*This is another one shot with my OC, Aria. I don't know a lot about revenants, but I did a little research. So based off that, I came up with the best description and motive. I hope you all enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated. Plus, check out my other stories if you liked Aria.*
"Thanks, Bobby. I'll call you when I'm all finished here."
I hang up the phone, looking out into the dark cemetery. The damn thing is bound to show soon. After all, this is where it comes to rest before hunting its revenge. Hector Marquis wasn't an upstanding citizen in his previous life, but the guy didn't deserve to be murdered. Now that he has come back as a revenant, I'm almost tempted to let the monster continue to kill the ones who did this, but he's going after others, innocent people. That's not something I can turn a blind eye to.
I pull my hair up into my trademark messy bun, tucking a few loose strands behind my ears before slipping out of my car. The midnight blue trunk of my Mustang pops up and I open the weapons compartment, grabbing three silver spikes and loading a clip of silver bullets into my Berreta. With the grave already dug and the coffin propped open, all I have to do is wait for the thing to show, surprise him, and stake the fucker back in its coffin.
Might be done in time to catch a cold one at the bar.
Checking all my weapons, I lock the trunk and move through the graveyard, heading for Hector's grave all the way in the far back. It's a warm spring night in the small Ohio town, warm enough to make me uncomfortable in my leather coat. I huff in annoyance, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from my forehead before checking my watch. Every night, the revenant comes back here around 11:15, which means I've only got ten more minutes before he arrives. I crouch down behind a tombstone about three graves away from my target. My ears strain against the silent night for footsteps, my fingers clutched around a silver stake ready to attack.
The vibrating in my back pocket makes me jump, and I quickly snatch the phone from my back pocket, checking the caller ID. You've got to be kidding me.
"What?" I hiss into the speaker heatedly.
"You need to work on your phone manners because that is definitely not the way to answer a call from a friend."
"Winchester, I will personally poke a hole in every condom you own if you don't tell me why you're calling in the next two seconds," I growl, checking the time. My watch reads 11:11. The damn thing will be here any minute and I'm on the phone with this knuckle head.
"What did I ever do to you?" he asks offended.
"Dean!" I bark, "I'm in the middle of a hunt right now, so spit it out or call me back."
"I was calling to see if you wanted to meet up. We're a few towns over from where you are right now." A long sigh slips past my lips, "Sure, Dean. I'll call you after I'm done." I hang up before he can answer back, slipping the device back in my jeans pocket.
The two won't leave me alone, not after finding out about my tie to their late father. It's only been a couple of months since I've met Sam and Dean at the Roadhouse, but it feels like so much longer.
I've been bombarded with questions. Everything from what John was doing during the year he was hiding to how I helped him. They wanted every little detail and I can't blame them, but I don't know much more than they do. All I know is a few finer details of the yellow eyed demon from the research I did with John, but that doesn't matter to Sam and Dean. The two wanted me to follow them across country to hunt it down, but I couldn't. I promised John I would watch out for them and I am; it's just from a distance. I'll get close to them otherwise and that's not an option, not after all that I've suffered.
The soft crunch of fresh grass wakes me from my thoughts. My blood pounds through my veins as I adjust my grip on the stake, listening as the steps grow louder. I peek my head over the headstone, catching the revenant moving slowly through the yard, his head lowered. The thing looks just like a human except for its unnaturally pale skin and faded eyes. Dark red coats his mouth and my heart sinks. Another death on your hands.
I shake the thought clear, waiting until he comes to a stop at his grave before slipping out from behind my hiding spot. My steps are quick and precise as I lunge for the monster, the silver stake aimed at his heart. The thing's eyes shoot open in shock before sidestepping my attack. He releases a deafening snarl, charging me. His arms wrap around my waist, slamming me into the ground with a sharp gasp as his bloodied lips move to my neck. I slam my fist into his face, deflecting the bite as I try to bring the blade up to pierce his heart. The revenant grabs my wrist, the tip of the blade inches from his heart, trying to wrestle it free from my grip.
