Hey, guys! I decided to revisit this story, fix up a few things. I won't change any major plot points or anything, just make it easier to read. So just be forewarned, if you're reading this for a second time (which would be awesome) it might read a little different.
Abby's P.O.V.
I wake to an awful crashing sound, harsh and sudden against the otherwise silent night. I open my bleary eyes, the room still pitch black around me. I sit up and freeze when the shackle around my wrist clanks against the cold metal floor. I pull my legs up close to my chest, the thin rag serving as my only protection against the chilly floor bunching up under my knees.
"Damn it, Dean!" I hear a loud whisper from only a few feet away. I lean up against the glass walls of my cage, listening.
"Could you be more of an uncoordinated oaf?" The same person, a male with a deep voice.
"Could you be more of an ass, Sam?" Another male voice, lighter than the first. What are they doing here? Tom shouldn't have brought them here. It's past open hours, and he doesn't keep his museum open all night. And right now, it's obviously the middle of the night. They shouldn't be here.
"What the hell are we looking for?" Sam says in a harsh whisper.
"The Bone Hand of Zenith." The older one, Dean, whispers back. "People have been getting mysteriously strangled once they touch it. Hours later, at their homes, on their way to work."
What the heck are these yahoos talking about? They're crazy.
"What, and you didn't think that would be good for me to know on the way here?" Sam gripes.
"You never asked." Dean shoots back. Sam huffs, and I hear his footsteps a few feet in another direction.
"Hey." Sam whispers. "I found it." I hear footsteps rushing towards me, and I shrink back into the furthest corner of my cage. The footsteps stop a few feet away from me.
The men have their flashlights off, but I feel my eyes change, and I begin to see them clearly, even though it's dark and a thin sheet covers my glass cage. The room pops into clear definition, and things come into blissful clarity. There is a tall man, with longer hair. The other one has short hair and is smaller in stature than the first man. It's impossible to make out facial features through the thin sheet, but although their voices were harsh and angry to one another, they were almost...kind. Warm, in some way.
"So how do we get rid of this cursed object?" Sam asks, staring at a blurry display case on one of the shelves. The antique bone hand that Tom is constantly bragging and raving about. Daring people to touch.
"Thankfully, we can burn this one." What? Tom would hate it if they burned something here. Especially one of his prized possessions. He'll notice. He'll think I did it. I swallow my dread and scoot forward slightly, squinting through the haze to make out anything more. Sam starts poking a small metal sliver into the lock on the display case. In a minute or two, the door pops open, and he reaches inside with a cloth wrapped around his hand. He pulls out the hand and sets it gingerly on the floor, as if it were a bomb ready to explode. Dean tosses a live lighter on top, after squirting a dash of clear liquid over the pile of bone and cloth. Surprisingly, the bone hand catches fire quickly and burns even faster. There isn't even time for smoke.
The two men turn their flashlights back on, and turn towards my cage. The beam of their flashlights turn my vision white and I turn away, cringing against the glare. I blink a few times and gradually feel my eyes shift back to normal.
"Great, so that's done. Can we head to a bar now? I need a beer." Dean says.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam mocks, false sympathy bleeding from his tone. "Was the ten minute research session and five minute hunt for a nearly harmless hand too tough for you?"
"You know, it must have been dealing with you all day that took it out of me," Dean snaps back, lightly pushing his brother.
They walk up to my cage, and seem to just be passing by when one set of footsteps slows to a halt. The other continues, but the other just stands there, as if waiting for something. I quietly retreat back to the safe corner of my cage, hunching down. My heart pounds fearfully. It's like I can feel his stare penetrating through the sheet and glass and bars, staring right at my face. And I know which one it is.
"Wow," Sam comments quietly. "This thing is locked up pretty tight."
"Yeah, Sammy, people do that to valuable things. You know, when they don't want them stolen." Dean says dismissively, his footsteps stopping further away. "We should go. The less time we spend in view of the cameras, the better."
His words echo in my head. People do that to valuable things. Tom says I'm valuable. He says I'm very important, that he needs me. I know I earn him lots of money. I'm one of the main attractions. People would travel hundreds of miles, pay any price, just to stare at the freak of nature in Tom's Oddity Museum.
"Almost everything in here is valuable, Dean." says Sam. "He hasn't locked anything else up like this one is. And what's with the sheet?"
"C'mon, College Boy, even I know sunlight damages expensive crap." Dean scoffs impatiently. "Can we go now? Or would you rather keep debating until the cops show up?"
"I just want to...check," Sam says absently, and his shadow falls over the door of my cage. My heart is in my throat, making it hard to breath. He can't find me. It's not right. No one can find me. Not here. They can't.
