Author's note: I know, I know, haven't been updating for a while but my job is giving me hard times now. I barely have time for sleep, leave alone my hobbies. I keep my fingers crossed for it to slow down soon :))
Okay, hope you're going to like this part.
Chapter 3
Dean heard them through his dream. Thought at first that these soft, almost soundless steps were a part of it, or so his sleepy common sense told him. In the back of his mind he knew that it was the only logical explanation as the house was presumably empty, with the exception of him and…
Bela sighed in her sleep, and it was what woke him up, brought him back to reality. She and his arm around her felt very real, unlike everything else. Dull throbbing in the left shoulder came, too, as unnecessary supplement.
"Dean?"
"Hey, Merry Christmas," he whispered, his fingers ran along her arm.
"Mm? Merry Christmas," she murmured back, and there was smile in her voice
"Wow! Look, it snows!" He poked her shoulder.
"Really?" Bela didn't even so much as open her eyes. "Terrific." Which was supposed to mean – shut up, you dolt, and let me sleep.
And then something caught his attention, although he couldn't say what exactly it was. Not a sound and not a movement but he turned his head to the door instinctively... And she was standing there, between the bed and the fireplace. A woman dressed like she had just came right from mid 50s of the last century. Age indefinable, she was looking seriously at him, although there was no aggression about her. Dean even thought that he saw her mouth moving as if she was talking to him but he couldn't hear anything. She looked like she was glowing from inside, but it might have as well been a trick of light.
He went completely still despite himself, out of surprise mostly, trying to come up with what it could possibly be. But then he blinked, and she was gone, as fast as that. Made him wonder if she was there at all.
"What is it?" Bela inquired momentarily. The change in his state didn't escape her attention.
"I think I saw... um..." he trailed off, frowning.
"Santa?" She offered helpfully. Looked up at him and then followed his gaze but there was nothing.
"A woman... I think," he said and winced at how absurdly it sounded.
"That was Mrs. Claus then," she guessed.
"She looked a bit too young for Mrs. Claus, you know," he objected, but then.... She was teasing him. Obviously. Nice! "I'm serious!"
"Well, when I told you about the ghosts I wasn't kidding either."
A ghost. Sure. So, Missouri didn't call for fun after all, Dean thought. Something was not right with this house by the looks of it. If only his eyes were not deceiving him. Not that he seriously thought that she could bother them without any reason...
"Oh, crap," Dean muttered.
"What again?"
"Sam."
"Sam?" Bela whipped her head around and then sat up on a rush. "Where?"
"Nowhere," Dean hemmed getting up, and added, more to himself than to her, "That's the problem."
Curiously, Bela watched him going through his backpack muttering something unintelligible under his breath.
She took her chance to give him a proper studying look now that he was too busy to make a crack about it. His color was not good, too pale in her opinion, but all in all he didn't look like he was going to die any time soon. He was tired though, if these dark circles under his eyes were any indication, as if he didn't catch a single moment of sleep. Not even anywhere close to his best. And yet, it made her wonder if her worries were justified at all. Doubting Dean's ability to survive anything felt almost shameful now.
"What did you do to my stuff?" Dean growled. Gave her a glare.
"I don't keep painkillers close at hand," she scoffed. "No need, see."
"Got it!" He fished his mobile somewhere from the depths of the mess that was the contents of his backpack, beaming like a string of Christmas lights. "Twelve missed calls!" He gasped after a quick look at the screen and shook his head. It felt embarrassing, with Bela there and her eyes on him. Like he was some bloody five-year old and Sam was his mommy. "Haven't you heard it?" Dean asked with accusation all the same, before she came up with one of her mock comments.
"Sorry, Dean. But first, I'm not your secretary. And second, I was slightly distracted by trying to keep your priceless ass alive." She rolled her eyes.
No mocking, sure! Like she needed a reason.
"You said it was a scratch."
"It is. Now. Or so it looks." And then, "You guys what, can't spend two hours without being in touch? It is sick, if you ask me."
On that Bela slid off the bed and came up to the window to take a look outside. And anything but gasped fascinated despite herself by the view. It was beautiful, so white that it hurt her eyes at first and she had to blink quickly several times to actually start seeing anything.
The window was coming out into the front yard, waves of snowdrifts covering it now, formed by the wind. It was still snowing. She could barely see the fence now through the shroud of fluffy snowflakes falling from the low gray sky. Dark spots that were trunks of naked trees looked odd and out of place but Bela guessed that it probably was a matter of an hour or two, and then the picture would be perfect making it impossible to believe that the scenery was dull and unfriendly only a few hours ago.
"Dean?" Sam picked up immediacy, right after the first ring, a mixture of relief and irritation in his voice.
"Hey there, Sammy!"
"Hey there?! Dean, you okay?" Was that panic?
"Um, yeah. I guess. Why?"
"What do you mean – why? You're unbelievable. Might have picked up once, you know. I thought you died there!"
"Nice!" Dean snickered. "Always an optimist. Well, sorry, I was... hm, healing." He darted a quick look at Bela's back. Couldn't miss her snort. "I'm fine. Where the hell are you? You were supposed to come here like what? Ten hours ago?"
