Author's Note: Hey all. So, full disclosure, this story has gotten REALLY LONG and I'm not proofreading the chapters very thoroughly before I post them. So apologies if there are mistakes. I almost posted this with some of the dialogue still in draft form because I foolishly trusted myself when I marked this chapter as 'finished' in my folder...
Nell was bored.
The bare room had nothing in the way of entertainment. She had nothing to read, not even so much as a deck of cards to play solitaire with. Since Kevin's activity was restricted to scribbling, nonsensical mumbling, and the occasional shuffle to the kitchen to refill his cup of coffee, she couldn't even entertain herself by eavesdropping.
Nell was actually starting to get a little worried for the kid. She hadn't heard him eat or sleep at all since she'd been listening, which couldn't be healthy. Not if he was human, anyway. His heart beat audibly, and Sam hadn't mentioned him being something else, so Nell guessed he probably was.
There was always Crowley, but Nell was reluctant to start another conversation with him. If nothing else, he deserved the silent treatment just for sabotaging the vampire cure. There was also the fact that he was a demon, and he had tried to charm her first into trading him her soul and then into breaking him out of the dungeon. Nell hadn't been tempted by either suggestion even for a second, but Nell wasn't particularly interested in finding out if Crowley would be able to wear her down over time.
Instead, she tried to distract herself any way she knew how. She stretched and did some yoga, trying to relax. To Nell's surprise, it was easier than ever before. Her strength, balance, and flexibility had improved so dramatically that the exercise was a little lackluster, leaving her neither sore nor tired, no matter what she attempted.
She choked down some more blood. She meditated. She tried to brush the blood and dirt from her hair with her hands. Finally, when the silence and boredom was driving her crazy, she sang.
She had avoided it thus far because Crowley would doubtlessly hear her, but she was beyond caring by then. It had been hours, and without the option of sleeping her boredom away, she would put up with any snarky comments from the demon. At least then she wouldn't be so damn bored.
She started with all the Beatles songs she knew, and sure enough, Nell had scarcely finished Blackbird before Crowley commented. "Listen to you. Less than a day to yourself and you're already singing like a canary." Crowley sighed, as if in disappointment. "Will you be taking requests?"
Instead of responding directly, Nell began a new tune. "You walked in to the party, like you were walking onto a yacht…"
Crowley scoffed, clearly recognizing the opening line of You're So Vain. He didn't talk over her, though, so Nell continued. She was eventually interrupted mid-chorus—but not by Crowley.
Nell's voice cut off abruptly, turning to look at the door as it creaked slowly open. The young man in the doorway could only be the elusive Kevin. She hadn't noticed the sound of his footsteps in the hallway over the sound of her own voice, and now he stood in the doorway, watching her, hand still lingering on the doorknob.
He was young, as Nell had guessed, though he looked older than he sounded. His skin was sallow, his hair greasy, and his face rough with patchy stubble. There were deep purple bags under his dark eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep. He studied her impassively from the doorway, though his heart beat a little quicker than usual, betraying his nerves.
"So you're the vampire, huh," he said finally. His voice was rough. Nell winced, feeling exhausted just looking at him.
"I'm the vampire," She agreed, though it still felt odd to refer to herself as such. She figured she'd get used to the term over time. After all, she hadn't felt like an adult the moment she'd turned 18, either. Vampirism, like adulthood, would probably take some time to get accustomed to. "Nell McNamara." She left off 'pleasure to meet you,' because she doubted the circumstances which brought the kid to this bunker were any more pleasant than hers.
"Kevin Tran," he said shortly. He watched her warily for a long moment before asking, tiredly, "What's with the singing?"
If Nell were still capable, she might've blushed. She coughed, feeling awkward at having been overheard. "Sorry if I disturbed you. I asked Sam for a book, but he left without bringing me one." Nell gestured at the bare, empty room. "And I can't sleep anymore, so... I got bored."
Kevin's shoulders relaxed a little bit, though he still seemed wary. His gaze had lingered for a long moment on the splintered remains of the desk in the corner. "I heard Crowley did this to you."
"Well, Sam helped." It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Kevin's lips didn't so much as twitch. Taking in his tense jaw and shadowed eyes, Nell frowned. "What did Crowley do to you?"
Kevin's jaw worked silently as he considered his answer. "Everything."
The word was loaded with so much anger and sorrow and disappointment that Nell could nearly taste it on the air. Unsure what to do in the face of such raw emotion, she asked, hesitantly, "... You want to talk about it?"
It turned out to be less of a want and more a need, and less of a talk than a rant. It was like Kevin was a soda bottle that had been thoroughly shaken, and Nell's question had loosened the top just enough that his emotions came bubbling out in a spectacular eruption.
It was extremely difficult to follow. Nell managed to gather that he was a prophet, and that meant that he was apparently the only one on earth able to translate the 'word of God', a term the kid used almost interchangeably with the word 'tablet.' He had apparently been kidnapped a good half dozen times in the space of a few years, most of the time by Crowley.
