Chapter 2

The only thing I register is pain. It's everywhere and everything, my head and back pulsing with it. My head. My back.
My eyes pop open. My eyes. I have eyes. I can see!
No, I can't see. I can't see anything! Everything is flat and dull and all I see is what's in front of me.
It takes me almost a full minute to even register what IS in front me. It's all so strange and foreign, the muted colors of blunt objects glaring me in the face, seeming to scream at me the mistake I've made.
Trees.
They're trees.
That's what I'm seeing.
And a car. No... that's THE car. The car I had spent so many hours watching Dean tinker with. That's Dean's Impala.
I stare with wide eyes, slowly scanning up and down the metal glinting in the sunlight like the wavering surface of a lake.
It burns. Everything burns. My chest burns, IT BURNS-
I gasp in a deep breath and begin to cough and hack.
The feeling of my lungs expanding and inhaling for the first time shocks me into reality like a slap to the face.
I reel upwards, overestimating and falling onto my face. I pant heavily onto the ground, dust swirling up around me in thin clouds.
My fingers claw at the Earth, the nails catching on small pebbles and random patches of grass.
Me fingers feel like a hundred spider's legs jutting out from my palms, coiling and spasming, how can I tell them all apart?
My arms wobble and shake violently as I push myself off of the ground, the feeling of my bones creaking, and the muscles beneath my paper-thin skin clenching and straining.
I can feel EVERYTHING, but at the same time I am blinded. Fumbling around in a vast ocean so dark and flat and dull. The view directly in front of me the only thing I can see.
I am slowly losing the battle with my arms and I know it. I flop back to the ground, gravity shoving me downward like lead. Everything is so heavy.

"Whoa, are you ok?"

The words ring in my ears, pouring in like some sort of burning copper, swirling and spinning and desperately trying to make sense in my head.

I slowly drag my face upward until I can just see the person standing in front of me.
It's him. That's Dean! My brain screams.
No matter how many times the words repeat I can't get them to make any sense.
That's Dean! That's Dean! That's Dean!

"Hey man, are you alright?"

He's talking. My brain says. He's asking me a question and I can hear it with my ears. I'm supposed to respond with language.

I slowly part my lips and unclench my teeth, my mouth opens wide, ready for words to come out.
Silence.
Speak! My brain screams.

"Aaah.." The sound slips out of my mouth choked and meaningless.

"HEY SAM GIVE ME SOME HELP OUT HERE!"

Everything turns into a blur. Feet are rushing towards me and suddenly hands are-
I'm being touched. I can feel their hands, the warmth, the pads of their fingers brushing against my flesh.
I'm suddenly inside a house, hoisted over two pairs of arms and dropped onto a couch that bounces slightly beneath my weight.

This is it. This is the couch I used to watch him on.
I roll my eyes to the left of their sockets.
That's where he puts his beer cans.
And that's the remote control he uses.

My gaze is forced off of the lump of plastic sat next to me when I feel a soft material cover my naked body.

"-ou ok?!"

It's Sam. Dean's brother. The one that makes him worry sometimes.
I feel my eyebrows scrunch and I realize that my eyes are stinging.

Blink. I tell myself.
I pull my eyelids downward, falling into blackness before reality comes rushing back at me. I do this a few more times. It's like hurtling back and forth through a darkened tunnel. In, out, in, out, i-

"Dude, he's trippin' balls." I hear a voice say behind Sam, amusement laced in his tone.
Wait, that's Dean's voice.

"Dean." I blink a couple times, confused on who said that because neither one of their mouths had moved.

"Dean." I say again, my voice is hoarse and ragged and it sounds so faraway and distant, like it couldn't possibly have come from me.

Sam pulls up and away from me and turns to Dean with a questioning look.
"Do I... Know you?"

I look back and forth.

I slide my finger up across the blanket covering my lower half. The material scrapes gently across the tiny ridges and pores in my flesh. Every minute fiber bending and twisting from my touch. And then, finally, it hits me.

"I... fell." I say. The words come out just like they're supposed to. My vocal chords moving and creating noises together in tandem, and the noises turning into words that slip past my lips.

"Off of what?" Dean snorts.
Sam holds up a hand.

"What do you mean?"

"I fell... from grace."

This seems to get both of their attention because their eyes widen and Dean suddenly pulls in closer to me.

"You're... an angel?" His voice is quiet and questioning, but there's a hint of a threat there. Just barely visible laced with the calm of his tone.

I slowly shake my head.

"No. Not anymore."
The words pour onto me like a bucket of ice water as soon as they escape my mouth.
Everything suddenly seems important, really, REALLY important. I need to touch him, I need to make sure this is real.