"I'm still in the motel."
"What are you doing there?" Dean frowned. "What happened?"
"Technically speaking, I'm stuck here."
"Stuck? Why?"
Sam cleared his throat. "It's a snowstorm outside, Dean. Haven't you seen? I barely made it up here when it started and now... I'm not sure I will manage to dig the car out without help. I'm not even sure which one of these snowdrifts over there is the Impala—"
"Amazing."
"—Moreover, I don't think it is possible to drive into the street without getting stuck somewhere on the way. Besides, the roads are closed."
Dean froze. The news was making its way into his conscience a tad slower than usually. "What do you mean – closed?" He asked.
Intrigued by the conversation, Bela turned away from the window and looked expectedly at him.
"Unless you know any other meaning of the word 'closed', then – no one's going anywhere." Sam chuckled. "State of emergency, see. They closed the roads and told everyone to stay inside." And added, "It's all over the news."
"Uh-huh, nice, but I'm sorta cut off any information here."
"Oh, okay. Anyway, a team from the police department was sent to check around if anyone was caught in their cars when the storm began. They asked people not to go out and said that the weather would probably get better by noon."
"Probably?"
Sam ignored him. "After that they'll need several hours to clean the roads, to make them safe." He paused. "So, that's it."
"Are you saying that I'm stuck here?"
Bela tiled her head, eyes never leaving his face. She folded her arms on the chest, one of her brows arched elegantly. Noted that Dean flushed, and fought to hide her smile.
"There are two feet of snow all over the flat surfaces, or more, depending on where to check, and it's not over. Unless you're intended to dig a tunnel, Dean, I'm afraid you'll have to stay where you are."
"What the hell am I supposed to do here?" Dean bellowed.
Both Bela's brows shot up to the very hairline, lips twisted into her trademark cat-like smile. He wasn't looking at her though. Intentionally, she figured. Color from his cheeks moved down his neck now. She, for her part, felt sterilely comfortable with the whole situation.
"Nice as always, Dean," she commented as she walked past him and out of the room.
"What was that?" Sam asked immediately.
"What?"
"I think I head a voice."
Dean craned his neck attempting to look out of the room without moving from his place. "Seems like this freaking snow got stuck in your ears, Sam."
"Whatever. It's just for several hours, Dean."
"Yeah," he sighed. Brilliant!
"What's with the house by the way? You found anything there?"
"I think it's haunted."
"You think or it's haunted?"
"Cannot say for sure yet."
"You saw anything?"
Dean hesitated. "I think so. Maybe. Did you talk to Missouri? She could be of help here, you know."
"I know, man. I tried to call her, but there's answering machine all the time."
"Great!"
"Listen, just look around there, okay? And stay out of trouble. I mean it. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can."
"It's not like I have a choice," Dean grimaced.
"See you, man," Sam snickered and hung up.
***
Bela needed a bathroom, she was dying to take a shower and she was almost a step away from selling her soul for a toothbrush. Okay, she didn't exactly mean the last one, but she still felt like she had just gotten out of washing machine, in a crumpled and fagged out instead of clean and fresh way though. And the thought of not being able to get out of this place – it was not hard to make this fact out from Dean's part of conversation with his lovely brother – was not at all consoling, even though she wasn't finished here yet, and only God knows where she'd end up if she left last evening and got into the storm.
The prospect of freezing to death in her car made her shudder. And where was it leaving her? A house stuffed with ghosts or turning into an ice-cream – like a choice between bad and… well, bad.
The second floor bathroom was much better than Bela could have expected, all things considered. Pleasant surprise. There was a modern bathtub – not a five-stars-hotel modern one but relatively new compared with the furniture and decorations all the same – a marble sink and fine hardwood floor like in the rest of the house. And unlike smaller bathroom downstairs that she came across the day before, this one had a window with fluted glass, which was an essential necessity assuming the absence of electricity. Gray light coming through it wasn't quite enough though but it was better than using a flashlight. At least Bela could use both her hands.
She opened the window to let in some fresh air and more light and breathed in the smell of snow.
Big mirror over the sink confirmed her worst suspicions. She was irretrievably wrinkled, her yesterday's make-up was a nightmare and her hair… in comparison with crazy kinks of her hair her make-up was fresh and perfect.
Bela scowled at the reflection irritated with her inability to do whatever it takes to look more presentable. Regretted leaving her make-up bag back in the hotel room and sighed. She turned her head from side to side trying to catch a better angle, the one that would stop making her wish to put a paper bag on her head in order to help the matters. She rubbed at the mascara smudge under her right eye and scowled deeper when it turned out that red spot right above her cheekbone looked not much better then the black one before it.
A splash of cold water on her face helped a little bit; made Bela feel more alive and cleared that sand from her eyes – inevitable consequence of nearly sleepless night. God, what time was it now?
She groped for her wrist and then recalled somewhat belatedly that she had left her watch on the bedside table in the room, with Dean. Not that it mattered. She was just curious, but she growled to herself anyway. It felt like everything was going very wrong starting from yesterday's afternoon, getting only worse as time passed by.