Kevin spat the demon's name every time he came up, and Nell couldn't much blame him for it, considering that, in addition to all the kidnapping, Crowley had murdered Kevin's girlfriend, possessed his mother, tortured Kevin himself, and then finally tried to murder him before being stopped at the last second by something or someone called 'Metatron.'
Through the lengthy, rambling story, Nell kept silent. Not that she didn't have questions. She did—many questions. But since the point of this tirade was more to provide Kevin some sort of cathartic release than it was to truly enlighten her, Nell swallowed her questions about angels and Heaven and tablets and let the kid wear himself out.
"And now here I am, busting my ass over this angel tablet, trying to figure out a way to let the angels back into heaven, while the guy who made my life a living hell is sitting just a few rooms away!" Chest heaving, Kevin fell silent at last. He looked drained, and sweaty, as if he'd just run a mile, but still significantly less tense and angry than he had when he'd begun.
Rather than commenting on his tale—she had no idea what one could say in response to a story like that—she instead asked lightly, "Feeling better?"
Kevin had the grace to look a little embarrassed about sort-of shouting his life story at a near-stranger, and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Nell eyed Kevin's pallor critically. "When was the last time you had something to eat?" Kevin's eyes drifted toward the ceiling, like he had to think about his response, and Nell sighed, shaking her head and standing.
Slowly, so Kevin could back away if he was uncomfortable or scared, Nell walked past him to the open door. Kevin let her pass, more curious than wary as he followed her down the plain hallway to where she knew the kitchen was located. He hovered in the doorway, clearly puzzled, as Nell opened and closed cabinets, locating pans and ingredients.
"What are you doing?" Kevin asked at last, voice thick and tired. He looked even worse in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.
"I am making grilled cheese and soup." It was just about the only thing Nell could manage, considering how bare the pantry was in this place. "You are going to eat it, and then you're going to get some sleep."
It took a few seconds for her words to process. When they finally did, Kevin looked mutinous. "I can't just go to sleep." He glanced back down the hallway, expression equal parts longing and loathing. "I need to get back to the tablet."
Nell ignored his protests. She figured he didn't really mean them, considering he was still standing in the doorway rather than walking away. It took some trial and error, but she eventually managed to light the old stove and start heating a pan while she constructed a cheese sandwich and heated a can of tomato soup.
"You look half-dead," she said, buttering the bread, "and that's coming from the only person in this bunker who doesn't have a heartbeat." Kevin was still hovering uncertainly, so she nodded to a nearby table and chair. "Sit."
Kevin watched her as she prepared the food. Or maybe just stared in her direction with glassy eyes, Nell thought. He seemed almost too tired to function. Within ten minutes Nell presented him with a gooey grilled cheese and a steaming bowl of creamy tomato soup. At her expectant look, Kevin hesitantly tucked into it, spooning up soup with awkward, mechanical motions. Nell watched, part satisfied, part jealous.
Food smelled the same, but different. She still recognized the smell of melting cheese, toasted bread, and hot soup. It was still pleasant… but it wasn't appetizing. It was a little like the feeling Nell had had on occasion at Thanksgiving: she ate so much delicious food and was so overly full and content that she couldn't even be tempted by another slice of pie.
And yet, she wasn't full. Nell could feel the endless hunger in her gut, always hovering at the back of her mind. It wasn't a lack of hunger. It was just that this stuff, no matter how nice it smelled, wasn't food to her any longer.
Not that she hadn't tried. Nell had experimentally put a bit of bread in her mouth while she cooked, chewing thoughtfully, and had to discreetly spit it out. It wasn't so much disgusting as it was… tasteless. Wrong, somehow, like she'd bitten into a wax fruit.
Kevin eventually noticed the mournful look Nell was giving his sandwich, and he paused, swallowing loudly and looking almost guilty. "You miss it?"
Nell's lips twisted. "If I'd known it was going to be my last meal, I would have eaten something better than beef jerky and some energy bars." It was a bitter memory, now. Scarfing down a quick, utilitarian meal right before setting off into the woods after the man who ended up nearly killing her. Or succeeded in killing her, she supposed, depending on how she looked at it.
"Sorry." Kevin hesitated, half-eaten sandwich hanging over his soup.
"Eat it," Nell encouraged. Voiced dry, she added, "Watching you enjoy it is as close as I can come to eating it myself, now, anyway."
Kevin shrugged in acceptance and wolfed down the rest of the sandwich. Wordlessly, Nell rose and cooked up another one on the still-hot pan, returning with another sandwich that Kevin scarfed down just as quickly. When both sandwiches were gone and the last drop of soup had been drained from the bowl, Kevin's eyes started drooping of their own accord.
