(Amber)
My bedroom door opened just as I was fastening my pants. I turned to see Castiel, the fierce-eyed angel watching me, concerned.
I cleared my throat, still embarrassed about how Dean had touched me, still reeling from the pain.
His gaze told me he knew without me even speaking what had happened to me, and it made my skin crawl.
I didn't want anyone to know.
"Hello," I said when all other words failed to surface.
My mouth wouldn't work like I needed, but Castiel seemed to understand. He circled me silently, his lethality seeping from his pores. Even standing two feet away I could feel the energy radiating from him like body heat, wrapping me in it's embrace, making me feel safe.
There it was again, that safety I felt.
Ever since I'd gotten here it had been here, clinging to me, making me want things I couldn't even fathom.
"Amber Bennett. Daughter of Joyce and Marcus Bennett."
The gravelly sound of his voice echoed in the room around us like my sadness; thick, tangy, tangible.
Different.
"Yes."
He nodded once, a shallow dip of his head, as he looked anywhere but at me.
"Dean has asked me to heal you. Would you like that?," He asked, as he finally turned to face me.
"Please," I said shakily.
He nodded again.
His dark hair fell into his eyes for a moment before he pressed two fingers to my forehead, surprising me.
I wrapped my fingers around his forearm, anchoring me to him.
His blue eyes lit with blue fire, practically burning me with their grace and beauty.
When it was done he pulled away, at least tried to, and I stumbled forward.
"Sorry," I said yanking my hand from his arm.
He just shook his head, sighing deeply.
"Amber Bennett-"
"Do you think you could call me something else?," I heard myself murmur.
Castiel's eyes narrowed and he canted his head to the side, studied me.
"Call you what?"
"Some of my friends used to call me Bambi," I said softly.
He paused, watching me, before he nodded.
"I shall call you Bambi."
"Thank you for healing me," I whispered as I gestured to the bathroom.
"I'm going to take a shower."
He nodded, eyeing me closely.
"Are you sure you are alright?"
I nodded, plastered a smile on my face.
I want to die.
I can't take this.
"See you later, Cas."
Castiel's eyes were light as they watched me, searching me, learning me.
Don't let him see how weak you are.
Don't let him smell your sadness.
With a sigh I straightened my shoulders and walked into the bathroom, towel tucked against my chest.
The door was cold against my back but I didn't really feel anything. I couldn't feel anything besides Asher's hands between my thighs, his heavy body on top of mine.
I knew that I was in the bunker, safe with Sam and Dean, with Castiel.
My head knew that, but for some reason, my body was convinced it was still tucked underneath Asher as he raped me.
With shaking hands I tried to logically rationalize what I was feeling. I'd been locked in Asher's basement like a fucking dog for two weeks, and everything that had happened to me in that time frame was...unspeakable.
Shudders racked my body as I twisted the knob towards boil your skin right the fuck off hot, and undressed.
My body didn't ache anymore, the wounds on the outside of my skin healed and were a pretty pearly white. The tender skin between my thin thighs was bare of any scars or blood, and the constant sting was gone now. I spread them a little, ran my fingers along the seam of my pussy.
It was devoid of any trauma.
Everything Asher had done to me, all the scars, the slivers, the cuts and bruises- they were just gone.
It should have made feel better, but instead, it only reminded me of how very alone I really was. It made me feel empty and barren and every millimeter of my skin felt dirty.
I stepped into the shower, bit my lip at the heat, and ducked my head under the water.
My palms were flat on the tiled wall above the faucet
As the water fell into my eyes, I closed them, tried not to remember the way Asher had touched me.
With bleary eyes I blinked, trying my best to clear the haze from them.
"Well, looky what we have here- she's awake," Asher said with a smile.
I groaned, tried to roll over onto my side (mostly because my back was on fire) and realized my legs and hands were tied to the bed frame. I whimpered when I realized I couldn't escape, and looked into Asher's eyes.
"What the hell is this?," I spat.
He smiled sadistically, slapping a baseball bat against his meaty palm.