Oh, and there was no hot water. Of course. Bela guessed that it was either cut off, like electricity, or the pipes froze when the weather changed. Either way, it wasn't a big surprise, but it made her wish to go back to her hotel and spend several long hours in the bathtub filled with floral foam almost overwhelming.
Bela searched through Mrs. Charleston's stuff then. No toothbrushes for guests. Sure! But she nearly moaned with relief when she found a hairbrush.
"Hope you don't mind," she muttered into the air going through her tangled curls with what could cost some five hundred dollars in the antiques shop. If Dean really saw the ghost of Mrs. Charleston – oh, Lord, what did she get herself into this time? – it made sense to be nice.
She whirled around with lightning speed at the squeal of the opening door because she knew she bolted it behind her, heart jumping up to her very throat. But much to Bela's shock the door was closed, there was no one in the bathroom. She frowned. Could have sworn she heard…
She shook her head. Here's to hanging around the haunted house. Cute! No wonder no one was thrilled with living here. Maybe only thrilled like thrilled, she added to herself. Honestly, sometimes she had nothing against Dean, his bad manners and sweet habit to barge into wherever he felt like. It was annoying and his presence was usually setting her teeth on edge, but it wasn't creepy a least.
Bela closed the window and left the bathroom some thirty minutes later feeling more like herself and less like a docker after the night shift. Last quick glance in a mirror, fingers through her hair and… she was perfect. As perfect as she could be in this particular situation, with her stomach flip-flopping uncomfortably at the prospect of having to face Dean Winchester. Cuddling up with him at night was one thing. Dealing with it in the light of the day was something entirely different. Something she wasn't sure she was all that ready for.
***
If felt awkward. He didn't tell Sam. Why on earth he didn't tell Sam? There was no reason to make a big secret of Bela's presence in the house. Might have as well mentioned that she sort of helped him, although Dean couldn't quite get rid of the thought in the back of his mind that it was too early to relax. He even nearly made a crack about the situation, and Bela getting in his way all the time, and all that "bad luck" stuff, but when Sam wished him to hold on "there of your own" and Dean opened his mouth to say that he wasn't that alone, moreover the place seemed to be slightly overcrowded, he only cleared his throat and muttered something gloomy about being stuck in a bloody horror movie for holidays.
What bothered him most at the moment was that something changed between them. Something happened last night – not on a physical level but deeper – and there was no turning back now.
He saw it coming ever since they met first, no matter how determined he was to struggle against it. He saw it coming and he knew better than letting his guards down. And yet… Last night was a blur; he could barely remember a thing or two, and honestly, he was grateful for that. But he remembered her. Her face; her eyes sparkling in the darkness. The way she was looking at him. The sound of her voice was ringing in his head. It was so clear, and it felt so… right.
Embarrassment came then, from realization that he was too weak to even stand without swaying. From being so vulnerable around her. Bela's reaction to that wasn't even anywhere close to what he expected, and it only made things more confusing. Made him wish for more.
Why keep on lying to himself anyway? He wanted her from the moment he saw her first. He wanted her and he couldn't do anything about it. Not anymore. But what could he offer in return? She was much too good for him, see last night proving it. Furthermore, she was more than anything he had ever dared to dream of. She must be having certain expectations. As for him, he was dying in only six months and could barely do anything to change it. Willed himself not to count days, it would be too much. Could bring him to counting minutes, and he didn't want to go in too deep. He would gladly not think about it at all.
Dean tried to recall what he could have said or done when he wasn't in control of himself. Wanted to know what he was responsible for before she showed up. And failed. He wanted to kiss her. That he knew for sure. And he knew that they were close. Perhaps it was unnaturally high temperature of his body that made his brains melt, Dean told himself, and knew instantly that it was just another lie. Honestly, he would be glad to blame that wish on fever or whatever else he could blame it on. Wished like hell it was that simple. But the truth was that the fever was gone, but the wish stayed.
How could he tell Sam that Bela was here and pretend that it was nothing more than unpleasant surprise? Wasn't sure he could make his lie sound convincing enough this time. And the only question spinning in his mind was – why now?
***
They ended up in the library some time later, the very room that Bela was going through the day before when she was so rudely interrupted. She didn't keep her hopes up. If she found out who the last owner of the locket was and where it could be, the other could do it, too. It might as well be long gone, and the fact that it didn't show up anywhere meant nothing. People could keep secrets if they thought it was necessary. She knew it better than anyone. But at the same time the lack of information could also mean that no one was lucky – or no one tried hard enough. Precious thing could still be somewhere here.
Not in the Mrs. Charleston's bedroom though. Bela went through it very thoroughly assuming that it was the most probably place. No one would keep something really valuable in the hallway or in the living room, right? But she didn't find anything resembling the description she had.
Mr. Charleston's room didn't cheer her up either. He passed away twenty years before his wife and theoretically speaking she could have used his room to store her stuff. She could have, but apparently she didn't.