Nell ushered him down the hall and into the bed in his room, flicking off the light and ignoring his half-hearted protests that he should get back to work. He was asleep before Nell even made it all the way back down the hall. When she reached her own door, she paused, considering.
She'd already broken the rules by leaving her room. With Kevin asleep, she couldn't even lock herself back in. The damage was already done, and if the Winchesters would know she'd left her room no matter what, she figured she might as well get something to read before returning.
She walked back to the library she'd spied from the kitchen and browsed the many leather-bound volumes. There were dozens of old, bizarrely titled history texts, and more than a few treatises on creatures she'd never even heard of, but after some searching she managed to find a few texts on vampires that appeared to be mostly written in plain English. She pulled these from the shelf, returned to her room, and settled in to read.
It didn't take long for Nell to regret her choice of reading material.
She had been hoping to find out more information on what she was, what she could do, what her limitations were… and she did find out. But in addition to the more clinical information on the sensitivity of vampires' senses and how fast they could run at top speed, Nell found case studies. Biographies.
Hundreds and hundreds of vampires, each and every one of them monstrous.
It was difficult to look at the pictures and descriptions in the books and think that she was the same as these monsters. When she could see their eyes, they were empty, dark. Completely devoid of guilt or compassion. They hunted without a care for the consequences. They were unintelligent, almost mindless, all in the pursuit of blood.
That was the most terrifying thing. Killing people, drinking their blood, all of that was bad enough, but it was the mindlessness of it all that gave Nell chills.
All her life, the sort of monster Nell had always feared most were zombies. Slasher films, swamp monsters, creepy ghosts, all of that she could handle, but zombies? The idea of being eaten, consumed, and then slowly losing control until she was no longer herself, until she was nothing more than mindless hunger, careless about whether she ate her own family or little children… that had always scared her the most.
Some of the vampires in the books were more intelligent, more thoughtful than others, but even then it always came down to blood. Always blood.
There was no mention at all of 'vegetarian' vampires. Nell didn't know if it was simply because they were so rare, or if they weren't worth mentioning because, inevitably, they would all turn back to their inner natures. To being monsters.
Nell made it through one book and was part-way through another before the Winchester brothers came back. Kevin was still snoring softly when Nell heard the rumble of the Impala and her own Outback, and Nell winced at the noise as the brothers returned, slamming doors and hollering a loud "We're back!" down the hall. Nell listened carefully for a moment to see if Kevin would wake at the noise, but he merely murmured and burrowed deeper into his blankets.
Nell wondered how long it would take them to figure out she'd left her room, and how pissed they would be. Sam was still tromping down the stairs—from the rustling of fabric and heft of his steps she guessed he was carrying something—when Dean's booted steps halted in front of the kitchen.
"Dude, did Kevin actually eat?" A few more hesitant steps, then, disbelieving, "Did Kevin cook?"
Sam seemed to ignore Dean's comments, continuing down the hall to Nell's room. His footsteps stopped abruptly outside the door, his breath catching in surprise. Nell, sighing, put her book aside and faced the door.
It took a moment before Sam slowly pushed the door open, a long, wicked-looking knife held ready in one hand. If Nell had a beating heart, it might have jumped in panic. As it was, she held up her hands, slowly.
"Easy there, Sam," Nell said softly, struggling to look at his face and not the knife. "No need to jump to head chopping."
"Why is your door unlocked?" Sam demanded, voice flat. The expression on his face was hard and distant, and Nell got the very uncomfortable feeling that he was distancing himself emotionally, in case he had to kill her.
"Kevin unlocked it," Nell said quickly, hands still up and incredibly thankful that Sam hadn't come any closer. "On his own, I might add. I didn't ask him to."
Sam did not relax. "Where's Kevin? What did you do?" Dean, apparently having heard Sam's interrogation, had tromped down the hall to hover over Sam's shoulder. He looked more curious than anything, which eased the tiniest bit of tension in Nell's stomach.
"He's asleep in his room still, if your shouting hasn't woken him," Nell tipped her head down the hall in the direction of Kevin's still-relaxed breathing. "He came in to talk, had a bit of a rant, and emotionally exhausted himself, so I made him some food and put him to bed."
"You actually got him to sleep?" Dean had completely relaxed now, and even looked reluctantly impressed.
"Dean, go check on Kevin," Sam ordered, gaze never leaving Nell's face, knife still at the ready.
"Dude, come on. There's dishes in the sink, and it's not like she made herself a grilled cheese." Sam shot Dean a venomous look and he relented. "Okay, sheesh, fine." Sam stared at Nell distrustfully while Dean tromped down the hall, opened Kevin's door, and entered. After a few moments he exited again, the door clicking shut softly, and Dean returned. "Kevin's fine. No bite marks—and frankly, looking better than he has in days."
And just like that, the cold distance fled Sam's eyes. He breathed a long sigh of relief, lowering the knife with a shake of his head. When he turned back to look at Nell, he even looked halfway-apologetic.