"Dean." I say his name with more urgency now, lifting my hands out towards him, fingers grasping vaguely in his direction.

Dean's eyes dart towards Sam with hesitance. He slowly leans forward a bit farther, so that our faces are only a few feet apart.

"Dean." I say again. This is how I imagined it would feel. How the name would roll off of my tongue like a prayer I've memorized a thousand times over.

"Dean. Dean. Dean." I say it again and again, focusing on the way my tongue curls in my mouth and the way my throat vibrates and hums with the word.

My twitching fingers reach out farther. As soon as the pad of my index finger brushes his cheek I jerk back in shock like I've been electrocuted. He flinches in surprise at my reaction.

His eyes are trained onto mine, focused and confused, and oh... those eyes.

Everything seems so dull and muted but those forests shine brighter than any heavenly light I've ever seen.
Everything feels foreign and wrong, like when you first wake up and you can't figure out where you are because you've fallen asleep in an odd place.
But no, those eyes.
They are the same.
Exactly the same.
Those are the eyes I've seen laugh and crinkle at the sides, and the eyes I have seen glazed over and hollow with nothing but the flickering light of the television screen illuminating them.
I don't even realize that I'm touching his face again until his hand grabs mine and pulls it away.

"How do you know my name?" His eyes have darkened now, suspicion and worry tunneling in from all sides. His tone is low and monotone, grating through my eardrums.

I open my mouth to speak but I can't. What am I supposed to say?

My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping in air, begging God for the correct words to come out, though I know he is not listening.
Those forests are still trained on me, digging into me and probing for answers, and it makes it hard to keep breathing.

I plead with him, begging with my eyes for him to understand why I am here. What this means.

His eyes soften slightly, the acidic green calming slowly until it's a still lake after a storm.
"Dean-"
"Grab him some clothes." Dean orders, not tearing his eyes from mine.
Sam looks like he's going to argue but when his eyes flicker to me he seems to reconsider.

He walks into a back room and quickly returns with a bundle of cloth in his arms.
"Here, put these on."

It's only once Sam returns that Dean pulls away from me. The room feels much more open and void without his eyes there, consuming me and anchoring me to the ground.

I accept the clothing and frown at the buttons. My fingers quiver and shake as I attempt to work them open. Why is this so hard? None of them will move when I want them to, every joint bending and curling at the wrong time.
I finally manage to get the last button undone before sliding the material over my broad shoulders.
I wonder what I look like. What does my face look like?

I don't notice how long I've been attempting to do the first button on my shirt until I feel fingers briskly brush mine aside and push the first button through the hole.

"What's wrong with your fingers?" The question is directed at me, I realize.

I look down to the hands that are now sitting in my lap, my fingers pointed up towards me accusingly.

"I've never had them before." I answer honestly, wiggling them experimentally.

His eyes flicker up to my face and there's something there, an emotion, but I can't quite tell what it is.

I wriggle on the pair of boxer shorts that Sam offers me next and Dean offers his hand out towards me.

Standing up is one of the strangest feelings I've ever experienced.
I hear the blood rushing in from my head, the bones creaking in my legs, and muscles tightening and contracting on instinct.
It's odd in a way that feels like I suddenly have a skill that I have never practiced before.
Like I just picked up a brush and painted a masterpiece across a blank canvas.
Although surely it is not that amazing. This is all part of the deal. At least I know that he plays fair.

I wobble for a moment, teetering precariously in the nonexistent wind. I feel like a giraffe that has stood up for the first time.

Cheap shampoo. And car oil. There's something beneath it all enveloping me and taking me over and filling up my being.

It's Dean, I realize. He's holding onto my arm, bracing me against himself as I attempt to stand on my newfound legs.
I press my face into the warmth of his shirt, inhaling and squeezing my eyes shut.
This smell is so intoxicating and inviting, it's so FAMILIAR.
But I know that's not possible. I've never even had a nose before now.

I look up to his face and realize that he's staring at me with confusion, worry, and a hint of bewilderment.
For some reason I feel the corners of my lips twitch, pulling upwards toward my eyes.
Smiling. I'm smiling. I feel... happy.
He quickly releases me and steps away and I stumble a bit but I catch myself, a feat I'm pretty proud of.
"Pants." Sam says handing the article of clothing out to me, looking questioningly from me to Dean who is now facing away from me, his eyebrows knit together and his lower lip bitten between harsh teeth.

Even with all of the clothing on I feel slightly cold without my contact with Dean. Maybe I'm only cold in comparison though. Temperature is new to me.

I can feel the tension in the room, building and feeding on itself. It's like a chord being pulled tighter and tighter, everyone just waiting for it to snap.