So, the library, or the study, with Dean close on her heels and his eyes watching her every movement, or so she was feeling. Bela wasn't really optimistic about it though. Mrs. Charleston could have had a secret hiding place for her valuables. And she probably did. More secret than a safe behind the picture, which Bela found and checked out in the first place. She found nothing useful there. Some jewelry, a folder with documents. The things she wasn't interested in. And she wasn't up to cutting the mattresses or the backs of the couches. It was vandalism after all. Not her style.
"So, tell me about the… legends," Dean asked after a while.
"What?" His voice broke through Bela's thoughts so suddenly that she nearly jumped.
"Local legends," he reminded her. "About this house." And looked pointedly around as if there was a chance that she could misunderstand him.
Bela lowered old black-and-white picture in elegant frame back to the table where it was standing before and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.
"Seriously, Dean, how did you get here if you didn't know a thing?"
He rolled his eyes. "A friend of mine asked to check this place out. No specifications. Okay for you, miss I Gotta Know Everything?"
"I see," Bela drawled. "And you rushed ahead without so much as a question. In a state you were in, too. That's cute, really. A bit too altruistic in my opinion, but that's you."
"I can listen to you forever and ever, Bela, swear to God, but… are you done?"
"Charming!" Her lips stretched into fake-sweet smile and she batted eyelashes at him trying to look flattered and coquettish; debated blowing him a kiss. "There's not so much to say," she admitted then, wincing. "This house had been built by Lord Charleston a little more than a century ago—"
"Lord? Was he some ancestor of yours or what?"
Bela, who moved to the bookshelves by this moment, gave him a look over the shoulder. "Would you like to continue?"
"No, no, go on. I'm all ears." He picked up the crystal ball the purpose of which was indefinable and started throwing it into the air like a baseball ball or something, catching it effortlessly.
"Thank you, Dean! So, Mrs. Meredith Charleston, the only wife of Lord Charleston's only grandson, was the last owner and inhabitant of this house—"
"Hey, that's her," he poked at the black-and-white picture.
"Who?"
"The woman that I saw in the morning." Dean paused thoughtfully. Gave another look to the image. "She's a bit older here, but… I'm sure it's her."
Bela hesitated. "It's Mrs. Charleston, Dean."
"Really? Wow! So, she is the ghost."
"Probably." The things were getting creepier. "Gregory Charleston died from heart attack in mid 50s of the last century. They didn't have children, and after her husband's death Mrs. Charleston spent the rest of her life here, all on her own."
Her voice faded away. Bela bent closer to read the names on the old, worn-out covers. This place was like a paradise for antiquaries, or thieves, depending, but these were just books to Bela's endless fret. Old and valuable, true. Some of them were unique maybe. She wasn't sure, never been too much into ordinary bookselling. But what she was sure of was that they had no value to her.
Dean stopped his exciting exercises and turned to look at her. "And? That's it?" He sounded disappointed. "No cheating wives? No bloodbath? What are you doing here then?"
Bela straightened herself up, obviously enjoying his impatience and irritation.
"You have sick imagination," she shook her head, not at all surprised. "Tell me, Dean, would you like to live here?"
The question gave him a start. Live here? He could hardly imagine living somewhere for an extended period of time in general. Years of hitting the road at any time of the day had probably made the settlement of some sort impossible. But if… well, this place didn't look homey to him.
"For free?" He specified all the same. "Or what's the catch?"
"No one wants to live here. Or can't, speaking of that. Charlestons didn't have any heirs, so officially this house belongs to the city from the moment Mrs. Charleston was declared dead, since she left no will."
"Declared?" Dean's brows shot up.
So, he was paying attention after all.
"I'm coming to that. Mrs. Charleston had a certain… reputation."
"What kind of reputation?" His eyes glinted with curiosity.
"Rumors are she was a…" Bela made a meaningful pause. "A witch." And added when a shade of skepticism ran over Dean's face. "Not a rats'-tails-and-frogs'-eyes kind of witch. But she supposedly was fans of witchcraft of some sort. No one could ever prove it, of course. But then no one ever stayed in this house for more than a week either. Normally, new happy owners were taking off without explanations, which only served to heat up the gossiping."
The way she was telling the story, casually and without actual interest, made Dean wonder if Bela believed any of that at all. She didn't look like she did. But he did see something… Probably.
"Has anyone ever been… hurt here?" He questioned then recalling the poltergeist in his family house, in a place where his mother died. Missouri would always be associating with poltergeists for him, Dean thought. And back then the angry spirit wanted to hurt people. And he did, truth be told.
Bela's reply cooled him down though. "Not that I've heard," she said. "Not physically if that's what you mean. Why?"
"What? Nothing." He mustered a lopsided grin. "Just curious. So, what about the 'declared' part?"
"Oh, that," she paused. Took a book from the shelf and flipped carefully through the yellowish pages feeling Dean's eyes burning a hole in her head. Even without looking back she could clearly see him hopping impatiently, cursing her mentally. The image made Bela smile. "Her body was never found, see." She returned the book to its place. Rare, collection edition, and so damn useless!
"That's a good start," he smirked. "How they know she's dead then?"
Bela gave him a condescending look, peppered with sympathy, which made him grimace.