"Sorry. I just saw the lock open, and if we'd left you here and anything had happened to Kevin…"
"I understand." And she really did, after reading through the books. No wonder they didn't trust her, if that's what vampires were like.
Dean coughed, and Sam jolted a bit. "Uh, right." Sam stepped out of the doorway for a moment, and when he came back into view the knife was gone and he had a familiar duffle bag in his hands. "I grabbed some of your things. There's a bathroom down the hall, if you want—"
"Yes." Nell didn't bother to hide her enthusiasm. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd worn in the Grand Canyon, covered in dirt and her own dried blood. It was awful, and uncomfortable, and Nell couldn't wait to be clean. She didn't even think twice about the wisdom of running full-speed towards a vampire hunter who'd just been threatening her with a knife—the bag was in her hand and she was down the hallway in the space of a few seconds,
The shower was bliss. It was old and dated, with yellowed tiles and pipes that groaned and squeaked, but the water was hot, and that was all that mattered. The heat that seeped into her chilled skin was simply wonderful, and she was finally able to rid herself of the blood and grime that still clung to her skin and hair. Nell hadn't even realized how much tension she'd held in her neck and shoulders until she began to relax under the hot spray. When she emerged from the bathroom nearly an hour later, curls still damp and dressed in a clean dress, she felt as refreshed as if she'd just slept for a full day.
When she returned to her room, she found Dean sitting on her bed, one of the books she'd borrowed propped open on one knee. "I see you found the library."
He didn't seem at all bothered by her having the books, so Nell didn't apologize. Stepping further into the room, she saw that he'd picked up one of the books she'd left open, displaying a handful of particularly gruesome pictures. Dean simply watched her, seeming to be waiting for her to say something.
It didn't take long for Nell to voice the question that had been plaguing her for hours now. "Is that going to happen to me?" There was no need to elaborate what that meant. Nell's eyes flickered to the bloody pictures on the page, then away, twisting the fingers of her right hand into her left sleeve, continuing, "When the cure didn't work, you both seemed so surprised…"
Dean still said nothing. "Is this—" Nell gestured at herself vaguely, "—temporary? Am I going to lose my mind, and—" She didn't want to finish the sentence, eyes falling on the book once again.
Finally, Dean spoke. "...I don't know."
It was an honest answer, but not at all the one Nell had wanted to hear. She shuddered, turning away from Dean and the book, feeling suddenly cold despite the lingering heat from the shower.
"I should have just died." It had taken Nell a long time to accept the inevitable consequence of her illness, to accept that she'd die before she even hit 35, but either a slow death from cancer or a violent one on a forest floor would be better than becoming… that.
Dean shut the book with a sigh. "Look, we don't know if that'll ever happen." Nell glanced at him doubtfully. He looked serious, but it was difficult for Nell to accept his word when he'd shown an above-average capacity for denial in the short time she'd known him so far. "Maybe it won't. We've known other vampires who went years without ever drinking blood, and they were as close to normal as you could get."
The 'vegetarians'. There was only one problem with that.
"But they all broke eventually, didn't they?" Dean's head tilted back minutely and he blinked, seemingly trying to mask surprise. "Sam told me what happened to Lenore's nest."
"Lenore never broke." But that wasn't a particularly good example, and Nell could tell Dean knew it, too.
"No," Nell agreed. "She died instead." Nell sat heavily on her bed a few feet away from Dean, lips twisting. "Have you ever watched a zombie movie where someone gets bit, and then tries to hide it?"
"You mean every zombie movie?" Dean asked without missing a beat, eyebrow raised.
A smile flickered and died on Nell's lips before she continued her thought. "I always wanted to believe that if I was ever in that situation, I'd be the kind of person who has enough decency to put a bullet in my brain before I ever put anyone else in danger. But now…" Nell shrugged helplessly, searching out Dean's eyes. He, more than anyone, would be the one to know, "Do monsters even realize they're monsters?"
Dean looked over at her, expression grave and searching. His eyes were a pale green, and for a moment seemed to look straight through her. Then he blinked, and the intensity receded. He shrugged.
"I figure as long as you're still asking yourself that question, you'll be okay."
Dean stood. He made an aborted motion with the book, like he was going to toss it on the desk, before seeing and remembering that Nell had demolished it. With a huff, he tossed it onto the bed beside Nell instead and crossed to the door, where he tapped on the doorframe. "You've got free run of the bunker so long as Sam or me are awake to keep an eye on you. You want the tour?"
It was more freedom to roam than Nell had anticipated, and she nodded quickly, following Dean out the door and down the hallway. "You already found the kitchen, and the library, so we'll start down here."
"Where is here, anyway?" Nell asked, craning her neck to better take in the concrete walls and ceiling. "How does one even acquire a bunker?"