"So... why are you here?" Sam asks, his eyes subconsciously flickering to Dean.

His eyes aren't like Dean's at all. They're a stunning blue-ish grey, flecks of gold spiraling inward and jutting out from the pupil. They are a cacophony of emotion and past betrayal, care and love, all spiraling round and round, and they are completely and utterly, boring.

I glance over to Dean who is still not making eye contact with me.

"I need... I place to stay."

This seems to snap Dean out of his trance because his head jerks upwards and his head starts shaking frantically.

"Ooooh no. No, no, no, no. You are NOT staying here."

Suddenly panic wells inside of me. I can't leave! I have no where to go.
Somehow the thought of being any further away from Dean then I am right now is almost painful. No, it IS painful. I can hear that drum beat, starting slowly and building in my ears again. Over and over and over and-

"I have to!"

They both look slightly taken aback at my outburst.

I watch as Dean's eyes narrow and he leans in so dangerously close. His breath ghosts across my nose, and I think it would be nice if it weren't for the threatening look in his eyes and the shiver running down my spine like cold water trickling along bone.

"Why are you here?" His voice is serious and menacing, and he has that look in his eyes that could turn you to stone and for the first time it's actually directed at me.

"I... made a deal." His eyes don't change, fixed onto mine with deadly precision, he waits for more.
"I made a deal with the King of Hell." I finish.

Dean looks surprisingly un-fazed by this confession while Sam's eyes widen slightly and he shifts from one foot to the other anxiously.

"Why? I was pretty sure that anyone even slightly involved with the supernatural knew that making a deal with Crowley is pretty much the dumbest idea since canned bread."

His eyes bore into me, awaiting an answer.

"I... I had to."

"WHY?"

"Look," Sam steps in and moves Dean away from me, "We can take you to a hotel or something, call in a favor-"

"No! Please, I have to stay here!" My voice wavers and cracks with the force of my words. Please understand, please understand, please understand.

"How long?" Sam asks me, pain shielded behind the glassy blue mirrors of his eyes.

"Until wha-"

"Until he has your soul." Dean finishes. There's something in the way he says it, some sort of regret, some past memory clutching onto the words like a parasite.

I swipe my tongue across dry lips.

"One month."

That look is back on Dean's face, the one I can't decipher.

"Why only a month? He usually gives people years." The suspicion in his voice is heavy, hanging over me, making me feel guilty for something I can't quite figure out.

"I... don't..." I'm unable to look at him now, eyes desperately scanning the room, looking for an answer that is nowhere to be found.

I force my eyes back to his.

"Please."

His eyes are crackling and smoldering, the forests digging into me like knives with such intensity but I can't look away, I can't lose this. It's all that I have left.

I have to make him understand, I have to explain to him the words that cannot be said.

"Fine. You can stay in one of the spare rooms." He says abruptly.

I blink, unsure if I fully understand.

"Dean, w-"

"He's human Sam, he can't do anything to us. We have everything valuable locked away anyway. What does it matter?"

"But why-"

"I'll show you where you can sleep." Dean heads off in another direction and I stand dumbfounded.
I look to Sam but he looks just as shocked and unsure of the situation as I am.
Only when Dean has almost disappeared around a corner do I hurry after him, leaving Sam standing silently in the living room like a statue.

"You can crash here." Dean says motioning to a large ornate room slightly obscured by the door that is half closed.

I push it open carefully, listening to the quiet creak of the metal bounce off of the heavily insulated walls.

The room is beautiful, just like the rest of the ancient bunker they have taken refuge in. The old wooden bed frame has intricate carvings that twirl and form into vines and shapes and there is a tall armoire standing watch to my right. It smells musty and unused and some part of me wishes that it smelled the way Dean's shirt had.

"We were just about to leave on a case. Someplace a ways North from here. We take everything valuable with us and everything else is locked up and warded so don't bother trying to steal anything." It sounds like he's trying to convince himself of something more than me.

"The bathroom is down the hall to the right. There's food in the fridge but not much. Don't touch the beer."

He turns to leave but hesitates in the doorway before turning back to face me once more. Opens his mouth to say something but abruptly closes it again.
He gives me one last unsure glance before shutting the heavy wooden door and leaving me alone with my thoughts.


Hello! If you are still reading this far you are super awesome! I got a super amazing nice review and I just want to say that you made me super happy and definitely inspire me to keep writing! The next chapter is going to be pretty packed with stuff so I'm excited to publish it although, I think I may have to lengthen this story to four chapters because I want all of the chapters to be relatively the same length. But that's as long as it will be. (probably) I love reviews and comments and I hope you continue to read!