A sharp pain bursts in my side, the monster's knee slamming into my ribs as he wins control over the stake. I roll out from under him, but the blade still catches me, tearing through the skin and muscle of my right side. My scream pierces the silent night, a smirk of pride spreading over the monster's red lips at my pain. It falls as my clenched fist flies into his jaw, knocking him back. I grind my teeth together, fire burning through my side as I push myself up, freeing the other stake from my jacket, and stabbing the thing. It shrieks, writhing on the ground, clawing at the silver stake in its chest, trying to pull it free.
Fuck me.
My shoulders slump for a quick second as I realize I missed his heart. He starts pulling it free and I step on the protruding handle, driving it back in before gripping the monster by its shirt. I scream in agony, my side flaring up in unbearable pain as I drag the revenant to the edge of his grave and kick him in. My chest heaves with each breath before I fall in after him, nearly collapsing on impact. He snarls and kicks, trying to free the burning metal in his chest. I free my last stake, slamming it down into his heart, piercing the bed of the coffin beneath him. The revenant dies with a pained gasp, its eyes frozen open in death.
Unsteadily, I stand on weak legs, glancing at the shiny metal protruding from my side. "Motherfucker," I hiss, touching the area around it. My cobalt blue shirt quickly soaks up the crimson red blood from my wound, my mind filtering through my combat medic training from my time overseas. It did damage going in, it's going to do damage coming out. I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut with the wave of pain that washes over me. There are two possibilities: it either nicked something vital and I could bleed out if I pull it free or it hit nothing and pulling it will make getting out of the grave easier. The latter sounds best. I clench my teeth, drawing in a deep breath through my nose before tugging the weapon free.
"Fuck!" I yelp, falling back against the dirt wall behind me, eyes screwed shut. The stake falls from my hands, clattering against the wooden side of the coffin. I press my hand against the open wound to slow the bleeding, trailing my gaze upwards. Shit. The grave is six feet deep and I come in at five-five. The walls are smooth, no divets for my feet or hands to get a grip. My only option is to jump up and pull my ass out. "This is going to be so much fun," I mutter sarcastically, pushing off the wall and swaying unsteadily.
I draw in a long breath, easing the doubtful thoughts running rampant, and jump. The world flickers black, a scream on the tip of my tongue while I dig my fingertips into the earth. Tears slip down my cheeks, arms shaking, lungs gasping for air as I dig my boots into the dirt walls, trying to desperately push me over the edge. The searing pain shooting through my abdomen ceases, air filling my lungs gratefully when my back meets the soft grass. I lay there, panting, strands of hair stuck to my sweat soaked face with blood dripping freely from my side. When my breathing slows, I try to sit up only for the world to spin and put me flat on my back.
You need help.
I groan angrily, trying to push myself upright once more only to fail. Lazily, my hand makes its way to my back pocket. The tiny screen of my flip phone is deafeningly bright in the pitch dark. I redial the last number, holding the phone to my ear, and focusing on the ringing instead of the pain in my side.
"Hey, you all finished up there?" Dean's voice questions eagerly.
"Winchester, I could use some help," I breathe out, starting to feel lightheaded.
"What's wrong?" Dean's worried voice rings out in the speaker. Sam's voice is muffled in the background, but I can still make out him asking what is happening. I try shrugging my coat off to use as a cover for my wound, but only manage to send a blinding pain throughout my torso. "ARIA!"
"Jesus, you sound just like John," I comment, tuning back into the phone call.
"Where are you?"
"Somerset Cemetery."
My head is starting to spin, and I press my hand to my wound, trying my best to staunch the flow of life. The two talk in hushed voices as they discuss how far they are before the roar of the Impala sounds over the phone.
"We'll be there in fifteen minutes, just keep talking to us, okay?"
"Sam?" I ask in confusion.
