. "Thank you. Now, is it okay if I check to see if you tore your stitches? The ones that have given me cramp in my hand? Or will you try to pummel me again? Unless you want to potentially bleed out and die." She shrugged making it seem like nothing. To the Winchester's though, death was no bigger threat than a ladybug. 

He nodded. "Can I get off of you now?" Again, he shook his head. "Good." 

She climbed off with less grace than she had before, slipping slowly to the floor. Her sagging posture hinted at her fatigue and blood shot eyes matched her stained hands. Ebony tripped slightly when she walked to the scissors, carrying them back and snipping away at the many layers of bandages. 

Dean cleared his throat, and Ebony looked up at him, still chopping away at the bandage. "Where's Cas?" 

"I should ask you that, considering you guys went on a hunt together." 

"He was there one minute, but the next," he made an exploding gesture with his hands. "Poof." 

She cut at the last bit of fabric and gently unravelled it from his skin. "The only feathers around here are in the pillows." Dean's face fell, and Ebony had to hide her relief. She shot him an apologetic smile. "Sorry." 

"It's okay, I should be used to people leaving me by now." Ebony raised an eyebrow, peeling the bandage mercilessly from his skin that time. He was so ungrateful, he still had his brother. Her sister didn't even realise she existed. 

"That's not true, you still have Sam, and only God knows why you still have me, even if your taste in women and music repulse me." 

"Should I be offended or complimented?" 

"It's up to you how you take it," she grinned at him cheekily. Hesitantly, he flashed a smile. She ducked her head and looked at his wound, poking and prodding it just to see the winces he'd try to mask. "Shockingly, all of your stitches are still intact, and it doesn't seem infected yet so that's a good sign."

Ebony rolled some new bandages as Dean started talking again. "I'm sorry for how I've been treating you." 

"It's okay, I'm used to being threatened and nearly strangled. All in a days work." She made a light note of it, trying to camouflage her resting hate for the two boys. Sorry didn't do shit. 

"I was just protecting Sammy." 

"I know. I'd do the same."

She finished rolling the bandage and putting tape in her mouth she ripped a bit off, all the while keeping the bandage from unfurling. "Have you, uh, spoken to your sister since she left?"

"I call sometimes, just to hear her say hello. I hang up after that." Her words were muffled from the tape, but the solemn expression on her face spoke for her. 

"When you come on a hunt with us next time, we'll see if we can stop by." Ebony paused in her work, throat clogging up and eye sight becoming watery.

"Thank you," she choked out, overcome with emotion. 

Ebony told herself that he was lying, attempting to get on her good side, to keep the fury burning inside her gut. They murdered her, she repeated in her head. They don't deserve any happiness for that. 

-

hola assbutts! you know how I told you all about that guy I liked a few chapters ago? well, yesterday we had THREE whole conversations! I was so happy, and I'm still over the moon! and he laughed at my jokes, like hardly ANYONE does that, because sometimes my jokes are so shit, like on a shit meter, mine would be the River Thames in the 1800s so yeah, I'm super happy! -UPDATE 08/04/2018 wow look at lil ol' naive me. don't do it past me, he was a dick anyway so stop.

how was your week guys? GIVE ME DETAILS!

adios assbutts!

-thirdwheelchurchill