"If she wasn't, she'd be over one hundred years old by now, Dean." She sighed when he blinked at her, all why should I explain such obvious things to you? "Mrs. Charleston never was a social person, if you see what I mean." He hemmed. Bela ignored the sound. "After her husband's death she was barely leaving the house. But it lasted for so long that people even stopped talking. It was a postman who reported to the police that something wasn't right when Mrs. Charleston stopped emptying her mailbox. She was only in her mid 60s, not quite old yet, but she could have tripped and fallen from the stairs, or gotten hurt somehow else." Bela shrugged which was supposed to mean that assumptions could be endless. "They decided to check on her, just to make sure that she was fine." Her voice trailed off as if she was sure there was no need to continue. Everything was clear enough.
"Let me guess. They didn't find anyone here," Dean suggested, voicing the obvious.
"Nope. The door was locked from inside. Deadbolt." She added. "The house was empty, of course."
"Of course."
"And Mrs. Charleston was just gone." The image of the two of them telling scary stories like at the campfire nearly made her giggle. "All her stuff, her clothes – it all remained where it was meant to be. Police found a jewelry box, some money, and other things that people normally never leave behind when they move out, or just leave for a while."
Dean lowered himself onto the arm of the armchair. "And they thought right away that she flew out of the chimney," he commented.
"Apparently," she let out a short laugh. "And then strange things began to happen."
"Strange like what?"
"People started seeing light in the windows every now and then, but whenever someone arrived to check it, they always saw the house locked, sealed and empty. Well, I already told you about the attempts to sell it. No one's eager to share it with… something. No one's eager to even come anywhere close to it. People think this place can drive them crazy. Local Haunted Mansion," she summarized her story.
Dean folded his arms on the chest and gave her a speculative look.
"And yet you came here all alone." More a masked question than a statement.
"I made sure first that no one died here, from fear or anything else inexplicable." Bela huffed. "Besides… you don't seriously expect me to believe any of that, do you?"
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why did you come? Looking for something particular?" He asked innocently.
"Out of curiosity actually," as if she didn't get the nature of his interest. "I hoped to find something occult here, after all these stories and hearsay. Books maybe. Other mojo stuff. City council, or whoever owns the place now is going to sell everything by auction in the end of the month, take the house down and build a couple of new instead." Bela opened the drawer of the table and stared at the pile of white sheets of paper. "If Mrs. Charleston was a witch, she was the most boring witch ever." She shut the drawer close.
"How can you explain her disappearance then?"
Bela's story proved that the place was worth checking on after all. Dean wondered if Sam managed to reach Missouri or find any information in addition to what he had just heard. At least he was almost sure now that his hallucination wasn't a hallucination.
"Mm, she flew out of chimney, I guess."
"And of course it didn't stop you from robbing this place," he chuckled.
"These things do not belong to anyone in particular." Bela pointed out, all insulted dignity. "I don't see robbery here. "And smiled at him, all teeth. "Call in a field trip."
She was going to add that he wasn't the one to judge because, seriously, she wasn't doing anything wrong. Maybe except for trespassing. But then he was trespassing too, so they were even here. The Winchesters and their bloody credo!
But that very moment she picked another book automatically, not even out of interest. And it turned out not to be the book. Not really. Well, it was the book, initially at least, but now its pages were glued together and cut out in the center, making the whole thing look like a chest. A hiding place.
Golden heart-shaped locket winked teasingly at Bela and she anything but gasped in surprise. Couldn't believe her own eyes. Couldn't believe she actually found it.
Fully aware of Dean's presence at once, Bela looked cautiously over her shoulder and thanked God when she saw his back. She didn't feel quite comfortable about telling him the whole truth. The end was predictable of course; she'd have this interesting piece of jewelry in her possession one way or the other. Only this time she wanted to skip the bickering over high morals and crappy principles part. Didn't feel like fighting all over again. Quickly, she wrapped the locket in a handkerchief and put it into the pocket of her pants, careful not to touch the thing in case it was similar to the rabbit's foot that could have only been switched on by direct contact.
It could be interesting though, Bela admitted with a small smile. She could easily make Dean Winchester go crazy over her.
The thought struck her with unexpected sadness. It wasn't the fact that it was mean in the first place and she didn't know how to switch it off yet. No, what Bela hated the most was that using love charm was probably the only way he could…
She shook her head to stop the train of her thought before it led her too far.
"Hey, Bela, look at this!"
She jerked her head up and found him studying antique globe with faded yellowing surface, his fingers turning the sphere slowly for a better look.
"Yes, Dean, the Earth is not flat."
He glared at her. "I just wanted to say that it looks very old."
"That's because some people came to it before you and made this thing." Okay, that was simply beyond her. But she kept her voice light and good-natured to make it clear she was just teasing.
"You speak like Sam." He scoffed back, wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. "Are you done here?"
Bela gave the room another appraising look and sighed with regret, for show mostly as the only thing she was interested in was now lying in her pocket. The whole trip was not that useless after all.
"I'm not going to crack the floors and walls open if that's what you ask."