"You're a smart girl, Amber. You tell me?"
My hands shook as I pressed the heels of palms against my teary eyes.
I tried my best to block out the memories, the humiliation, the agony.
With both hands I scrubbed my body clean until I was absolutely positive all traces of Asher were gone. My skin was pink and raw and it hurt all over, but the tingles felt better than the absolute numbness I'd felt in that fucking basement. Tied up like a dog, starving, bleeding, used for nothing other than his amusement.
I want to die.
My God, I can't do this.
I caught sight of a razor sitting on the edge of the sink through the curtain, my brain instantly forming a solution to all of my problems.
Sam and Dean are nice, but they don't need me.
They don't know what he made me do, they don't know.
With my sobs clogging my throat I stepped from the shower, water dripping from body as if it too were crying.
I took hold of that razor, no doubt a tool used to form Sam's perfect scruff, and pressed it to the vibrant, green vein in my right forearm.
It was sharp against my soft skin, the metal glinting in my hand. I watched it as it rested on my skin, wondering how long it would take to bleed out.
Doesn't matter.
I'm tainted now.
No one will want me now.
Crying loudly now, I looked at myself in the mirror.
Long blonde hair, mismatched eyes.
Thin and small, petite, weak.
Just as the blade made contact, the door slammed open and Dean was standing there, panting.
He took in the sight before him, his eyes narrowing and his his mouth pursing tightly.
He smacked the razor out of my hand and tugged me into his chest.
I screamed, fighting his hold.
"No! You can't take this away from me!"
He didn't answer, just cupped the back of my head while I cried into the crook of his neck.
The skin was rough, covered with five o'clock shadow, but it smelled so good.
So safe.
I punched against his chest, flattened my palms against him in an effort to get free.
"Let me go! I ain't got-there's nothing left, Dean! Let me go!"
He wrapped his other arm around my waist and tugged my body into his.
He was warm and hard where I was cold and soft, my skin still wet from the shower.
Dean didn't seem to care as he whispered into my hair.
"You're gonna be alright, Bambi. You'll be okay," He said adamantly.
I pounded against his chest again, trying to wrench myself out of his grip.
"Let...me...go...," I whispered helplessly as my hands fell limply to my sides, my hands resting on his hips.
He continued to murmur softly, his deep voice comforting in a strange way.
"You're safe here, baby. You're safe."
His words his me in a place I hadn't expected as I felt my traitorous body cuddle into him, soaking up his strength and his warmth.
He smoothed my wet hair away from my face, leaned down so he could see into my eyes with his glowing, wet, green ones.
"Tell me you see me, Amber. Tell me you see me and not him."
I nodded fervently, still crying, but less out of touch with the present reality.
"I see you."
"Say my name," He demanded.
His calloused palms were cupping my cheeks like he never wanted to let go.
I grimaced, sucking in a shaky breath as the tears threatened to swallow me whole.
"Say it."
"Dean!"
He nodded slowly, his eyes looking over my body.
"Stand here and don't you dare move. Do you hear me?"
I nodded again.
"Say it."
"Yes, Dean."
He disappeared for a second and I stood there naked, shivering, and empty.
Like an ocean with no water, a vase with no flowers, a sky with no moon.
He came into view holding an oversized Led Zeppelin t-shirt that he yanked over my head without saying a single word.
His expression said it all.
Why?
Why?
Why?
His green eyes were blazing with something I couldn't decipher, something big and obvious.
Once my arms were through their holes he tipped my chin up.
I couldn't stop crying though, not even if I wanted to, so what he was searching for I had no clue-but he then lifted my wrists towards the light, and I understood.
He was looking to see if I was high, if I'd taken any pills, too.
I hadn't.
My wrists were unblemished apart from one tiny nick.
Dean's body almost seemed to sag with relief before he surprised me beyond measure as he lifted me into his arms.
If he wasn't careful I was going to find a home there, I was going to find it to be a safe haven.
"I don't care if you do," He muttered.
I hadn't realized I'd spoken that out loud, about his arms becoming a home, and I blushed against his neck as I held onto him for dear life.
