Hey everyone!
Hope you're all okay!
Next chapter, and it's a little downhill for Evelyn from here, and a good dose of the Winchesters come into play!
I've been wanting to get up to this part forever, but I didn't want to rush it! I hope you like it, let me know if you do (or if you hate it too, be brutal :))
Enjoy :)
11: The Tables Turn
A few hours later I walk – or rather I stumble into the cabin, pushing open the heavy wooden door but I barely feel it. All of my cognitive functions are focused solely on the headache that's currently drilling its way through my skull, spreading like wildfire down my spine.
I rub at my temples desperately, seeking any kind of relief but the movement feels slow, way too sluggish. God, if this is what a single bullet can do.
The migraine really took off shortly after I left the gas station, the headache building and mounting with every step. Now it's a colossal presence inside of my head that demands attention.
I fumble for the light switch, vision blurry as hell but I immediately regret it when the light pierces my eyes. I practically punch the wall trying to turn it back off, stumbling into the cabins log wall. It's like every ounce of energy is slowly being sapped right out of my body.
Even the rays of grey light that shine through the windows are a little too much, despite the fact that it's only just approaching dawn. The whole cabin is cast in shadows of darkness, out of reach of the windows, shadows that expand and twist each time I bother to look up.
A gunshot shouldn't do this, even if it was to the head – something is wrong, really wrong.
I lurch forwards, nausea rolling heavily through my stomach with the movement and I careen to the floor, hands shooting forwards, a clumsy attempt to stop my face from meeting the wood. Splinters bite into the skin of my palms and I blink, mouth flopping open as the ground yawns and stretches, the wood melting before reforming.
When the rays of light illuminating the floor are broken however, I look up, jaw still slack.
A trench coat greets my eyes, although the colour is way off. I follow the line of the suited body, and it's an understatement to say that I'm surprised by the decidedly heavenly presence filling my cabin.
Castiel glowers down at me, his blue eyes as hard as steel.
"What?" I mumble, squinting, blinking rapidly.
He cocks his head to the side, studying my frame intently before crouching down slowly. My muscles shimmer and flex in response, and I desperately want to stand, to do something – they quiver when I try, refusing to obey. No matter what I do they're fighting me tooth and nail this morning.
He flicks his hand back, and it's like someone's opened up a wind tunnel directly beneath me. I go flying, sailing out of the cabin without a moment's notice, taking the entire bloody door with me.
It hurts like a bitch. Wood splinters rain down as I thump heavily to the ground, skidding a few feet away. Gravel crunches and scrapes beneath me and I cough, breath exploding out of my lungs. For a second all I can see is stars and darkness, pain throbbing down my side.
The grey sky taunts me as I stare up at it, raking in every ounce of oxygen that I can. When shoes crunch across the gravel I roll over, balancing on my elbows as the stones bite into the skin.
He stands a few feet away, watching as I struggle to stand. I'm not sure, but I think the blow has managed to reboot my brain because my muscles decide to finally get their arse into gear, responding somewhat. Everything feels shaky and weak, but I gain my footing.
And then I smell them. Sam and Dean. Their scents penetrate my nose and I'm not surprised when they exit the tree lines seconds later, guns and machetes raised my way. The trio flank me on all sides and I look up, closing my eyes.
Their heartbeats are like goddamn drums pounding in my ears, an explosion of sound that sends my brain into overdrive.
"What the hell is this?" I rasp, offering a small laugh as the taste of copper assaults my tongue, "You all come to off me, huh?"
They don't speak, they just brace themselves further, guns raised and Angel cocked.
"How'd you find me, anyway?" I say, wiping at my mouth. A little blood stains the back of my hand.
"We have our sources," Sam says, and I shake my head, laughing as I stare at the rocky ground. This source of theirs… I want to know who the hell it is, because they're the best goddamn source I've ever heard of.
The world tilts a little as I look up before righting itself.
How the hell did they even find this place? This source must be someone close to me, someone who knows things. One of the witches maybe?
So many questions, so little time to answer them. It's not like they're very forthcoming, anyway.
Rather than delay the inevitable I splay my hands out wide, standing a little straighter, even though the movement has my tummy flipping.
"Well, come on then. I haven't got all day."
