FAILING THE MISSION

She felt numb. It was the only way to describe it, to those who wouldn't dare think about the raw pain that followed Death. She didn't feel the comforting hands trapping her, hear the comforting words drowning her and the pitying glances that would've tortured if she hadn't been so numb to care. 

In reality, this was a dull comparison. Relentless, merciless and vicious. Grief tore away at her soul, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell. Her entire being felt as though it had been ripped from her - she wasn't the same person she had been when she stepped into Rebecca's apartment. She nearly winced at thinking of the name. She didn't stay the same for long, as she kept evolving. She wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Her silent agony had been the only thing warding away the guilt trying to attack her as she scratched away at the red paint of the devils traps. Honestly, she had no clue what to do, and could only think that following orders might fill the gaping hole that had been persisting to be opened again. Before she entered that bathroom, it had been sealed closed. After, the torment flowed freely. 

Ebony continued her routine all throughout the night, breaking the only protection they had against the monsters that lurked in the shadows. Regret may be something that she'd feel later, but at that moment in time, Ebony wasn't thinking about the future for fear that she'd realise that hers looked pretty dreary and dull. Instead, she focused on the present, crossing her fingers that the presence of the demon would re ignite the fire that had died into embers, and would help her finally complete her mission. If the flames didn't rise again, she hoped that the demon had enough time to kill both of the Winchesters, and spare her the inconvenience of it. 

Yes, she had begun to feel more comfortable in the Winchester's company, yet having Rebecca's blood stain her clothes and know that they did the same with Celeste, had triggered something that she hadn't felt for a while. Hate. It was only a small drop of hate, but a drop could quickly enough turn into a puddle, then into a pool, and eventually a river of vengeance. In her small affair with Rebecca, she had been distracted by something she never thought she'd feel again. The distraction nearly cost her the mission, and cost Rebecca her life. 

If she didn't succeed, then it would cost her sisters life too. 

Like the trusting fools they were, the Winchesters didn't notice the tiny nicks in the paint, nor had they seen the angel sigil she'd long painted on the wall that banished Castiel from the bunker for good. They picked up on Ebony's change in behaviour - she barely spoke, reserving her words for when she deemed them to be important, and the times when she'd space out, staring at nothing with a blissful smile on her face. They tried to leave her in that state for as long as they could. What they didn't know was that when she got into those states, she imagined herself having a huge weight lifted off of her shoulders when she'd take in their dead bodies, and that hole inside of her being repaired. She imagined that her sister Ruby would rush into her arms, repeating 'thank you' and they would walk away from the bleeding corpses and get a milkshake. If she killed them, then she would have her sister back. 

The brothers had tried to occupy her mind, distracting her with mindless TV, DVD's and conversation. Whatever they did, her thoughts wandered to the girl who lay sprawled in the bath tub, her leg hanging out of the tub and blood splattered everywhere. No matter what the brothers did, she always worried about the pile of clothes in the corner of her room tainted with the last thing she had of Rebecca. She was afraid of cleaning them, for fear that she would have nothing left of the kind, unique girl. 

They were watching another movie when the boys finally noticed the breeches in their security. If it hadn't been for the toasted popcorn smell, they would've realised sooner that something was in the bunker, polluting every nook and cranny with their foul presence. Sam and Dean were flustered, tripping over themselves to grab more supplies and quickly arming themselves for battle. Ebony stayed where she was, looking without seeing, wrapped in a blanket with her back straight. She knew who their uninvited visitor was. She both welcomed and dreaded their arrival, unsure whether or not the shaking controlling her was from excited anticipation or sheer terror. 

Dean mumbled lowly to Sam, but despite the volume she could make out every word. "What about Ebony?" 

They both tossed glances at her simultaneously, taking in her weak appearance. Her cheeks were getting slimmer, on the verge of being gaunt, and her neck was extremely skinny. Sam shuddered, not wanting to know what the rest of her starved body looked like. "She can't protect herself." 

