Esme dreamed that she was with her brother.
She wasn't aware that it was a dream until it ended and turned into a nightmare. But each second that the memory lasted, she gripped onto it like it was her last.
She was at the beach, her arms covered with a long-sleeved shirt that was very abnormal for 70 degrees weather. He brother seemed completely fine with it, but she knew that he was a bit sheepish.
She cared about him more than anyone else in the world. He had her sharp eyes and freckles, even the same nose and mouth, but his hair was completely different. It never found it's way to a comb, and was always shaggy and messy.
That just made her love him more.
"Ben," She asked from her place in the sand. She scooped up a handful of sand, letting it wither away like a broken hour glass. "why are you so nice to me?"
Ben scoffed. "I care about, Em, so don't ask."
Esme wasn't done. "But...that doesn't mean you have to stay with me. Why would you want to?"
Ben stared at the ocean, watching the waves crash to the shore and the sky start to fade dark. Nobody else was at the beach, and on different circumstances, Esme would've been glad.
But she wasn't.
Ben spoke again, his voice soft but somehow strict. "Esme, you're my little sister, it's basically my job to care about you. Even if I had a choice to leave you, I wouldn't. I don't care about your 'situation', you're still my sister, and that's not going to change."
She didn't know how Ben was so good at perking her up, but he was an expert. With a sister like her, he needed to have a few compliments handy 24/7.
She knew she was about to say thank you, or something a compliment back, but the scene shifted. The water at the beach faded red, and the sand went as black as night. When Esme looked back at her brother, a new person was sitting there, and she looked like anything but Ben.
Esme didn't know whether to call her hair blond or white, and it looked blue under the darkened sky. Her eyes were obviously blue, for they pierced right down her soul. The made Esme recoil, but something that felt like a wall, shoved her back towards her.
Smoke was coming from the woman's mouth, and a cigarette was placed in her long fingers. Esme bet that she could kill someone with those nails.
"I've heard much about you, Esther." The sound of her real name made Esme wince. She hated it; the way it sounded, they way it rolled off her tongue, and they way it struck up so many memories.
Esme had never seen this woman in her life, and the only people who knew her real name were her father and Ben. She hadn't told anyone, and the last time she checked, even her records were under the name "Esme".
She had just enough guts to ask a question. "Who are you?"
"Quite a common question. It not only shows fear and suspicion, but caution. And with you, Esther, caution is your specialty." The way the woman talked made Esme instantly hate her. She had that aura that snobby rich people had, like she knew she had money and was ready to rub it all over your face.
"Don't call me that." Esme snarled, she had no idea where all the anger had come from. She felt as if she had known this woman for years, like she meant something to her, but not in a good way.
The woman pouted, which was abnormal for someone who looked around the age of 30. "Esther, you don't need to be so rude to me, I have something you want."
Famous last words. Esme though, slipping her hand into her pocket, searching for her sword/knife/bow. She was startled to see that it was empty, which wasn't that surprising, hence dreaming.
Looks like we're going old school. Esme swung her hand upwards, but the woman was too fast. Esme was expecting it, and she aimed a kick at her shin.
She knew she had hit her mark when she heard a startled cry come from behind her, but Esme was already running.
"You can't run!" The woman screeched. "It's your head!"
"Watch me!" Esme yelled back defiantly, sand sliding underneath her as she bolted. She cursed as she slipped and water brushed at her ankles.
"Your choice!" Her voice was fading, but Esme heard it perfectly.
The sand started shifting, this time not from Esme running. It was sinking, like a drain had just opened and was planning on swallowing the whole beach. Esme tried to run away, but the sand seemed to grab onto her legs, pulling her downwards so hard that she fell to her chest.
It pulled her down towards the center of what now looked like a glass whirlpool. The sand had somehow increased in density, and now slicing her skin like small shards of needles.
The pain felt real.
Itsadreamitsadreamitsadream. She chanted in her head, but it didn't lesson the terror that was burning away at her veins.
She'd rather kill someone again.
By the way Esme woke up, Sam knew that she had had a nightmare.
After her little "episode", Bobby had said that they'd better get her to a safer place, or in other words, the panic room. It was pretty self explanatory; panic...room, it was safe.
Dean had taken a picture of what Esme had drawn, as if it had just appeared there instead of having someone carving it onto the table in a trance. Sam had assumed something went wrong to get Esme to do that, such as the presence of the disk Ben had appeared with.
There's another question.
Ben, who was Ben? They had looked similar, and the way Esme had looked at him. Longing, sadness (which wasn't too abnormal for Esme), maybe even a bit of love. But whatever was in her eyes, didn't last long.