He let her sarcasm slip. "Whatever. I'm starving! Do you think we can find something to eat here?"
"No one lived here for more than three decades, Dean. If there is any food left here by any chance, which I'm' not so sure about, I'm not touching it. You go ahead though. That could be interesting."
"Charming," he scoffed. "Pizza is out variant then, I guess."
Bela laughed. "Mm, of course. I'm sure they have a special delivery helicopter, for emergency situations and for Dean Winchester only."
"D'you think they don't?"
***
In the end they found a jar of coffee beans downstairs in the kitchen and an ancient grinding machine that Dean entertained himself with for a while thrilled with the fact that it was still working, after so many years.
He also retrieved a can of beans from the depths of the cupboard, which Bela refused to even comment on. He opened it anyway, out of curiosity more than anything, and grimaced at the obviously no longer edible contents, and at Bela's mischievously satisfied smile and her I told you so look. Debated wringing her neck but only gritted his teeth instead.
They settled on the floor in the living room between the couch and a fireplace with their coffee. Beaming proudly like a thousand watt bulb, Dean fished a pack of butterscotch biscuits and a chocolate bar from the inside pocket of his backpack. Emergency snacks – that was what he called his junk food supplies. "You never know where you can end up," he explained to Bela, an expression of a man who had sufficient experience in being stuck far away from gas stations and cheap diners on his face.
They had a fight over the last biscuit, which Bela won on announcement that he had swallowed half of the pack before she even took her first bite. She called him a bottomless pit for good measure, ignored grumbled comment about "someone being too friggin' slow" and savored delicious pieces of sweet dough under his flaring glare, satisfied with herself. Tried to recall the last time she felt nearly ecstatic about cookies, and came to realization that the answer was never. Not like that anyway. God knows coffee wasn't really tasty, especially without cream or sugar, or both, but it was hot and somewhat filling, and together with a chocolate bar it made the world bright again.
The snowfall was almost over now although the clouds remained thick, heavy and low, promising more ahead. But the dance of flames in the fireplace made this little nuance absolutely inessential.
"It does look like a field trip," Dean agreed in the end, made it sound like a truce.
He found a deck of cards in his backpack when Bela offered to play poker to kill the time although it only worked for half an hour or so before ending up with them shouting at one another for cheating.
"Well, what did you expect?" Bela snapped and scowled at him. "You started it first!"
"How do you know?"
"I know! And I never play fair with those who play dirty," and snorted.
"It is stupid to play just like that anyway," Dean made a face at her. "Might as well play for money. Add some challenge. It would've made sense at least."
"Money?" Bela smiled, batted eyelashes at him. "Do you have any to stake?"
"Actually, I was planning to win," he beamed.
"Ha! Not even funny, Dean! Okay, I'd accept biscuits as a stake, if you had some more. But you don't. Unfortunately."
He gave her another glare and made a mental note to be more considerate about his supplies the next time, just in case. Not that he seriously thought it was necessary. First of all, it didn't look like he was going to spend several hours in Bela's company any time soon. Or ever, speaking of that. It was even less probable than his chance to break the bloody deal and…
And he didn't want to start thinking about his imminent damnation again. Not really.
They spent another twenty minutes arguing over strip-poker, Dean's brilliant idea, alternate to money. He called it a fair trade, as he was a hundred percent positive that Bela had her moment and enjoyed her time the previous night when he was helpless and couldn't defend himself from her manipulations. Insulted and snorting, she called him a pervert, chin tipped high, all royal dignity.
"What's' the gain in strip-poker for me anyway? There's hardly any part of you left that I haven't seen yet," gave him a long once-over, lingering her glace at his muscular arms, as if in admiration. She met his eyes then, one brow shot up meaningfully.
Dean huffed, frustrated, his ears went red with embarrassment. And then it all seemed so ridiculously stupid that Bela was the first to burst out laughing, followed closely by Dean sniggering. She considered it a progress assuming that they didn't even pull out their guns by this time and felt oddly pleased.
"Hey, look, did you notice that they don't have TV here?" He asked then brining them back to a more civilized conversation.
Bela crossed her legs in Turkish style and started shuffling the cards. In her opinion it was a matter of pure luck that they didn't try to stuff them into each other's throats.
"What good would it do to you without electricity?"
"Well, yeah… but at all!" His forehead creased thoughtfully. "Do you think it has anything to do with witchcraft theory?"
Unable to hold it back, Bela giggled. "I think it first of all means that people whose intelligence is higher than the one of a germ do not necessarily need cheap talk-shows and porn channels to keep themselves occupied," she informed him loftily and gave Dean that look, lest he miss the hint.
"Are you serious?" He sounded utterly horrified. "Jesus! No wonder everyone thought this broad was a weirdy." And shuddered. "Anyone would go crazy without a bit of entertainment."
"Speaking of entertainment," Bela stuffed the deck back into the box and put it aside, and then crouched closer to Dean. "Check up time, cowboy. Come on, let me take a look at your shoulder."
"Why?" He jerked away. "It is absolutely unnecessary!"