This brought Ebony out of her daze, her head snapping at the brothers. "Just because I'm mourning doesn't mean I don't remember how to shoot a gun." She shoved the blanket off of her shoulders, rolling them back and stretching. At her remark, the boys exchanged a nervous glance. Rolling her eyes, she strolled towards them. "If you give me a gun, I promise not to blow my brains out. I'm sad, not suicidal." 

Dean reached into the bag, pulling out a simple pistol. He handed it to her handle first, ignoring all of Sam's protests. "What if she's lying Dean!" 

"If she wants to off herself, nothing is going to stop her. Whether or not I hand her the gun, she would find a way, if she's determined enough." Ebony gave Dean a small smile, wrapping her hands around the handle. The metal was warm beneath her fingers, Dean's body heat having absorbed all of the cold and heating it up. She thought that the handle was like her - she was cold, until Rebecca came along and basked her in warmth. But, like the handle, she was capable of freezing again. 

At a loss of words, Sam threw his hands up. "Fine." 

Dean pulled back the hammer on his gun, smirking. "Lets go catch ourselves a monster."

*

They found him in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. He was buttering the bread, humming a children's lullaby out of tune. It was quite chilling and comical, seeing a demonic creature ever so casually making himself dinner. It reminded her that monsters have to eat too. 

Dean had been the first one to enter the room, tiptoeing across the concrete floor. Ebony held her breath, wondering if the demon was going to strike right away. She thought that it'd be a good idea to do that, kill Dean in front of his brother. It'd make his pain worse. Yet the demon swayed to the music he was now whistling, placing the knife down slowly and peeling some ham onto the bread, then smacking the two slices together. He picked up the knife again. 

"This isn't Hell's Kitchen. Get out." Dean growled, slipping behind the demon and pressing the gun to the back of his head, his free hand fumbling for the demon knife strapped inside his jacket. The demon chuckled, a deep, thunderous sound that made Ebony's bones shudder. 

"You're a fool, Dean Winchester." Sam stepped forward to get involved, but Ebony's arm pushed him back. She mumbled a few words, about him being able to look after himself, which Sam appeared not to hear. He side stepped her arm, bounding towards the demon. "Oh, both of the Winchesters are here. I feel extremely spoilt." 

With speed none of them could comprehend, the demon spun around, swiping up the butter knife from the work top and driving it into Dean's gut. His eyes widened, and his body slumped when the demon yanked it out. Dean fell clumsily, trying to stay up by grabbing the table but missing by inches, landing awkwardly. The sight of Dean's blood added fuel to the fire growing inside of her. She's finally getting justice, she thought to herself, pleased. Yet she didn't feel as complete as she thought she'd be, seeing the red staining the demon's hands. She was unsure as to what that meant.

Sam stood frozen in shock. The demon grinned, turning around and cutting his sandwich into half with the red stained knife. He tossed it aside, grabbing a piece and taking a large bite. "You see Sam, you Winchesters may be strong but you have one weakness." He sprayed crumbs of food, carelessly walking over Dean as though he was just a nuisance. Sam clenched his gun harder, holding his breath as the demon got closer. Dramatically, he whispered. "Each other."

Sam's gaze fell on his brother, who was leaning against the table and pressing down on his wound. He was smiling, and Sam was confused until Dean pointed up. His eyes followed the pointing finger, seeing the demons trap painted there, intact. Sam laughed, turning his attention back to the demon. "We may have weaknesses, but that's what makes us human." 

Ebony cursed herself as her eyes trained on what Dean pointed out. She hadn't thought to check the ceilings, believing that they would be naive enough to think that putting them everywhere on the floor would be good enough. In that moment, she knew that even if she did kill the Winchesters, the demon wouldn't forget what important thing she'd missed. He would kill her. 

Confused, the demon craned his head upwards. His laughter rocketed through his body at the sight, shaking his head. "I'm such a fool. How could I be any match for the Winchesters?" He opened his arms wide, surrendering. "Take your shot Sammy boy." 

Sam walked away from the demon, not listening to his cries and laughter. He caught Ebony's eye as he walked past and had to stop - her eyes were hard and unforgiving. At the time, he had believed that that hatred had been targeted at the black eyed man, but what he'd soon learn was that all of that pent up fury was directed at the Winchesters. 