"It's a long story. Short version is, Sam and I are like the last living members of a secret society of monster-hunters that got wiped out in the 50's."
"One day I would very much like to hear the long version of that story."
"Yeah, maybe." Dean changed the subject, pointing out his and Sam's bedrooms before showing her the more functional spaces: a firing range, a dated-looking exercise room, and a small medical bay which connected to some kind of lab full of dusty test tubes, beakers, and jars. He glossed over the storage room, though Nell knew from experience that there was another door within which led to the dungeon, still occupied by Crowley.
Finishing the lower floor, Dean led her up a set up stairs in the library. "That door leads out," Dean said, passing it without a second glance, "and last but not least, this door leads to the best room in the place."
Dean opened the door with an air of deep satisfaction.
"It's a garage."
The classic black car with Winchesters drove was there, as was Nell's Outback and teardrop-shaped camper trailer. There were a few other cars with dusty sheets draped over them, as well as a classic-looking motorcycle.
"Hell yeah it's a garage." Dean seemed entirely unaffected by Nell's lack of appreciation for the space. "You ever seen the Wizard of Oz?"
The question was so out of left field it took Nell a moment to process it and answer. "Yes?"
Dean nodded to the motorcycle, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "That's Dorothy's."
"Now you're just fucking with me."
"I'm dead serious," Dean insisted, but he was still smirking, so Nell didn't believe him for a second.
"Yeah, sure you are." Nell turned away from the garage and towards the stairs, intent on enjoying her newfound freedom more thoroughly. She called over her shoulder, "Thanks for the tour."
There was noise coming from the kitchen as Nell descended the stairs, so Nell headed there first. Sam stood at the sink with his back to her. Leaning in the doorway, Nell asked, "Is the Wizard of Oz real?"
Sam must have heard her approach, because he didn't jump. He did turn, though, with a thoughtful sort of frown on his face. "Uh, kind of. Why?"
"Seriously?" At Sam's puzzled look, Nell explained, "Dean told me the motorcycle in the garage belongs to Dorothy. I thought he was pulling my leg."
"It's… kind of a long story." He looked exhausted at the idea of having to tell it, though.
"I'm beginning to think everything is a long story with you two."
Sam huffed a laugh, but there was little humor in it. "You have no idea."
He turned back to the sink, producing a threadbare towel and starting to dry a plate. Watching him, Nell realized that it was the plate she'd used earlier to serve Kevin.
"I could have done those," Nell said, feeling slightly guilty for having left a mess in the first place.
Sam shook his head, though. "It's no problem." He put the plate away in a cabinet, commenting, "It must have been weeks since Kevin ate something other than takeout and Hot Pockets. It's the least I can do."
Nell couldn't contain a grimace. "You know, if you bought something other than beer, whiskey, and white bread, I could produce food fit for human consumption?"
Looking through the cabinets in search of food fit to serve had been a telling look at life in the bunker. Either the Winchesters weren't here much, or they were nearly incapable of cooking for themselves. Possibly both. What was without question was that about 80% of the caloric value of the kitchen's contents was made up of alcohol.
Sam looked appropriately self-conscious in response to Nell's derogatory tone. "You don't have to cook for us."
Nell appreciated his reluctance. It would not be a good picture if he was too easy-going about letting the woman he was holding in his underground bunker cook for him. But still.
"How long are you going to keep me here, Sam?" Nell asked patiently. The tour from Dean and the talks about the provision of blood had made it sound like she would be staying for quite a while, but neither of the Winchesters had ever said so outright.
"Keep—" Sam sputtered, flushing a little. "I'm not—we're not—"
"Really," Nell said dryly, folding her arms. "So I could just hop in my car and drive away, right now, and neither of you would try to stop me?"
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. Looking apologetic, he dodged answering directly and said, "We have to make sure you're safe. So far as we know there's never been anything like you before… we don't know what's going to happen."
"So I'm going to be here for the foreseeable future," Nell summarized.
Sam coughed. "Uh. Yeah."
"Then for however long this arrangement lasts, I'm happy to cook," Nell said, finally gettin back to her original point. "Consider it payment for the blood you're bringing me, if you want. I really don't think I can describe the irritation I would feel at watching people who still have the capacity to eat real food squander that ability on Burger King and Instant Noodles."
Sam's shoulders hunched inwards at that. His face fell. He made almost uncomfortably-sincere eye contact as he said, quietly, "I'm sorry."
Nell blinked, thrown off for a second at the sudden seriousness on his face. A little confused, she repeated, "Sorry?"
Sam shook his head, looking almost pained. "It's my fault you're like this. If I had been faster, more careful… If I hadn't left you alone with Crowley…"
Ah. So he had latched onto the 'still have the capacity to eat real food' bit. Privately, Nell agreed with what Sam was saying. The situation she was in was almost entirely his fault, and he'd made a number of mistakes along the way. Still, he only seemed to be making them because he cared about her well-being and was trying to help.