"Don't be such a baby! I'm not going to do anything, and anyway, it can't be worse than it was before." She rolled her eyes. "And do me a favor, go to the hospital next time."
"Last time I checked, my nurse was fat and ugly, and ugh, she kinda liked me," Dean cringed at the memory. But he pulled down left sleeve of his button-up shirt all the same. If Florence "Bela" Nightingale wanted to have fun, why the hell not? He could give her that.
The idea proved to be wrong almost immediately though. Subtle touch of her fingers as she rolled up short sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal several layers of neat bandages made him stiffen and catch his breath. Dean swallowed and turned away when Bela leaned closer and her hair tickled the skin on his arm.
"How did you get in all this?" He realized that the question slipped out only when she paused for half a second.
"You passed out gracefully right into my arms, Dean, remember? I couldn't resist."
He blinked surprised by her reply. "No, I mean… How did you get to know about the things? Saw a monster in the closet?"
"You mean the monsters in the closets really exist?" She asked back lightly. Made it sound like a joke because she didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to even think about it. He was curious. She could understand that. In his place she would most likely be curious, too. She only wasn't sure he'd really like to know her story. She didn't want to explain, wasn't sure she could find right words, and it was highly doubtful he could ever see it through her eyes. That was the problem. "I have a long story of my own," Bela added when no questions followed as if he was waiting for the first move – well, word – from her. Made it sound apologetic and somewhat promising, like Not now but let me think, maybe some other time, although she knew almost for sure that this other time would probably never come.
Dean nodded curtly, and there was understanding in his nod that didn't escape her attention. "So, what's the verdict?" He cleared his throat.
"You probably won't even have a scar," she told him putting the bandages back, her hands moving around his shoulder with sure accuracy. "I'm sort of proud of myself, you know. First try, and what a result!"
"What do you mean – first try?"
He whipped his head around, movement as swift as a flash of lightning.
And her face was there, so close. Much closer than he'd expected, barely two inches away from his; fire-flames dancing in her hair, reflecting in her eyes, making them sparkle like gemstones. And what were they talking about again?
The moment seemed to last forever, none of them moved. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean was fully aware that the best idea probably was to pull back but he missed his chance, and the next thing he knew was that her hand brushed lightly down his cheek and around his neck and her lips were on his, kissing him as gently as he could ever have imagined.
She tasted so sweet and felt so good that he couldn't help but wonder how he managed to hold out this long. Dean helped her free his right arm off his button-up shirt and groaned quietly when her fingers trailed up his chest and around his shoulders sending electric shock through his entire body.
"Sorry," Bela whispered barely audibly against his mouth when her hand came across his bandage. Reminded herself to be more careful.
But he only pulled her closer and half into his lap. Eyes fluttered shut, Bela ducked her head to press her lips to his neck and Dean was a step away from losing his mind when he breathed in delicate smell of her skin and flowery scent of her hair. Behind his own heavy breath he heard sharp intake of hers when he buried his face into soft mass of her curls, felt her lips curve into small smile. His hands slid down her arms and then around her waist and under her shirt to run along smooth skin of her back. She leaned back for the barest of moments only to find his lips with hers again, his face in her hands, her back arched up to him, fingers rumpling his short hair.
And this was when full and horrible awareness came to him making him wish he died instead. Figuratively speaking.
Less than six months left, Dean told himself. Less than six months left, and she didn't know about it. Moreover, he didn't want her to know. He didn't want her sympathy or anything. Didn't want to explain the things he wasn't sure he understood himself. Didn't want to cause any more pain. He could barely stand seeing Sam and Bobby, and their desperate hope for something, and their grasping at straws and following every half-lead even when they knew that it was nothing. He simply couldn't put one more person through it. Didn't want to leave more destruction behind because the truth was that there was no way out, not this time. Didn't want to say one more goodbye.
Truthfully, he had no reasons to care about Bela Talbot, or her opinion, or whatever, but apparently he did. It was something new, and probably something that he should have stayed away from.
And it suddenly turned out that he cared enough not to let it happen.
Bela felt the change in him instantly. She pulled away to look him in the face and as soon as their eyes met and long before he opened his mouth she knew what he was going to say. Determination, that was it. Oh, Lord, what was she thinking!
"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, and God knew he meant it wholeheartedly. If only things were different. If on you they—
If only he had time.
Bela dropped her gaze and looked away, somewhere to the right from him but pretty much into nowhere. The wall of ice that grew between them within a second was almost tangible and much ticker and higher than ever before. Unbearable.
She slid off his lap and away from him flushing with embarrassment, feeling empty and lost all of a sudden, and oddly cold, too, except for her cheeks that seemed to heat up on the instant.
"Listen, I--" Dean started in a momentary rush of confidence, half-way to actually deciding to open up and tell her the truth, or something else; to fix the things somehow, explain her something that he couldn't explain even to himself because he definitely didn't want to leave it like this. Everything looked so different from her point of view. So wrong, and he couldn't…
He anything but jumped when his cell phone rang. Missed two more rings before snatching it from the couch. "Sam?"