Shaking off his uneasy feeling, he squeezed her arm quickly, not noticing the way her face instantly soured. He left to get the handcuffs with pentagrams engraved in, and with him gone Ebony entered the light, revealing herself. They couldn't break character, or slip up in front of Dean, who's blood was pouring more furiously out of his body. The only thing the demon could say truthfully without arising suspicion was filled with venom and spite. 

"You're a failure." 

She folded her arms in front of herself, smiling with closed lips. "I've known that for a long time, you black eyed bitch." 

His mouth opened to say something else, but Sam wandered in, carrying the handcuffs and holy water. He didn't say anything to anyone as he was locking the cuffs around the demons wrists, silently dragging him off to the basement. From the hallway she heard the demon say, "Handcuffs? Kinky, but I pictured you to be more of a whip kind of guy."

A sizzle echoed in the hallway, followed by a string of curses from the demon. Ebony held in her laughter, her strolling around the kitchen searching for alcohol, a needle and thread. Throwing open drawers, she rifled through them, until she eventually found the three things she was needing. "Hey Dean, you still conscious?" 

"Unfortunately," he muttered, his eyelids drooping. She slapped him, watching with a sick satisfaction as his eyes shot open. 

"Your wish is going to come true soon." She moved his hand from his wound, mercilessly pouring the alcohol onto the cut. He hissed, biting his lip whilst Ebony continued, threading the fabric though the needle and bringing it to his skin. "Sorry," she apologised in advance halfheartedly. 

He didn't get chance to answer as she pushed the needle into his skin, already regretting her decision to help him. She would've preferred to leave him to bleed, yet her body moved for her, making her decisions for her. Even though she was saving him, she enjoyed seeing him in discomfort. It wasn't that she wanted to help him - it didn't feel right if Dean died at someone else's hand. She vowed vengeance. She would get it. 

She would kill Dean Winchester herself. She never liked sharing anyway. 

*

Ebony sat at the table in the library, watching Dean fiddle with his thumbs. He'd been bored ever since Sam had forbade him from helping him get answers from the demon, stating that 'you would kill him just because', which in Ebony's opinion seemed reason enough. Dean agreed begrudgingly, giving himself the duty of keeping Ebony company. 

He wasn't doing too great of a job. 

Sighing, he clambered up, grunting slightly. Ebony frowned, her eyes trained on him as he stumbled to the kitchen, and the distinctive sounds of the fridge being opened met her ears. He cursed loudly, slamming the fridge, then cursed more when he aggravated his wound. Ebony allowed herself a little giggle before pinching herself so she'd stop. 

Dean came back into the room, grabbing his keys from the counter. "I'm going to go get some beer."

Ebony stood up, pushing her chair back. "Are you sure you could drive in your condition?"

"Your doubt in me is disappointing." He smirked, yanking his jacket off of the hook, yelling behind him. "Don't miss me too much!"

Ebony held her tongue, preventing herself from letting the truth spill over her lips. She'd be able to do that soon, she reassured herself. Very soon. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Sam walked in, wiping at the sweat above his brow. Blood was speckled over his body, sudden splatters that would've been unnoticeable if he rub at them, trying to get them out. His eyes were bloodshot, and he yawned. 

"Coffee?" Ebony offered, despite it being about ten o'clock at night. He eagerly nodded, collapsing into a chair. She left, going into the kitchen and turning the kettle. Over the hissing of the kettle, Sam shouted.

"Where's Dean?" 

Rolling her eyes, she yelled back. "He's gone shopping to feed his addiction." 

She could hear the disbelief in his voice. From that, she could picture the look on Sam's face: mouth gaping open, coupled with furrowed eyebrows. "He was stabbed less than two hours ago!"

"And has that stopped him before?" 

The kettle finished boiling, and in her hurry to grab the cups she knocked half the sandwich on the floor, along with the knife. She eyed the knife, fingers itching to touch it. The coffee was long forgotten, replaced with the urge to cradle the blade. Her resolve crumbled, and she snatched up the lethal object, striding towards Samuel Winchester with one thought in mind: Celeste.