I expect some kind of rush, you know? Like they all would just... jump into action maybe - charge me or something? But instead they share a rather fleeting look, eyes flickering to one another and I sigh, hands on my hips as they press closer.
Castiel is obviously the main threat here, after all, the guy just sent me flying with a minute flick of his wrist. So if I can just focus my efforts on him, maybe I'll have enough energy at the end to finally off the Winchesters.
It's sooner than I would have liked, but they've kind of forced my hand here.
The familiar well of power that thrums beneath my skin shivers as I try to access it, urging it forwards but it's slow, lethargic. Before it used to be a tidal wave of energy, a river that flushed through me whenever I unleashed it. But now? It's like someone's built a dam, with only a few small holes that let the power trickle through.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to turn black, for my vision to stop rebelling against me, and even longer for my claws to take form. My cheeks don't burn, strangely enough. So I'm going to assume that only my eyes are the thing turning black today.
I'm being smothered, but by what?
What the hell is happening to me?
The momentary panic is a little blinding, and I'm ashamed to say that I lash out without thinking, canines lengthening as I swipe at Cas. He jumps back, narrowly avoiding the blow but he's not fast enough, because the next swing catches him straight across the chest. Too intent on doing some damage, I only stagger to a stop when blood and light spills out of the four slashes in his shirt, a blinding mixture of blue, white and red. It's distracting.
Angel's bleed light?
He staggers back and I raise my hand again, teeth bared.
"Cas!" Dean yells and boots scuff the ground. I whirl, sending a roundhouse kick his way. The blow catches him in the jaw and boy, does it look like it hurts. He snaps back, spinning to the ground as his brother lunges forwards, taking his place.
I duck, just in time too as a huge fucking knife sails right through the space my head previously occupied. On my way up I claw his thigh deep, ripping what I can with a snarl and he grunts, stumbling back. Blood quickly seeps through his jeans and the sight, the smell is invigorating.
Dean's already getting up though, wiping his lip as blood dribbles from a newly formed cut. Dean's blood is like nothing I've ever smelt before, tempting and altogether too irresistible to ignore. Frenzy mode comes into play.
Castiel appears to be on the mend too, and his recovery draws my attention back around. Angel first, Dean later. He frowns as I approach, his chest no longer glowing and I smile. His form shimmers, but I think that's because my eyes are still trying to play catch up.
"Big mistake coming here guys," I snarl, back handing the Angel, "Big fucking mistake."
They've essentially sealed their fates.
Something slams into my shoulder hard, and I jerk forwards with a grunt, pain slicing down my back like acid. A gun shot echoes the attack, and I stop, looming over the Angel as blood begins to dribble out, down my back.
Another gunshot wound?
God, and this one burns like a mother too.
I twist around, lips pulled back. Dean's gaze is fierce as he stares down the opposite end of the barrel of the gun, and he fires another two rounds in quick succession. They punch into both of my shoulders, a battering ram of pain and the debilitating weakness from earlier returns full force, burning outwards from the two, newly formed holes.
I try to take a step forwards, I really do, but instead I fall to my knees, legs just... giving out.
Blood coats my tongue.
What the fuck is happening?
Why is the wound taking so much out of me?
This just isn't normal, this hasn't happened before. I'm a little worried, to be honest, especially as blood begins to pool in my mouth.
Dean pulls the gun back, holding his hands up as the weapon hangs from his thumb. I frown as he blurs, his frame blending in with the greens of the forest behind him before coming into focus once again. Blinking does nothing, it's like trying to see through stained glass.
He grins though, that much I can tell.
"Poisoned bullets, darlin'" he offers, and my jaw drops all on its own, blood pouring out of my mouth in a slow, continuous drip. "They really do a number on ya'."
He isn't kidding. Fuck, my body is going into full shut down mode. This has only happened a few times before, it's like a precursor before death. A way to immediately repair the damage, staving off the usually mortal wound until I can fully recuperate somewhere down the line.
Everything is going numb, fast.
"You think… this will keep me down for long?" I gasp, even as blood continues to tumble out of my mouth. It's a stark, red contrast against the ground.
Dean's all smiles as he approaches, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans, "No, but we've got an angel who can help."