Metal clicks, and I picture Sam sticking the metal rod into the padlock on my door, fiddling with it until it pops open, like magic. I hear I lock click and the door slowly swings open. I swallow, my eyes wide, silent gasps painful in my chest from the effort of staying quiet. Sam ducks down to peer in and shines a flashlight into the small space.
I throw a hand up to cover my eyes, turning my head from the bright light. I hear a clatter as the light disappears, bringing back the blissful darkness.
"Shit!" Sam yells. I hear a thump as Dean whacks him on the back of the head, and I absently notice that he made his way back over to us. I wish he hadn't.
"Shut your pie hole, idiot." He crouches down next to Sam. "What did you find?"
Without saying a word, Sam shines the flashlight back on me. I whimper and squint against the light.
"What the- Is that a human?" Dean whispers. Sam nods. I breathe quietly, hoping they'll just leave. I'm going to be in enough trouble as it is when Tom sees the popped lock. And the missing hand. I'm going to be punished so badly. My hands go cold with fear as the thought runs through my head.
"We have to get her out of here." Sam whispers. Dean groans quietly.
"Dean, we can't leave her here. What do you think he's already done?" Sam says convincingly.
Dean sighs. "I don't want to think about it," He admits, a disgusted tone in his voice. I glare defiantly back at him, hiding my anxiety. Tom never did anything to me. He hit me. But only when I did things I wasn't supposed to. Only when...when he had to.
"Right." Sam looks at me. "Hey." I stare back silently, frozen in a state of near denial. How can I fix this? How can I just make them go away? Before I can think of a solution, Sam ducks into the mouth of the cage, and suddenly, I can't think at all.
"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." Sam says reassuringly. His words sound true, but I know that they aren't. Lies. He beckons to me, and I cringe away, shaking my head frantically. I can't leave. He'll know, he'll find me, and he'll punish me so bad. I can't leave. I can't leave. I can't leave.
"It's okay. You're safe. We can get you out of here." He lies gently. He hesitates, watching me shake my head tearfully, before cautiously reaching for my leg. I jerk away, shaking violently and wishing I wasn't.
Dean sighs. "Sam, get out of her space."
"But Dean-"
"No buts, get out."
Sam hesitates for a moment, then backs out of the cage. Dean takes a turn crouching down, but he stays outside of the cage, so I don't feel so trapped. I watch him carefully, waiting for his move.
"Listen, we're on a tight schedule, and we don't have a lot of time." Dean says. "You gotta come out, now." He says the last word firmly, and I wince. I would recognize an order anywhere. His cool detachment, his clear words, they're easy for me to understand. He wants me out of the cage. The only problem would be that my arm is shackled with a lock that can't be opened without a key. Unless you have a magic metal rod, I suppose.
"Dean, stop it." Sam protests. "You're only going to freak her out more."
Dean holds up a hand to the other man, and raises his eyebrows at me. I start coming forward, slowly, keeping my eyes on the ground. The chain is long enough that I can make it to the mouth of the cage before it stretches taut. I scoot forward until I can go no further. Dean reaches for my hand, and I lean away from him as the shackle clinks. And then it falls open, and cool air washes over my sore wrist for the first time in almost three days.
Once the shackle is off, Dean takes my arm and pulls me up. I'm wearing nothing but my tank top and shorts, so he leans into the cage for a moment to pull out the thin blanket Tom put in there as a makeshift mattress of sorts. Dean drapes it around my shoulders and looks at me intently.
"Keep quiet, okay? We're going to walk out of here, and you are going to come with us." His words are firm, but his tone is kind. I stare up at him in confusion, blinking uncertainly.
"Dean, what the hell?" Sam glares at his brother. I feel the tension and anger coming off of him in waves, and I cringe away, remembering the same emotions that I sensed from Tom. He's mad. Like Tom is before he hits me. Dean stares back calmly, nothing but icy certainty emanating from his eyes. He still has one hand wrapped around my arm, holding me aloft as my legs tingle from their first use in days.
"Sam, I'll explain later." Dean says, staring right back at him. "Can you trust me for now?"
Sam huffs, but doesn't say anything more. Dean starts to walk me through the museum, moving slowly and carrying most of my weight. We walk past rows and rows of old relics, pictures of other circus freaks and past "specimens" of Toms. I keep my eyes on the floor and look at none of them.
As we near the front door, I get more and more nervous. I can't leave. I know that's what they want, but I'm not allowed to. Tom would kill me. Dean keeps a firm grip on my arm as he heads toward the front door. He wants me to leave. I can't. Some part of me yearns to, but everything else rears back, away from what's been forbidden from me.
When we reach the threshold of the museum, I freeze. Dean, although he could have carried me out himself, feels me stop and halts with me. He looks down on me sternly.