"Yeah, it's me. Keep talking to us, Aria." I laugh bitterly at his order,
"Yeah, my favorite thing to do is talk."
The stars shined above me, twinkling against the light of the moon. A cool breeze sweeps through the trees, rustling the budding leaves of the trees. The breeze cools my warm skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Hey, you still with us?" Dean yells out after the long silence. The worry in his voice is heart wrenching. The two barely know me, yet they care so much.
"Yeah, Dean I'm here. I'm just looking at the stars."
Warm blood drips through my fingers. The stake probably hit something after all.
"What were you hunting?"
I sigh, looking to the grave beside me, "A revenant."
"What happened?" Sam asks.
My eyelids grow heavy, my breaths growing labored. There's too much blood. Anymore and I'm going to be in real trouble. "I got stabbed." My head swims, words slurring at the end. "I'm losing a lot of blood, just so you two know," I add, the urgency in my voice lost with the sleepiness.
The Impala's engine roars through the phone as Dean slams down on the accelerator. "We're five minutes away, just hold on," Sam reassures.
I struggle to keep my eyes open, the phone slipping from my hand as two muffled voices call over the receiver. A groan slips from my lips before everything goes dark.
"Aria!?"
I jerk out of the darkness, eyes snapping open at the voices with a yelp as the jarring movement irritates my side.
"Dean!" Sam's voice bellows in the night before the younger brother crouches down in front of me. His hazel eyes drown in panic as he glances over me. Those massive hands immediately press down on my side, drawing a moan of pain from my dry lips. "Hang on, okay? We'll get you all patched up soon."
Sam calls for his brother again and seconds later the older Winchester is kneeling beside me, fingers immediately going for the artery in my neck.
"I'm not dead," I mumble.
"We thought you were. You stopped talking."
"I passed out," I explain.
"We need a hospital."
"No, we don't," I groan, trying to sit up only to have Dean push me back down. "I've got supplies in my room at the motel. You two know how to stitch. You can patch me up."
Neither of the two says a word, looking at one another and saying all that needs to be said. In seconds, I'm lifted off the ground, grinding my teeth together painfully as I grip Sam's bicep and curl into my torn side. We are in the Impala in no time, me stretched out in the backseat as Dean races through the streets. I try fighting the lightheadedness, but it's a losing battle. I lose the fight just as the car comes to a halt, the motel sign gazing down at me through the glass window.
I groan, a dull ache running up my right side. All my limbs feel heavy like I just woke up from surgery and my eyelids flutter open. Bright light burns my sleepy eyes, a moan falling from my dry lips. Two faces immediately stare down at me with worry heavy eyes. I let my eyes fall shut, groaning loudly. When I open them again, Sam and Dean are still hovering over me. Not a dream.
"Can I have some space please?"
The two step back, barely giving me the space I want. I've never been a good patient, especially when people try to mother hen me. Agitation fills me and I sit up, biting back a yelp and instead hissing at the pull in my side.
"Take it easy," Dean orders, arms out like he's going to ease me back down.
"I'm fine," I mutter with an edge. My mouth is dry and my head pounds. I rub my face roughly, ignoring the pain that comes with the jostling movement.
"Watch what you do," Sam offers softly, puppy eyes on full effect.
I glare up at him, keeping my mouth shut, and ignoring the two as I start inspecting the damage done. My blue shirt is gone replaced with an oversized guy's shirt which I'm assuming is Sam's. I don't bother asking who changed me, it doesn't matter. The boys have seen it all before, maybe not mine, but hell, it's all the same. I lift up the shirt, checking my side. White gauze is taped down over the spot, and I peel it back, checking the stitch work. Not bad. John taught his boys well. The stitch is neat and clean, almost professional. A deep purple bruise paints the lower right side of my ribs from where the revenant kneed me. Fucker.
"How long was I out for?" I question, dropping the shirt and looking up at the two.
"Few hours," Dean answers.
I nod, my mind still craving a few more hours. "Did you guys finish up at the graveyard?"