Cas moves around to join him, and they both tower over me as I sway a little. He steps forwards, white light burning out of those blue eyes of his and I flinch back, head pounding as it blinds me. Two cold fingers press directly against the centre of my forehead, and then it's lights out.
"How long… be out for?"
There's a lot of shuffling, a lot mumbling. All muffled by the sound of an engine.
"Not sure… poison helped but… process."
Castiel?
Dean?
I don't know, it sounds like them.
I groan, consciousness fighting me for all its worth. It doesn't want to return to me, not at all.
"Oh shit," someone mutters, and those two cold fingers return.
And then I'm gone again.
God, waking up has never been so hard.
It's like wading through a swamp of thick, murky mud, with a surprise every step of the way.
My arms feel numb, too, to top it all off. They tingle, the blood supply clearly cut off and I jerk forwards, wanting to move them down only for cold metal to bite into my wrists.
I shake my head, brain still foggy as hell. The movement sends a spike of pain through it though and I groan, nose scrunching up.
Okay, ouch. No moving of the upper region of my body for the time being, then.
I feel like I'm dangling on something, strangely aloft and my ankles ache something fierce, like I've slept on them funny. With a few, awkward fumbles I manage to get my feet underneath me so I'm standing and not just balancing on the bloody joint.
Instinct demands I open my eyes, take in my surroundings but each time I try to it feels like someone's rubbing sandpaper across them. I persevere though, grimacing the entire time, but I manage it.
Only to be greeted by stone cold darkness.
A surge of fear so powerful it robs my breath slams through me and I jerk backwards, the cuffs stopping me.
There's nothing like it, this type of fear. It's all consuming, contaminating your thoughts as it steals your breath. It steams through me like a freight train in my chest, and all of a sudden I'm back in that basement, back in that house.
I blink, shaking my head despite the migraine from hell. The memory recedes a little, but as a cold draft crawls across my body it returns with a vengeance, and the metal around my wrists grinds into the bones as I pull at them desperately.
The chains are back, rattling away, the manacles are around my wrists, and it's hard trying to differentiate between the then and now. It's all too similar, it's far too real. Even the smell is the same, a tinge of old blood and fear.
I'm not there – I know I'm not. But what if I am? What if this is just another one of their mind games? A sick dream or torture device she's implanted into my head. Her and Algernon, another way to break me.
They're dead though, they're all dead. I know they are.
But logic is useless, and I ride that train into the depths of my own personal hell, the darkness closing in once more.
I've never been one to really suffer from claustrophobia, but now I feel like wherever I am is closing in on me fast, and I pull on the chains once again. The answering rattle only serves to further solidify the memory.
God, I'm losing it. Breath saws in and out of my throat, whistling with each inhale and exhale and I squeeze my eyes shut, staving off the memory. But I can see it, I can see it all now – I can fucking breathe it. They're waiting outside, just beyond the door, waiting for me to lose-
Light blinds me, a rectangular slice that scrapes into existence, metal grinding against concrete.
A dark silhouette follows it and I cringe back, the chains jingling obscenely. There he is, he's back, come to finish what he started.
The light flickers on and instead of Algernon's familiar face, I see Deans, and a relief so palpable it's almost tangible swamps through me. He looks really confused, but so am I. My heart almost skips a beat when he quirks a brow, despite the fact that it's going a mile a minute.
"What the hell?" he mutters, and I look away, sweat dribbling down my temple.
He may be chasing the waking nightmare away, but that doesn't mean I want him to know that. So instead I focus on the room, now that its contents are revealed to me.
It can only be described as a box, a box of pure, solid concrete. Green cabinets make up one wall, the other three are solid stone. And a huge demon sigil marks the floor beneath my feet, alongside a table pushed to the side of the room. A few menacing looking items cover the top, and I stare at them before finally meeting Dean's eyes again.
This place is a hunter's wet dream.
I swallow as he enters the room, his eyes tracing my frame before he meets my gaze, "You been crying?"
I blink, because my eyes do burn a little. But my cheeks are dry, despite their rapidly reddening state, "No," I spit.
He frowns a little, but I'm too busy trying to figure out what's going on to really care. Now that there's light, I can see why my arms are dead. They're currently being secured above my head by a pair of golden handcuffs. Weird symbols are carved into the sides of them, and looped through the chain connecting the two cuffs together is another, grubbier chain that's bolted to the low ceiling. I pull experimentally on them but there's just no give whatsoever.