Still looking anywhere but at him Bela moved even farther away, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and stared at the fire, but curiosity pinned her to the spot. She felt like fleeing, but where could she go? There was hardly any place within this bloody house that would be far enough away from him. Felt Dean shooting quick glances at her out of the corner of his eye and pretended that she didn't care.
"Hey, Dean, listen, good news…"
"Uh-huh, really?" He wasn't actually listening, too distracted, too… something. Doubted that any news could be good enough to make anything look better.
"They cleaned the roads. I'm on my way."
"Oh… Yeah? Good. Finally." Dean said back rather absently hoping that it was okay since he wasn't quite capable of any other reaction right at the moment. Threw another glance at Bela but she was looking ahead of herself.
"How are you going there?"
"Mm, fine." Depending on what to compare it with, he added to himself.
"Hey, would you like me to grab pizza or something?"
"Sure." He could have sworn that Bela smirked as if she could hear not only his part, but the whole conversation. 'Course she couldn't. Hopefully. Or maybe his one-word answers sounded pretty dumb, which made Dean even more uncomfortable, if it was possible. Maybe she didn't even smirk. Maybe…
"Okay, then, see you soon, dude," cheerful, as any other person who finally broke out of forced confinement, Sam hung up.
"See you," Dean muttered back when it was too late for his brother to hear.
Bela suppressed a sigh and it turned into a rather convulsive intake of breath. Speaking of things she hated about the holidays. All these miracles, and magic of the moment, and wishes coming true, and whatever else most people were so utterly fond of – all this was just a bunch of crap. In real life Santa did not exist and wishes never came true. She was a fool. A blind fool to say more. Obviously, Dean Winchester hated her more than he wanted her, and if there was anything she could do to change it, Bela was undoubtedly not aware of it. What a cheerful thought! Her Christmas wish had just been crashed into pieces, grinded into dust and blown off by the wind.
"I should probably go," she said quietly as soon as she heard that Dean closed his phone; tried to sound casual as if nothing happened… because nothing happened. Just a kiss, nothing at all. No need to make a big deal of it, right?
Avoiding any accidental eye contact, she pushed herself off the floor. Grabbed her jacket from the back of the armchair and pulled it on while making her way down the hall and to the front door.
"No, wait, listen…" Dean's hurried steps made Bela cringe and clench her teeth tight. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to listen to his apologies or whatever else he could possibly say because it would most likely lead to another fight, and she wasn't up to fighting anymore. And deep inside, or maybe not so deep, she knew that if he tried to make a crack or turn the whole situation into a joke she'd just… God, she had no idea what she'd do and she didn't want to find out. "You don't have to…"
"It's okay. I want to get out of here before another storm burst out." She paused. "Your brother is going to be here in no time." Left out the part about not wishing to spend another day in the company of both Winchesters. "Besides, I've lost enough time here already, absolutely for nothing." Maybe with the exception of a locket but he didn't need to know about it.
Bela stopped at the very door and turned to look at him for the first time wondering again about fate and coincidences and other things that she normally never bothered to think about. Eyes moved up to his face memorizing it just in case. He looked terribly tired despite all bravado he demonstrated over the last couple of hours; he needed to shave and to sleep, in any order. But he was still Dean, somewhat shamefaced and blushing at the moment. He did look apologetic, and it made Bela feel better, if anything about misery could be better at all. But he kept the distance between them, and that made her feel worse.
He dropped his eyes first and stared at the toes of his shoes, or at the floor, she couldn't say, cleared his throat. "You really don't have to go, you know." And she failed to get what exactly he wanted to say by that, looking as uncomfortable and edgy as he did.
But instead of coming up with something quick and snarky Bela looked away, too. And then, "Do we really have to keep looking back all the time?"
It took Dean a couple of seconds to process her question in his head. And he chuckled ruefully then. Back. God, if everything was so simple he wouldn't even think twice!
She was waiting for his answer though, and suddenly he told the truth. "It's not back, it's ahead I'm worried about." Caught her glance and held it.
"Right," Bela mumbled, whatever he meant, and opened the door eager to escape and cursing herself for bringing up the subject at all. As if the fact that he dumped her in his charming and graceful manner wasn't enough to throw him out of her mind for good!
Cool air rushed into the house and stirred her hair. A cure of a kind to her pink cheeks.
"Um, Bela…" He paused. "Thanks."
"Forget it," she breathed out without looking back, and closed the door soundlessly behind her.
Didn't even slam it. Dean cringed. He wished she slammed it in his face, or shouted at him, or… anything, instead of leaving like this and making him feel like a mean son of a bitch.
She was a terrible pain in his ass, true, and most of time she was around he wanted to do a favor to the humanity and put an end to her existence. But he never wanted to actually hurt her, not like this anyway. Surprisingly. Because if he could read people at all, one way or another, she did look hurt, didn't she?
Dean let out a long exhausted exhale and rubbed his face.
The sound of silent steps on the second floor made him cast a look at the ceiling. "Yeah, your turn now," he sighed.
Damn it! He had no other choice. He had no right to drag her into all this mess. Imagined saying goodbye to one more person and… and realized that it was a lot more than he could handle. Definitely.
To be continued…
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