The grave still needed to be filled, all traces of my involvement cleaned up. Last thing I need is the cops searching the country for me because of grave desecrations.
"All taken care of, brought your car back too." I nod my thanks.
Oh, shit.
"Where's my phone?" I question in a panic.
He's going to kill me.
"Why, what's wrong?" Sam asks, a deep crease in between his brows.
"I was supposed to call Bobby," I answer offhandedly, ripping the covers off me and pushing myself upright.
"Whoa, whoa, no you don't," Dean starts, grabbing my shoulders to push me back down. But I shove his hands away, wincing. "We already called him and told him everything," he explains, raising his hands in defense. Immediately, I slump in relief, but it's short lived.
"Will you please rest?" Sam pleads.
I roll my eyes, managing to stand up on my two feet and squeeze between the two, heading for the bathroom. I turn the faucet on, dipping my head down to the stream and guzzling the cool liquid. The angle pulls at the new stitches and brings on a spell of dizziness. You lost a lot of blood. I lean back against the counter, gripping the white laminate top, waiting for the feeling to pass.
"You really shouldn't be up right now," Dean comments as he comes to stand in the doorway. I roll my eyes again and wipe my mouth of the dripples of water. The oldest brother steps to the side as I walk past him into the room to clean up my research. The job is done. There's no reason to stick around any longer than is necessary.
"Aria, please,you lost a lot of blood. Your body needs to heal. Plus, with all this moving around, you might rip your stitches," Sam starts, resting both hands on the small kitchen table, trying to get through to me. But I'm as stubborn as a bull and my patience is quickly draining. I don't need babysitters. I needed their help and I got it.
Green and hazel eyes watch my every move as I clean up all the paperwork. All the files and newspapers are tossed in the trash, important facts taped down in my hunter's journal. I grab my bags from the ground, grunting with the movement. Dean steps in right away, taking the bag from me, and setting it on the bed I woke in. "You can do all of this after you rest," he says annoyed.
I ignore him, digging through my duffel for a clean shirt. Mostly, everything inside is dirty; covered in blood or drenched in sweat. I'm going to need to do laundry soon. A black AC/DC shirt catches my eye, and I give it a quick sniff before taking off the boy's shirt and pulling mine on. The quick action makes my head spin, legs buckling a quick second as I right myself. Both brothers reach to steady me and I slap their hands away. It's the last straw, the brother' patience depleted.
"Would you drop the tough girl act?"
"You need to rest, dammit."
"Would you shut up already?" I yell, spinning to face them. "This isn't the first time I've been injured or the first time I've had a close call. I know what I can and can't do. Now, would you two stop babying me?"
Both are wounded, their angry scowls faltering. "We're not babying you. It's called being worried. Sorry, that we give a damn what happens to you," Dean's green eyes are aflame with hurt as his gruff voice rings out in the room. He rips his jacket from the chair, heading straight for the door.
"Thank you."
He stops, Sam coming to a stop also as they both turn to face me. It's a thank you for coming when they did, for patching me up and waiting for me to wake. I owed them that much, but accepting that they care…that's not something I can do. People get hurt when you care. The more people matter to you, the more pain that comes. My job is to watch out for them, just like John asked. Looking out for the two and caring for them are two very different concepts, and I plan on sticking to the one that doesn't end in heartache. I've had enough to last me two centuries.
Dean gives me a firm nod, "You're welcome." He slips past the hotel door, Sam following.
The door shuts with a soft click and I look around the empty room, a long sigh slipping from me. I grab a bottle of whisky from the kitchen table, turning on the TV before crawling into the bed. A cat and mouse cartoon plays, the two characters chasing one another around until the cat gets screwed over and the mouse gets free. The amber liquid is a warm welcome as I get settled.
It's better this way. If I care for those boys, they'll die. Because that's what happens to people around me, they are taken away; killed by the monsters of this life. This is the right move for me and anyone I get involved with. I'm meant to be alone.