My mouth feels dry as I take Dean in once again, and my heart is still pounding away. It helps to look at him, to centre myself in the present, even if it means observing him for longer than what I'm comfortable with. It's grounding, for some reason.
He looks at ease, despite the tired look in his eyes, dressed in an open button down shirt; casual, relaxed. Even his features are relaxed. He doesn't even scowl when he looks at me. No, instead, he studies me as I study him. I focus on the few freckles that stand out across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, because otherwise I'll be confronted by the curious yet evident annoyance in his eyes.
He hasn't shaved, and I grin a little as he moves towards me, the faint bruises beneath his eyes evident enough that he hasn't slept in a while.
"Rough night?"
"You could say that," he grunts.
I smirk, "Bet mine was rougher," and I shake the chains a little.
This earns a small smile, the amusement surprising.
"Mind telling me what the hell is going on?" I finally say, throat a little raw.
"This," he says, circling me, "Is your new home – until we decide otherwise, that is."
I try to follow him as he moves behind me, his footsteps slow and calculated.
"Oh yeah?" I snort, and he comes to a stop in front of me once again. I flex my jaw, meeting his gaze before pulling on the chains a little, "You think these things will stop me from tearing you apart, Dean? You look awfully confident, considering the fact that this ain't the first pair of handcuffs I've gotten out of before."
He raises a brow, and even though I'm on my tip toes trying to alleviate the way the cuffs dig into the tender skin on my wrists, he towers over me, "Ordinary handcuffs? Maybe not. But these handcuffs…" he grins, waving a finger at them, "These babies are one of a kind. They can trap anyone – trap anything, imprison them with no chance of escape. They won't break, they can't be opened by anything other than the key, and they'll keep even the likes of you in them."
Pfft. Yeah, okay.
I'll believe it when I see it.
But a niggle of self-doubt takes root when I yank on the cuffs, only for them to simply rattle in response. It's like I have no strength, no resources at my disposal. My power sits waiting for me to do something, simmering below the surface but when I try to access it, to use it as an aid to my already supernatural strength it practically laughs in my face. It's right there, waiting for me to do something, but it feels just out of reach.
I pull on the chains again, harder this time, gritting my teeth as the skin on my wrists breaks, warmth dribbling down my arms. The tender skin burns in protest, and I let go before doubling my efforts, jerking down even harder as more blood joins the fray. It slithers down my arms, it coats the inner parts of the cuffs but they don't budge one bit.
The cuffs are too tight for my hands to slide through, as well.
Dean watches on in amusement, eyes twinkling when I huff, pulling harder on the cuffs.
Nothing, nothing at all.
Where the hell did the Winchester's get something like this? The cuffs must be throwing off some major mojo for them to be able to effectively cut off my powers… they must be the real deal. They've built a wall between myself and my abilities.
"You having trouble there, sweetheart?"
I scowl, before wrapping my hands around the gold chain and hoisting myself up. A quick kick to his thigh earns a grunt, but that's not what I was aiming for. I drop back down, backing up a little.
"Cheap shot," he snaps.
"Where'd you even find something like this, huh? A couple of two-bit rate hunters like you?"
He taps the side of his nose, grinning as he straightens, "That information is classified, but let me tell ya', it weren't cheap."
It's satisfies me to know that they paid out of the nose for them, be it money or other more valuable assets. He heads over to the table then, confident as he begins to sort through the various, sharp looking objects. I suppose it's supposed to be a scare tactic as he moves a few blades and scalpels about, but it doesn't bother me. I just simply watch on, resting my head against my arm, shaking the limbs a little. Blood still refuses to really pump into the upstretched limbs.
The items all look menacing enough, and some I have never seen the likes of before. But it's nothing terribly new – torture, that is. I'm well acquainted with it – hell, I'm practically best friends with it. If he thinks a few knives are going to scare me into doing what he wants, he's got another thing coming.
Which begs the question, what do they want?
Besides the obvious thing, that is. My death is clearly numero uno on their list of things to do, but they must've brought me here for something else, too. They must be aware of the fact that nothing will me by now, surely.
"If you're thinking your little collection scares me," I say, internally cursing at the way my voice sounds a little rough still. I cough, clearing it, "You can think again."