So instead of brushing the apology aside, Nell said simply, "You're forgiven."
Sam jerked back a little, like she'd slapped him. The level of disbelief on his face was about equivalent, Nell thought. "Really?"
"Look, I know all this…" Nell gestured vaguely at herself. "Was an accident. You tried to help. And yeah, I'll admit you fucked it up pretty badly—" Sam flinched a little at this, but Nell ignored it and continued, "—but your heart was in the right place. So, you're forgiven."
Sam was still watching her warily, as if he suspected some sort of trap. Slowly, skeptically, he asked, "You're not… upset?"
"Of course I'm upset." It came out louder and harsher than Nell intended, an almost involuntary protest. Sam's eyes widened a little, and Nell drew in a shuddering breath, then released it in a long exhale. With forced calm, she explained, "My life—which I thought would be ending soon, by the way—has been completely turned upside down. I'm now some sort of bloodsucking, immortal monster, living with two very dangerous men who apparently hunt things like me for a living, who keep a demon in their dungeon in their underground bunker built by a secret society."
Nell's voice had crept up in pitch and volume, and she forced herself to take another deep breath and lower it again. "I am a few straws away from a total meltdown. I am upset." Nell sighed heavily. "But at the situation, Sam. Not with you."
Sam's eyes were still wide, but he seemed to realize, because he coughed awkwardly and seemed to make an effort to arrange his features into something more normal and less alarmed.
"Right. Okay. Uh… thanks."
Nell nodded. A tense, awkward silence descended for a long moment. Nell forced some humor into her voice to break it. "I can't promise that'll remain the same if you don't go grocery shopping soon, though."
"Uh, right. Make a list of what you want, I guess, and I'll pick some stuff up next time I'm out."
Nell began mentally composing a list almost instantly. She turned to fetch pen and paper from the library, but paused in the doorway to ask, "Is there anything you all like, or won't eat? Allergies I should know about?"
"Dean doesn't really do vegetables unless they've been fried, but no allergies..." Sam mused slowly, then winced. "I, uh. Don't really know about Kevin."
"You've lived with him for months, and you don't know if he's allergic to anything." Nell's voice was bland, but the judgment was clear.
"We're not around a lot," Sam defended weakly. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure he's fine with most stuff. I know he's eaten soy, and peanuts…"
"I'll ask him whenever he wakes up," Nell resolved, because the kid seemed determined to sleep for nearly a day straight, and she strongly suspected he'd just start feverishly working again if she woke him for just a moment to ask. Instead she composed a basic list of pantry staples and returned it to Sam within minutes. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at the amount of vegetables on the list, but didn't comment on it.
Late afternoon the same day, the bunker had a clean, well-stocked kitchen, and Nell began washing produce and preheating the oven. Sam, who had procured the groceries and even helped Nell put everything away, hesitated in the kitchen doorway for a long moment.
"Do you need any help?"
Nell looked at her ingredients, the stove, and the already-greased pan, considering. "Yeah, sure." She didn't really, but from the still-guilty, wide-eyed look on Sam's face, he seemed to want to be helpful. "Think you can handle chopping an onion?"
"I think I can manage." He took the kitchen knife and cutting board Nell offered him. His knife work wasn't particularly graceful, and the result was onion pieces of pretty different sizes. Nell didn't remark on the clear evidence that Sam was far more used to using knives as weapons than as kitchen tools, simply accepting the chopped onion and scraping it into a mixing bowl while handing him some garlic cloves to chop. Sam went much slower on these, glancing over frequently to watch Nell's steady hands as she produced thin, even slices of zucchini with every movement of the blade. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
"Trial and error, mostly. Once we turned 13, my parents had me and my brother cook dinner one night a week to help us 'learn independence', but there wasn't a lot of instruction involved." There had been quite a lot of over and under-cooked food in those first few months, before they'd gotten the hang of it.
Sam's knife paused, and he turned his full attention to Nell. He seemed surprised, for some reason. "You've got a brother?"
"Yeah, Will. He's married to a great woman named Katherine, and they have two kids, Jack and Ellie." The last zucchini sliced, Nell set the slices between a few towels and set a pot on top to press out the excess moisture.
Slowly, Sam returned to chopping the garlic. "...Do they know where you are?"
"...No." Nell paused, fingers fisting into the threadbare towel she'd been using to wipe her hands. "I sent them a message from the Grand Canyon, before…" Nell trailed off, leaving 'the whole vampire thing' unsaid. "I told them I was going to keep heading west. It's normal for me not to check in for a while, but I'll have to shoot them another email soon, otherwise they'll probably think I died alone on the road somewhere."
"That was your plan, wasn't it?" Nell was grateful to hear that there was no judgment in Sam's tone, only curiosity.
"Yes." Nell smiled wryly and opened the package of Italian sausage with a little more force than necessary. "...But not so soon."