He managed to sit us both down on his bed, me cradled against his chest, his back against the headboard.
We were silent for a long while, with only the sound of my crying and the sound of Dean's breathing keeping us company.
"How did you know?," I finally whispered.
Dean's hand came to rest on my back, his skilled fingers rubbing me through the material of his shirt.
"I know the sound of those cries. I've made them a few times myself."
He didn't say anything more as he tightened his hold on me.
"Castiel said your aura was dark. He said it was quickly fading. Then he called me."
I swore under my breath, hating that Dean of all people had found me like that. I hid my face in the collar of his shirt, avoiding his gaze.
"Don't. Don't hide from me."
"You don't know what it's like, what he did."
"Tell me. Keepin' that poison inside of ya won't help you heal," He said reasonably.
"I can't. I don't want you to know."
He adjusted himself so I was facing him head on.
His green eyes looked like to sparkling jewels, shining down on me.
"Why not me?"
He was frowning, he sounded disappointed.
"I don't want you to look at me differently," I admitted.
His frown faded away and he sighed. His thick fingers swept hair away from my face, gentle and sweet. A direct contraction to the man I knew him to be- if he thought I hadn't done my own research on the infamous Winchester brothers he was wrong- and Dean was purported to be a nasty son of a bitch.
"What if I promise not to? Look at you differently, I mean."
I started to shake my head, but he stopped me.
"Please," He whispered.
I got the notion that he didn't use that word often.
"His name was Asher. He worked as a contractor on my boyfriend's house," I started.
Dean nodded, rubbing my back again.
"One day I came home from work, noticed Peter was gone. That wasn't unusual, he often took off during the day to do business. He worked at a computer software company."
"At eighteen?"
I shook my head.
"He's twenty-five. We met while I was working at a coffee shop two years ago. He was always real sweet, never rough with me. When I got home that day I noticed he was gone, but he'd left me a note saying he would be back for dinner. I didn't think twice about it, honestly."
Dean pushed more hair out of my face, keeping my eyes visible to him.
"Asher was there, waiting for me. He made advances. I ignored them. Peter, my boyfriend, wasn't unattractive. He just wasn't...hard? He was soft, like me," I whispered.
Dean nodded.
"I thought Asher had gone home, when I climbed into the shower."
My breaths started to come faster as I relived the memory in my mind.
I heard footsteps on the stairs, thought it was Peter-but it-it- wasn't," I admitted.
"Did he touch you then?," Dean asked me.
I shook my head.
"No, he just kidnapped me then. Took me back to his home, which was beautiful- he'd built it by hand, he'd bragged about it the whole first night," I said with a shiver.
"The first night? There was more than one?"
"There were fourteen," I admitted.
Dean swore and his hold on me tightened painfully, causing me to stiffen.
"Damn, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Keep going."
I paused, swallowing my fear.
Dean won't hurt me.
"He did...unspeakable things to me in that time frame. Fourteen days of hell, of pain, of...pure humiliation. I hated myself, hated him. He laughed at me, hurt me...," My voice faded as the tears threatened to fall once more.
Dean sat up then, cradling me closer to him.
"Hey, it's okay. It's just me," He said softly.
Just me?
Just him?
Dean didn't realize how he filled the room with his dominance, how he could have swallowed me up whole like little red fucking riding hood.
"He used-there was a baseball bat and-these clamps-"
I stopped talking, chanced a look at Dean who was staring at a threat coming loose from his shirt. He was frowning, his perfectly sculpted face turned away from me, but I knew he was listening- the set of his frame told me so.
He was tense, so tense I thought he'd hurt himself.
I thought he'd tell me to stop telling him what Asher had used on me.
But he didn't say a word, and I realized that I needed that.
"I told him no, but he wouldn't stop. He used me like I was his plaything, and when he was done, he would laugh at me and leave there alone. Alone with nothing but the memory of what he'd just done to me to remind me that I am nothing," I admitted.
Dean clenched his eyes closed and I felt myself reaching for him, even though he couldn't see me doing so.