Sam was enduring through the pain of listening to Dean's choice in music, which he had lived with ever since he could remember. It was turned down quiet so that they wouldn't wake Esme from whatever dreamland she was in at the moment; she looked like a rock with eyes. Her skin was pale, and she was running a slight fever, but Dean had said it wasn't anything to worry about.
"What do you mean 'nothing to worry about'?" Sam asked. "She just carved strange symbols into Ellen's bar, passed out shortly after, and now we are left with a strange disk and a teenager that looks just about dead. Good?"
Dean drummed the steering wheel, but Sam could tell he was nervous as well. "She'll be fine."
"What make you think that?"
As if on cue, Esme gasped, reeling upward from her lying position in the backseat. Dean immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, nearly causing Bobby (who was followed behind them in his car) to crash into them.
Esme had somehow managed to open the Impala's door before Dean unlocked them. She bursted out, collapsing onto the gravel beside the Impala. Sam said something to Dean, but he wasn't too aware of what it was.
Esme shivered on the ground, but Sam knew that it had nothing to do with the cold. Dean appeared next to him, placing a hand awkwardly on Esme's forehead.
"She's...cold." Dean looked up at Sam, his face showing a mixture of concern and fear. "She feels dead."
"What's goin' on here?" Bobby was approaching them, surprise on his face like a mask. "You nearly made me crash...oh...balls."
When he saw Esme, shivering and clutching at herself, he joined the brothers in examining her. Her body heat, more like "body cold", was dropping at a fast rate. She was breathing erratically, and her pulse was pretty normal, but it was her temperature that threw them off.
"It shouldn't be that cold." Bobby said.
"Yeah," Sam had stripped off his jacket and placed it over Esme. It made hardly a difference. "we have to get her to your place, Bobby."
"How?" Dean asked. "When she's like this? As far as we're aware, she could be a walking bomb."
"Notta bomb…" Esme mumbled, her voice weak and scared. Her eyes were unfocused, but she had somehow managed to stare sharply at the hunters. "Ben…I'm sorry…"
"Hey, calm down," Sam fell to his knees to sooth Esme. "We're taking you to back to Bobby's place."
Esme missed Ben.
He was the only bit of her family still alive, and he was the only reason she kept going. She cared about him more than anything, even herself. All she wanted was him, and she was ready to do anything to get him back.
She had never felt more helpless in her life.
Sure she was weak, but that was no excuse to causing the whole "pack" to go into panic. She hated herself for doing that, mostly because she still didn't trust each of them fully. But also because it was delaying her chances of getting to her brother.
Whatever that disk had done to her, it wasn't helping at all.
She felt like someone was blocking her memories out, hiding them, like a glass wall that only got thicker each time you touched it.
She sat in the back seat of the Impala, her head in her hands as she looked out the window. The trees passed by like brinks of light; fast and out of sight as soon as they were seen.
She could feel the questions in the air, and Dean had many more than Sam. She wanted to answer them, but she was too lost in her own questions to do anything about it.
God, why did it have to be her? Sure, she was used to thoughts like these, but this time it felt more...pure.
She had broughten such a burden on the brothers, and it wasn't their fault either. They had just been doing there jobs, and it was her fault as well as agreeing to coming with them. Dean would never trust her, which Esme wasn't sure was a good or bad thing. Sam was too nice, which was definitely a bad thing, for it would make telling him the truth harder.
She knew what she needed to do.
"Why are you-" She began.
"Stop attempting to-"
"We should probably-"
The after-effects of all talking at once was downright awkward. Dean was doing his best at drowning himself in anything but the awkward air. His solution was downright weird; he was browsing through the many rock songs that he knew, trying to find one that would fit the awkwardness that now filled the car.
It made Esme laugh.
She hadn't laughed in...forever. But now it felt almost heavy. Happiness and her had made an agreement years ago, and she rarely cracked a smile that would actually be a real one. Deep down, she somehow knew that this laugh, this happiness, was as real as the air around her.
The air turned so fast into surprise it was like a switch had gone off.
When Dean spoke, his voice was extremely hesitant. "Um...did I miss a joke?"
Esme was having a lot of trouble containing herself. "Y-y-you think like an asshole."
Sam's mouth flew upward at an alarming speed. His own laughs started to join Esme's, but Dean glared what Esme could only describe as a whole arsenal at Sam, forcing away his smile with alarm.
Puzzled, Dean asked, "What do mean I 'think like an asshole'?"
"I can tell you like rock songs, but not that you literally breathe rock music." Esme said, the glare Dean was giving her did nothing to the buzzed feeling in her chest.
Dean looked at Sam. "What did you do to her?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Nothing."
A smile was appearing on Dean's face, very slowly.
But then light filled the car, blinding Esme and making her cry out from the pain it brought into her head. Dean was shouting something, Esme screamed louder.
"Shut your eyes!"