"What's your plan now?" Sam's voice was almost too light, too casual. Nell wondered if this question was some sort of test, and if so, what answer Sam could possibly be expecting or hoping for. Nell settled for telling him the truth, and hoping it went well.
"I'm not sure." Nell shrugged, dumping onion and garlic into a pan with olive oil and letting the hissing and popping die down before she continued, "It's not like I could just go home and claim to be cured. The medical miracle alone would attract attention, even without the whole unaging, blood-drinking thing." Nell couldn't imagine trying to tell her fervently-Catholic mother the truth. She might actually try to have her exorcised.
"I'm sorry." Sam took a breath, like he was preparing to continue, then let it go in a forceful sigh, shaking his head.
"What?"
"It's…" Sam still looked hesitant to say whatever it was he was thinking out loud, but at Nell's unrelenting stare he gave in. "It's usually best to keep people you care about away from this sort of stuff, anyway. It's not exactly… safe." From the tension around his eyes and the tightness of his voice, Nell could tell he was speaking from experience.
But Nell didn't need the warning. She'd left home weeks ago with the intention of dying on this trip, and in a lot of ways she already had. There was no going back, either way.
"I'll probably send the occasional message for a month or so and then fake my death somehow." Her family would be expecting a body, but she was sure she could find some way to work around that. "I can always stalk them on the internet to make sure they're doing okay, at least."
Searching for a way to change the subject and dissipate the tension that had descended on the kitchen, Nell asked, "Can you stir this? It should be browned, but not burned."
"Yeah, sure." The tension remained. Even as Nell greased a baking pan with olive oil, she could practically see the blanket of guilt draped around Sam's shoulders.
The familiar tromping of Dean's heavy boots was a relief, even as the man himself stopped in the doorway with a small smirk on his face. "Is that garlic?"
Nell jabbed a stern finger in his direction. "Make a vampire joke and you don't get lasagna."
Dean's eyes widened a little, and he snapped his jaw shut and ducked quickly away from the kitchen. Sam laughed lowly from his place at the stove, and Nell smiled, glad that the tension had finally broken.
An hour later, Dean had successfully refrained from any vampire jokes, garlic-related or otherwise, and was happily eating a heaping plateful of lasagna. Nell watched the Winchesters eat, head propped in her hand and musing over the fact that one of her favorite foods now held less than zero appeal to her.
Dean froze after a few bites, swallowing his mouthful of food and staring suspiciously at his fork. "What's this green stuff?"
Sam straightened a little in his seat, apparently interested to see how the revelation would go. Nell didn't beat around the bush. "Zucchini."
"You snuck vegetables into lasagna?" Dean dropped his fork, looking between Nell and Sam, betrayed. "What am I, five?"
"It wasn't some secret plot," Nell said, raising an eyebrow at his reaction. "As for the second question—well, if you're going to whine like a five year old about a few vegetables…" Nell trailed off suggestively.
Dean glared stubbornly at her for a moment longer, but picked up his fork, shoveling a large bite into his mouth almost defiantly. Grudgingly, around a mouthful of food, he admitted, "S'good."
Less than ten minutes later, after Dean had silently heaped a second helping of food onto his plate, Kevin stumbled down the hallway. He stopped in the doorway and stared for a long moment, then scrubbed at his eyes tiredly with one arm, as if he couldn't decide if he was awake or still dreaming.
Apparently satisfied that, yes, he was indeed awake, he said slowly, "Okay… what'd I miss?"
Dean, who'd been facing away from the doorway, turned at the question. "Oh good, you're awake." He set his fork down and straightened, turning a serious gaze on Kevin. "What did I tell you about opening the door for strange vampires?"
Kevin shrugged, utterly unconcerned about Dean's scolding. Nell rose from the table to make him a plate as he defended, "Sam said she was safe."
Nell huffed a quiet laugh at the 'But Dad said I could!' card. Dean found it less amusing. "Uh huh. And what did I say?"
"You know, it's really hard to take your lecture seriously when you're talking with your mouth full."
Dean swallowed with effort. "She could have killed you!"
"Well, she didn't," Kevin said, sounding impatient, "So unless you plan on making a habit of bringing vampires into the bunker, I don't really see the point of this conversation."
"Children." Nell exited the kitchen and set the plate down at the table before the argument could escalate any further. "No fighting at the dinner table."
Dean grumbled irritably, but complied, and Kevin sat down gratefully. Before he began to eat, Nell asked for her own peace of mind, "You're not allergic to anything, are you?"
"Uh, yeah," Kevin said, looking surprised, but didn't hesitate in picking up his fork. "But unless you put bananas in this…" He arched an eyebrow skeptically, but waited for her response nonetheless.
She hadn't, but there were some in the kitchen that she'd requested for baking. She'd have to make a note not to use them. "You're all clear."