He spares me a glance before continuing his perusal and I roll my eyes.
Sam enters then, his tall frame stopping short when I meet his questioning gaze.
"You're awake?"
He seems surprised, and I roll my eyes before replying, "Obviously."
He scowls a little before focusing his attention back onto the tablet in his hands.
"Dean?" he says, and the elder Winchester turns to him, "A word?" Sam motions for them to leave and I frown as I watch them go, exiting the box like room and stopping in the room adjacent. It looks like it contains a hell of a lot of files and other junk in it, and I can't imagine why. The two brothers don't look like the type to horde files.
And how the hell did they afford a place like this?
What even is this place?
I should've tried to tail them more often. Sadie's words taunting me, now.
I grimace as I relax, my legs aching from standing on my tip toes for too long, but the answering bite of pain in my wrists has me sighing. At least they've stopped bleeding, which tells me that my healing ability is still in place, albeit a little subdued.
Their discussion quickly turns into an argument, judging by their agitated postures. Their voices are clipped, and I strain to hear them.
"It's not worth it, Dean," Sam snaps, eyes flickering my way, "Don't go down that road again."
"What other option do we have? Tell me," Dean growls, "'Cos honestly, I don't see any other way. We have to find out a way to kill her, or she kills me-"
"I know, but-"
"There's no but's about it, Sammy."
Sam looks away, jaw flexing hard before he faces his brother again and I squint, leaning forwards, "Remember Alastair?"
There's a heavy pause, one that seriously piques my interest. Why does that name sound familiar?
"That was years ago, and we both know Uriel screwed us over on that one."
Sam shakes his head, "I just don't see why it has to be you, why we even have to do it this way."
"Because there is no other way!" Dean snaps, and both of their eyes fall on me. I quickly look away, counting the cracks on the wall. When Dean continues, it's a lot quieter than before, "Bobby found a way to kill the Leviathans by doing this, maybe we-"
"And Bobby did so through sheer, dumb luck alone. Do you really think we're going to have another dish soap scenario again? Or that we'll be that fortunate again?"
Dean shrugs, "It's worth a try."
Sam shakes his head, brows pinched together but apparently the conversation is over because Dean turns my way.
"Looks like it's your lucky day, Evelyn," Dean grunts, entering the room a little.
"Define, lucky," I say, and he grins.
"Lucky, as in I won't torture you just yet," Sam's frame stiffens at the casual reference to violence, his eyes tracing the back of Dean's head as his brother continues, "We'll have to find out what's inside that pretty little head of yours later, huh?"
"Looking forward to it," I say through gritted teeth. "Before you do go, though," I continue, scuffing the floor with my shoes. He cocks his head back, waiting, "Just to clarify, the reason why I'm currently hanging from the ceiling is because you want to find out a way to kill me – which I assume you'll do so by trailing different methods?"
He looks over his shoulder, back at Sam who raises a brow in return. I know what they're thinking. They're going to torture me soon enough anyway, may as well tell me why now.
"Yeah, sure."
"Is that it?"
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes narrowing a little before he replies, "Actually, no. There's another thing – we want to know what the witches are actually planning."
I nod, looking down, "Okay, okay."
"Is that all?"
I nod again, and he turns on his heel, hand going for the light switch.
And with it my fear returns tenfold, a good dose of panic that has me coughing, wetting my lips with my tongue.
"Dean?"
I don't want to face the dark again. The moment that light goes out I fear that the panic will return.
He stops with a jerk, muscles tensing. Waiting.
"Could you um… could you leave the light on?"
His head rises at the request, the muscles in his back tightening a little as he deliberates. My heart seems to pick up speed the longer the silence stretches on.
"No."
And then the lights go out, and the fear returns full force – especially as the two brothers begin to push the metal cabinet like doors back into place, effectively sealing me back in. The room beyond goes dark a second later, too, and I hold myself together for about three seconds.
Fuck.
It's not the dark alone that scares me, it's not the cuffs alone that scares me, and it's not the cold or the smell or the powerlessness alone that scares me – no, it's a combination of all of these things. They're just too similar, and I bite my tongue until I taste blood.
I'm actually looking forward to his return, even if he carves into me.
At least then I'm not left with my own thoughts.