"I wanted to die every time he touched me," I whispered raggedly.
Dean's eyes snapped open and he shook his head.
"You're not gonna let that bastard win, Bambi. Not now, and not ever- do you understand me?," Dean snapped.
"If you hurt yourself, you'll let him win. Your survival will have meant nothing," Dean said harshly.
I shook my head, opened my mouth to tell him that Asher had already won, but he wouldn't let me.
"What happened to Asher? What about your boyfriend?"
I dropped my head, looking away from him.
"Turned out Peter needed money in a bad way, so he sold me to Asher," I said. I laughed bitterly, shrugging my shoulders.
"Stupid me, I didn't even know that could happen in real life," I told him.
His grip on me didn't loosen, no, he gripped me tighter.
"And Asher?"
"I finally got the courage to fight back, I...ended up with the opportunity to take one of the knives he was using on me. I knew I wasn't the only one he'd hurt. I stabbed him when I got the chance and called the cops," I admitted.
Dean nodded his head, slowly.
"The lights we saw when we got there...they were for you?"
I shook my head.
"I couldn't stand to be in that house anymore, but I also couldn't stand the thought of his blood on my hands forever. I wanted him to be held accountable for all the things he did to all those other girls he told me about. His basement was a...it was a torture room," I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand.
Dean's calloused palm was the closest thing I'd gotten to affection in a very long time, and it was glorious as it caressed my wet cheek.
"What about all the things he did to you? Don't you want vengeance for yourself, Bambi?"
My nickname sounded good on his lips, natural.
It sounded genuine.
"What could it do for me? Those girls are dead. They deserve to be remembered for something other than what he did to them. Their souls deserve peace. Their families deserve peace," I said angrily.
Dean's nostrils flared, and then I realized I was still on his lap, wearing nothing other than one of his shirts.
My cheeks flared with a fresh blush.
"I should go," I said suddenly.
I rolled off of Dean's bed easily, my movements much more graceful now that the painful throbbing below my belt line was all gone.
Nothing but scars now.
I'm nothing but a bundle of scar tissue and trust issues now.
Who will want me now?
Dean stood next to me, his hand out towards me.
"Do you want me to walk you back to your room?"
I shook my head.
"You were right. It was foolish of me to think that hurting myself was the answer. I just didn't know what to do about the pain, in here," I muttered as I pressed a hand over my heart.
"Takes a little longer for that to heal, I'm afraid."
Dean sounded so sure, so adamant, like he knew.
Like he'd suffered before, as I did.
"Are you speaking from experience?"
He dropped his chin to his chest, shrugged.
His black t-shirt stretched tightly across his chest and I held my breath.
He was so different than any man I'd ever come across; I wasn't lying when I'd told him that Peter had been soft. He wasn't a 'man's man' but he had been...comfortable.
Dean was not a comfortable man.
He was lethal, and hard, and he was calloused from the many let downs life had given him.
He was a little lost, a lot angry, and just the right amount of scary.
He was pain and agony and righteousness tucked into one sexy vessel.
Asher had damaged me in ways no one could ever imagine, but Dean was soft with me.
He didn't raise his voice to me, and he didn't hurt me. He treated me like an equal, like a woman and that counted for more than he could ever imagine, honestly.
Dean Winchester was a friend to me when I really needed one.
"My parents abandoned me when I was seven."
His gaze snapped to mine, and he canted his head. Much like Castiel had, he frowned.
"I was in the system until I turned sixteen, when I ran away. I lived in a shit hole apartment where the landlord let me pay my rent under the table until I turned eighteen. When Peter asked me to move in with him...I don't know, I thought it would be a fresh start. I thought I'd finally found someone who wouldn't abandon me."
Dean reached for me, and then let his hand drop.
"We would never do that to you," Dean said softly.
I smiled then, my first real smile in days.
"I know. You're a great friend, Dean. I appreciate you more than you know. And just so we're clear- I wouldn't hurt you either," I said as I opened his bedroom door, and headed back towards my own room.