When all the food was eaten, Sam and Dean cleared the table and started on the dishes, leaving Nell and Kevin alone at the table. After a moment of peaceful silence, Kevin shifted and sighed.
"Hey…" Kevin shifted awkwardly again, but didn't glance away. "Sorry… about earlier. I wasn't exactly… I was just…" Kevin sighed, apparently unable to come up with the right words.
"Don't worry about it," Nell said easily. Everything had worked out alright in the end, and Kevin had clearly needed the rant and the food and the sleep. "I was going a little crazy myself, cooped up in the room with nothing to do."
"Right." Kevin relaxed back into his chair and added dryly, "Thanks for not sucking my blood, I guess."
"You're welcome, I guess," Nell joked back, relishing the small smile it elicited from Kevin.
She wasn't sure what it was—a sense of camaraderie she felt with Kevin, who'd also been roped in unexpectedly and against his will to the dangerous world of supernatural creatures, maybe. Or maybe she'd just been traveling alone for too long. Whatever it was, seeing Kevin smile and relax, joking with Sam and Dean… it warmed something in her chest where her heart used to beat.
A cynical voice in the back of her mind whispered Stockholm Syndrome, but she quashed it and put the thought out of her mind. At least, she managed to until the hour grew late, and Dean escorted her back to her room to be locked in while he and Sam turned in for the night.
"Just for a while," Dean assured her as she stepped past the doorway, back into the room with the demolished desk and the sweaty, blood-streaked sheets. Nell turned to look at his face, trying to gauge his sincerity.
She was inclined to believe him. But then, she'd been inclined to believe in his and Sam's fake badges, too. So what did she know? Dean started to close the door.
"You know I could take down this door if I wanted?" Nell wasn't sure what prompted her to voice the question—a desire to delay the inevitable, or genuine curiosity. Dean stopped the door mid-swing, eyes sweeping meaningfully between the shattered desk in the corner to Nell's face.
Dean nodded, slowly, but he didn't look concerned. At Nell's raised eyebrows, he said, "Yeah… but not quietly."
And so the door was shut, and Nell was left alone with her thoughts, and memories of wicked knives.
Or, almost alone.
"You were gone a good while," Crowley's voice greeted her mildly before she'd even had a chance to make herself comfortable. "How was the walkabout? What does it feel like to stretch your legs? I've nearly forgotten."
Nell began stripping off the filthy bedsheets before she answered, figuring that she could at least fashion a comfortable sort of recliner for herself using sheets and pillows so she wasn't stuck sitting in a wooden desk chair all night. "What, weren't you listening?"
Crowley sighed a little, as if disappointed. "My hearing is keen, but it's not vampire keen. Frankly, I'm surprised I can hear you so well... I imagine it's some coincidence of air vents that connects your room to the dungeon."
Interesting thought. Maybe she'd ask Sam and Dean tomorrow if she could relocate.
"You found the escape route yet?" Crowley asked hopefully.
Nell rolled her eyes. "What on earth makes you think I'd help you escape?"
"What, you're on Team Winchester already?" Crowley asked incredulously. "Really? You're a prisoner here, too, you know, roaming privileges or no. You're awfully quick to trust the men whose fault it is you're in here."
Nell fluffed her pillows with perhaps a little more force than necessary. "Are you including yourself in that number?"
"I never pretended to be a good guy," Crowley said quietly. "I'm always out for my own interests. It's reliable. It's something you can count on. Now, the Winchesters? They're unpredictable." Crowley paused, seemingly for dramatic effect. "They say they're the good guys, and yes, granted, they've saved the world a time or two. But they've left an awful long trail of bodies behind them in the process, and if you're not careful you'll be the latest."
Nell let his words hang in the air for a moment, considering. Then, curious, "Were you rehearsing that little speech the whole time I was gone?"
"You don't believe me?" Crowley sounded unsurprised and unbothered. "Fine. Don't. Believe Kevin. Or better yet, Carver Edlund."
Nell racked her brain for a moment, trying to place the name, but it was utterly unfamiliar. "Who?"
"Carver Edlund," Crowley repeated lowly. "The prophet before Kevin. He wrote the "Winchester gospels"—or, as they're known in the discount bins of America's bookshops, the Supernatural book series. Details all the Winchesters' messy exploits."
"You're joking." Because he had to be, right? Vampires, demons, the Wizard of Oz—all of that was weird enough. But this was too strange to believe. Then again, it was also oddly specific… he'd even given her the author's name.
"I'm not," Crowley said, soft, satisfied. "Darling, when I lie to you, I assure you it won't be something so easily disproved with a single Google search."
Nell worried her bottom lip. She really, really didn't think it was a good idea to listen to Crowley. But if he was right… if he was telling the truth…
Nell's gaze wandered to her duffel bag that Sam had brought in, where her laptop was. Well, as Crowley had said… it would only take a quick search to find out the truth.