"It's time to leave. Right now." He says, and as I stare at the door, I can hear the part of me screaming for freedom. For the liberty to run as far and as fast as I can. But I can't leave. I glance down at the floor, Tom's words ringing in my head.
You leave, ever step foot outside this place, and I'll know. I'll know where you are, and how to get there, within seconds. I'll find you, and I will teach you a lesson that you will never forget.
"Dean, look at her ankle," Sam states. He had been staring at the floor, and his gaze had turned to my shoeless feet, to the small metal band encircling my left ankle.
Dean looks at Sam. "You think it's an electric collar?" He guesses. Sam hesitates, looking carefully. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I think it's more likely a tracker. It looks like it's welded there, though, so unless you can find a crack or something…" His voice trails off doubtfully.
Dean kneels on the floor by my feet. He takes out a knife, and my breath quickens in response. I feel a hand touch my shoulder, and I jerk away, my nerves on fire. I lunge away from them, tripping and ending up sprawled on the floor. I turn over, skittering back on all fours, staring at the knife in Dean's hand. Shining, sparkling, slicing metal.
"Stop," Dean says. I freeze. He has both hands up, and it looks vaguely like a gesture of surrender. He thumbs the blade, and it tucks into the handle, turning from a weapon of pain into a simple, harmless metal object.
"Come here." Dean says firmly. Obediently, I push myself unsteadily to my feet and walk over to them. I stand, staring at the floor, bracing myself for the blow. But it doesn't come.
Dean kneels down again. He takes out his knife, and looks up at me.
"I won't hurt you. Don't move." He glances over at Sam. "Don't touch her." Sam looks away.
I look at the far wall, pretending that I'm somewhere else, and none of this is happening. I can feel the metal band on my ankle shifting, can hear Dean muttering quietly under his breath. Finally, I hear a loud snap, and Dean stands triumphantly, holding the band in his hand, now split in two pieces.
I feel unexpected tears well up in my eyes. I now truly have no idea what is happening. Staring at the open door, I no longer feel freedom calling for me. I only hear chaos and confusion. My life was hell, but at least I knew what was going on. With Sam and Dean, I don't have a clue. I'm lost. I don't like feeling lost.
"Let's go." Dean says. He takes hold of my arm again, and looks me in the eye, nodding toward the door. I walk numbly, still shaken from the loss of my anklet. Dean reaches above my head, pushing the door open. I step over the doorframe, my foot landing on cement, cooled by the night air. Loose pebbles prick my feet and toes. I look up at the dark sky, sparkled with stars. I open my mouth, drawing in a breath of fresh air for the first time in eight years. Dean carefully lets go of my arm, taking a step back and letting me be alone in this moment.
I look at Sam and Dean. They stare back at me. I don't know who they are. I don't care. I don't care if they mean well, if they really are here to help me. All I can think of are the past eight years, ever since I was seven, spent in captivity, and a desperation I've never felt before takes hold of me. I can't go back into a cage. Ever. No matter what shape it takes.
Suddenly, I turn and tear down the street. My lungs are burning, legs are aching, and I know I won't be able to keep it up for even a few minutes, but I feel more alive than I have in years. I hear footsteps pounding on the pavement behind me, but I don't stop, watching the street in front of me.
My foot catches on a root growing out of the concrete, and I trip, tumbling onto the concrete. The force of the fall catches me by surprise. My knees and palms sting fiercely, and my head pulses with pain where it cracked against the sidewalk. Dean finally reaches me, and slows, staring at me in incredulity. I stare back, to high on adrenaline to feel scared.
"Damn, girl." Dean gasps, holding his side. "You run fast."
A breathy laugh bubbles from my lips, and I'm stunned into silence. My first run, my first laugh. Tonight is full of surprises. Dean jolts me from my thoughts as he pulls me up off the street. He guides me down the street, holding me firmly by the shoulders. He leads me around the corner, to where Sam is sitting in the driver's seat of a sleek black car. He gets out when he sees us coming, rounding the care and opening the door for me. My throat closes up momentarily as Dean presses down on my head, gently pushing me into the small compartment.
I scoot to the middle of the soft seat, and it occurs to me that this would be much more comfortable than the cold floor of my cage and a thin blanket. It's the middle of the night, and I'm exhausted. I feel like I should be trying to find a way out of the car, but I don't see the point. He would only catch me again. I settle down on the seat, using my arm as a pillow for my head.
As I close my eyes to sleep, I think that it's probably a good thing that Dean caught me.
I never would have survived in the real world.
As always, thank you for reading my stories. Feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think of the changes. Or just what you thought if it's your first time reading.
Cheers!