Minutes to Midnight
Bela stared at the space where she recalled the blonde haired bitch had taken off a week ago, its words echoing in her head: Kill Sam Winchester and just this once I'll break the rules and give you your pitiful soul back. A part of her that she tried to ignore that still cared recoiled at it. The Winchesters were as big a pain in her ass as she was to them, and maybe that was part of the reason why, and she had to admit there was really just something about Dean. Dean who would find a way to beat the hellhound and personally kill her himself, she knew, if she killed his brother; hell, she'd already shot him and had received no end of threats since. That was before this deal, though. She'd just been desperate. Hell, she'd always been desperate. Wasn't it desperation that these damn demons feed off of? Anyway, there had been another part of her that wasn't quite so human anymore since that deal, that had slowly been becoming bigger and bigger that only cared about survival that said she needed to kill Sam. So she had half-assed and look what that got her.
She looked at the clock. 11:30PM on her last night on Earth, then. It was almost funny. She'd had ten years, ten whole wonderfully fucking years, to be ready for this, but what had she done? Dean had called her a bitch and a thief…maybe that was fair. What had she told Dean? She rolled naked in money on satin sheets*. It was true; she sat on them now-not naked. Her hair was up, her makeup done and in a black dress as she had gone out for a bit to the bar. But now, as she stared at the merciless clock, she shook her head, pulled down her hair, and got out of her dress into normal clothes. She'd spent her whole life pretending. Always pretending it was okay-when her parents abused her, when she'd made the deal, when she'd had nowhere to turn, when she'd been scared-when it never had been. She had pushed everyone but buyers away; pushed away those she might have considered friends if things were different. She had once told Dean we're all going to hell anyway, might as well enjoy the ride*. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, she finally looked like herself. Shame. She decided then, now, for once, she wouldn't pretend. She supposed, if she was honest, the Winchesters fit that-friends under different circumstances; they had always helped her, even when she didn't deserve it. So, perhaps it was better this way, easier. No one to say goodbye to. So many things she'd said and done: things she barely remembered as a kid, lying, blackmailing, covering things up, shooting Sam-and others, stealing the Colt-and countless others. It was a shamefully long list. She supposed there might be some good things in there somewhere, too, but after everything, they didn't really count, did they?
She stared at the merciless clock. 11:35. And a few things she was afraid she might still do. She was afraid she was disappointed in herself. Funny, how fast ten years can go, how much could change. She had just been a child, desperate. No one had ever understood, though. She hadn't fully known what she was doing; she just wanted it to stop; she wanted a proper life. She let the few short tears come.
She looked at the clock again. 11:40. She looked over at the phone. He'd never admit it, but perhaps she and Dean weren't so different. She didn't want to hear what he probably had to say to her, but at the same time she didn't want to be alone. What had Dean told her once? You are so damaged*. He couldn't know how right.
She looked at the clock, shaking her head. 11:45. Deals, her whole life suddenly seemed made of deals: deal with the crossroad demon, deals with buyers, and now, as if she hadn't learned her lesson, deal with the damn demon who held her and Dean's contract. Then, despite it all, she remembered what she'd started to do that she'd tried to forget at the bar. A cruel, desperate hope in the form of a motel receipt. She tried to tell herself she was doing them a favor, ignoring the bullshit that rose up in disagreement. She'd made her choice; she knew she'd be living with it-or not-and grabbed her coat and gun one last time to go to the motel.
11:56 the cruel clock read when she got there. Part of her was glad she'd given them enough time to get out and could appreciate the humor in the dolls and wanted a chance to explain. Explain everything, but she knew she was out of time. Then, the phone rang. She sighed, hadn't she learned her lesson? Be careful what you wish for, Bela. She didn't know what to say to Dean. She heard his condemnation and she knew he was right. Had always been beautifully, honestly, tragically, damningly, infuriatingly, right. She shook her head as she started crying again. Under different circumstances. It hadn't seemed like much so long ago. Ten years in itself had seemed so damn long. What had she done? She tried to explain, but she knew there was no explanation.
12:00. She hung up when she heard the dogs barking. Was she mad to be a little curious? She'd made her choice. She'd made her life on deals and in the end, she'd always been destined to lose because she didn't listen and was selfish, and she knew better than anyone that most deals were fixed one way. Midnight. Suiting, she supposed to go out at the deepest time of night in which deception liked to flourish; the darkest time to be forever alone. Maybe it was best. And no more than what she deserved. She was the only one to see the dogs come. She didn't have time to fully think why, but she wished the boys the best; she really did.
AN: Don't own, unfortunately, though * marks spots that works with dialogue from a Supernatural episode.