HIDING BEHIND THE VEIL

Ebony sniffled, and finally Dean took in her puffy eyes. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." Ebony loved that word. 'Fine'. It's a word that no longer could be defined in the dictionary, for it's used by lovers, haters, preachers and liars. The human race had twisted it's meaning so much to fit their own selfish needs that it no longer has a meaning that they can understand. She thought it was fitting, in a twisted way. 

"You don't sound fine." Dean shuffled closer, staring at her intently. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Ebony chuckled sarcastically. "I'm not exactly the type to talk about my feelings, so excuse me if I pass on that."

"You can be any type, and still be happy. Men, women, goths, geeks, jocks, skaters - they should all be allowed to talk about their feelings and not have their own happiness restricted because of a 'type'. Shit, I think that's the cheesiest thing I've ever said." He shuddered. "So," he leaned back, lying down on the gravel. "What's on your mind?"

"When you're drunk, you sound like a philosopher."

"When you're sober you sound like a pessimist." 

"Good, because I am one." 

Dean opened his mouth to retort, and then quickly snapped it shut. He hit her in the arm, "stop avoiding the question!" 

"Am I not allowed to be sad?" 

"No, especially after a goddess of a girl gave you her number." Dean hooked his hands around his neck, cradling it and closed his eyes. "By the way, I never saw that coming."

"No one does." She murmured, staring off into the distance. Dean didn't notice, too busy humming to himself the tune of an AC/DC song she didn't know the name of.  

She gulped. She felt like she could tell him anything, and he wouldn't judge her. Anyway, she believed he was so wasted that he wouldn't remember this conversation. Gathering all her courage, she tripped over her words. "I called my sister." 

Dean sprang up, eyes wide and alert, all signs of intoxication evaporated off of his face. "You did what?" 

Her brows pulled together, all thoughts of him being accepting flying out of her mind. "You're such a hypocrite, you'd do the same if it was Sam." 

"No, I wouldn't. I'd leave him be." 

"Then how come you pulled him out of Stanford? He was happy, safe, and then you arrive and his girlfriend is getting fried extra crispy on the ceiling and his career in law non existent!"

Dean shook his head, rubbing at his jaw. "That was different."

Ebony's features had become stony, and she tucked her legs into her body. "Enlighten me." 

"I needed his help." 

"You were lonely," she hissed, "just like I am. No family, friends, you're as good as dead."

"You have friends." 

"Where? Where are they Dean? If they were my friends, they'd be with me, not being bunk buddies with God!" She was on her feet, hair whipping at her face like an elastic band. They both knew she wasn't just talking about 'friends' in general, but one person. The only difference between them was that Ebony could put a face and name to the term. 

"Did 'they'," Dean made air quotations, looking at her pointedly. "Go down guns blazing?" 

Ebony copied Dean, making air quotes when ever she used 'they'. "'They' wouldn't go down any other way."

"They were a hero, Ebony." 

"You didn't even know her." Teeth grinding, she whispered lowly. "Everyone thinks being a hero is all life is about. That if you can wear some spandex and save that cat from the tall tree that you can atone for your sins, that it'll somehow wash away all the red regrets. Well, guess what?" Ebony stared into Deans eyes, tone the coldest he's ever heard it. "Even heroes have blood stained capes. After a while, it becomes hard to know whose it is."

He was taken aback, but his alcohol clouded brain brushed it off. If he'd been fully sober when she said that, he would've solved a lot of problems that would keep him awake at night in the weeks to come. Trying to cut through the tension with a blunt knife, Dean commented. "And you said I was the philosopher."

"Sometimes I'm wrong," she decided to follow suit of lightening the mood. She unfurled her fists slightly, nails caressing her skin gently. "You're just a babbling buffoon." 

"Yet you listen to me." 

"Correction: you think I'm listening." 

They forced laughter, grasping for the tendrils of happiness. Pasting a smile on their faces, they grappled frantically for normalcy. In reality, they were straight faced, hands routinely touching the cold metal of their weapons. 

"Seriously Ebony, you can't call her again." 

She frowned, scoffing. "I missed her voice, why can't you give me a break?" 

"You of all people should know that in the business, the difference between a break and working is a beating heart."

"It's not like I'm doing any harm! It's just a phone call!" 

"'Just' can end your family tree, Ebony. What if the next big bad or a monster with a vendetta finds out you like ringing a particular lady? If that happens, you can only pray she's dead." 

"I'll call from pay phones." 

"You need to let her go Ebony!" Dean threw his hands into the air, exasperated look spread across his face. 

Ebony felt her voice get smaller, and weakly she muttered out, bunching the material of her jumper in her hands. "I can't! She's all I have, even if she doesn't know it." 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look kid, I know you love your sister. I know you want to tell her about everything that's happened, hear about all her stories of the apple pie life, but that can't happen. The life isn't one for love, it's one for destruction, and if you aren't careful, she's going to end up in the cross fire." 

"I know it's stupid, I just." She shook her head, battling the raging tears, "I just want to be selfish this one time. I want to do something for myself, without having to worry about the trail of blood I'll leave behind. Is that too much to ask for?" Her glassy eyed gaze fixated on him, and he felt as though he couldn't move. Not in the 'overcome by her beauty' kind of frozen, but the 'staring at death' kind.

Under her blubbering face, he saw a dark creature stirring. It was the same creature he saw when she killed the werewolf, a creature lacking remorse, that feeds on blood. Winchester blood. He sobered a bit, straightening himself. 

"Is it too much to ask?" Ebony repeated, taking a step closer to him. Instinctively, he took an even bigger step backwards, swaying slightly and letting his hands drift openly to his pocket. 

"It's up to you, do you want a dead sister you had a sleepover with, braiding each others hair or a living sister who is as safe as can be?" 

"She's part of the Walters family, whether or not she knows it. She's never safe." A minuscule tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, and quickly she clenched them shut. 

"What are you going to do then?" Dean stared at her intently, and she could feel herself slowly buckling under the pressure of deciding whether or not Death would be knocking on her door. 

"If I phone her, or meet her, I'd kill her. That blood would be on my hands, and I already can't see my own skin any more." 

"What are you saying?" 

"That she deserves to know the truth; one more body won't make a difference."

Dean felt overwhelmed with shock and anger. He clenched his jaw, forcing his words out, "You're not God! You can't decide who lives or dies!" 

"Yet that's pretty much what our job is. Choose who should live or die: the supernatural," she cornered him, dragging one of her jagged nails along his face, whispering, "or the monster." 

Dean bit his lip, fists tightening so much they pale to a deathly white. "I can't believe you're even considering this." 

"When your hit list is filled with ticks and hitting triple digits, you'll understand. Death is common, and expected but we still weep over fallen bodies. Why? Well, I believe when someone dies, we cry for the lost memories, I mean one person can't remember them all and a huge chunk of your life is probably missing. We don't weep because we're sad, we weep because we're trying to get better, trying to get the memories back. I already mourned the loss of memories a long while ago; I won't even sniffle."

His mouth opened and closed, and Ebony smiled. "But she's your sister..." 

"And you say that as though that changes anything. It's just DNA, nothing else."

"She's your sister," Dean repeated, gob-smacked. 

"You left your brother in the cage; you have no room to talk." Ebony chastised, wiggling her finger back and forth, mocking him. 

He took another step back, back meeting the wall hazardously. He hoped the air could save him from the psychotic woman in front of him. "How do you know about that?" 

She shrugged, twirling a strand of hair. "I do my research."

Fortunately for her, the alcohol invading his system was enough to veil what he heard that calm night.