Chapter 14: Stargazer

Elanor rose early, she'd had a little trouble sleeping. She didn't bother to cook breakfast and went straight to the training rooms for a work out. The weekend had left her feeling particularly weak. She had decided she didn't like the feeling. She wasn't happy playing the victim, though it was never a role she chose for herself. She'd brought her laptop down with her, watching Tae Kwon Do videos, and pulverizing the punching bag. She would have to ask Sam to spar with her for some real training, she knew. She laid every hit on the inanimate object.

But she knew Sam would hold back. She wished there were someone else who would be a little less afraid of injuring her. Yes, she was short. And weak. And typically afraid of causing or recieving pain. But she needed to learn. She was determined to learn. As she padded over the soft mat - pounding kicks into the punching bag she didn't notice Sam materializing in the door way. She jumped grossly when he spoke.

"You're at it early," he said mildly. She looked at him, hair escaping from her ponytail. She was winded, and shining faintly from the exertion.

"I don't like getting sweaty after my morning shower," she told him. He nodded, moving into the room. He wore basketball shorts, and a t-shirt. He was barefoot, which was a little unusual for Sam. "Do you want to spar with me?" He seemed torn. It was an easy request and one she'd made before and he had agreed to. Though she was right - he held back.

"You're not tired?" he asked. In truth she was exhausted. Between the lack of sleep and the hour or more of exercise. But she was also determined. She shook her head, straightening the mat and squaring off with him. He took the cue - bracing himself for whatever attack she was going to throw. She came at him like a fury. Jabs, kicks, palm-thrusts. He met or parried each blow, and as she continue he started to throw his own. She was outclassed and outmatched, but it didn't slow her. Even when his elbow collided painfully with her shoulder. She pushed up against him, bouncing back and throwing a punch toward his face. He dodged it - but just barely, the soft side of her hand just grazing along his jaw. It was an awkward match, for he stood a veritable foot above her, even without shoes. And then an unfortunate thing happened. She turned her head as he feinted to her left - and he caught the edge of her nose. She swore, backing up a pace. He stopped completely, leaning in to look at her. It wasn't broken, but her nose stung painfully and was beginning to bleed.

"Let me get ice."

"No, come on," she corrected, squaring off again. He shook his head. "Sam."

"No, I think that's enough for today."

"Come on, Sam. There aren't any breaks in the field. Let's do this." He was conflicted again. He desperately wanted out of her ferver, but he didn't want to leave her here to exhaust herself. But he continued to protest and she grew sullen.

"I'm going to go find us something to eat," Sam said.

"Fine," she replied. "Just get out and let me get back to it."

"You don't want to go freshen up?" he offered. She leveled a stare at him.

"Not particularly." Though she did a few minutes after he left. Her nose still stung a bit, but her eyes weren't watering anymore. It was lucky it hadn't broken, she knew. It wasn't something they could have fixed easily. She scrubbed herself under the blast of the showerhead. A few minutes later she was dressed for the day - her hair braided back but still wet. She met Sam in the main room. He had cooked for them, mostly eggs. But she was thankful for the food.

"How's your face?" he asked. He looked over at her as she sat.

"Fine," replied Elanor.

"It stop bleeding okay?"

"It had stopped while we were still downstairs talking," she said.

"Right." There were a few moments of silence. "I'm sorry for last night," said Sam. "It was clumsy of me to allow them to follow us." Elanor shrugged.

"I'm not mad at you," she said. But she knew she couldn't quite pretend she wasn't upset in a general way. When had her life become this?

"But you are mad?" he prompted.

"Not at you," she repeated. "I'm just tired of knowing this side of life and still not having any answers of my own." He bobbed his head, trying to indicate his sympathy. She was an aggressive trainer for a few days, she kept herself busy and exhausted. But by the end of the week she was already beginning to itch for an open sky. For people. It was funny, she knew. Before her little coma she'd been quite the recluse. Speaking only to her nearest friends - or her small family. She'd seen Regina maybe once a week, but still her more than anyone else. Most of her interractions were held through technology. Phones or computers.

They found themselves sharing another game of chess when Sam suggested they start drawing blood. She agreed, and he only took about a pint from her. Enough to make her a little woozy. She was getting a little tired of being faint from blood-loss, but at least this was for a cause.

"Sam," she began. He looked up at her, still managaging the needle in her arm. "Do angels feel rejection?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Like we do? Like, is there a chance Othniel's feelings would be hurt by my coming here instead of following his preferences?" Sam thought on it. He knew angels felt rejection because they were all so bent out of shape about God leaving. But... that was the pain of being abandoned by a parent. He explained that before directly addressing her question.

"I don't think Othniel would have taken that personally. He's not a big fan of mine but he wants you to be safe and happy. And if you told him anything that made him think this was an okay choice I'm sure he's fine with it. Has he been checking in on you?"

"More than before," said Elanor. "We've texted every day, I had to walk him through it on the phone, first." Sam smiled a little. He knew how frustrating it could be to explain something to an angel. She sighed a little as he finished, and closed her arm, resting her chin on her palm as she moved one of her pawns forward. It was just a mild side-game.

"Well that's good, though. Keeping in contact." She nodded.

"How long..." She shook her head.

"What?" prompted Sam.

"How long do you think it'll be before I can go home? Do you think I'll ever see the girls again?" Sam didn't want to tell her never. He didn't want to take whatever hope she had away from her. "I just want to know if I should decorate my room or not," she added. She knew he felt the weight of her situation - she wanted to lighten it somehow.

"You should decorate," he told her. They both knew she had put out the bait and he had taken it.

"Will I -" again she hesitated. "Will I be able to stay here?"

"Of course," said Sam.

"Even when Dean comes back?"

"You can stay as long as you need to." She smiled and couldn't entirely quell the tears in her eyes. "Don't do that," he mumbled. He was just uncomfortable.

"Sorry," she said with a watery laugh. "I am going to decorate, though. I think it would help me." He nodded. And over the next few days she did start to decorate. He knew she was working at the project, though he hadn't seen it. Until she came into the research room, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked a bit messy - curls escaping from her ponytail and a smudge of dust here and there. It was cute. She watched Sam expectantly.

"What's up?" he asked. They hadn't stopped drawing blood. They were a little under halfway done with what was necessary for the summoning spell.

"Do you want to see?"

"See what?"

"The finished product," she replied effortlessly. "It's a little messy now because I just finished - but it's done." He stood, taking a moment to stretch before following her to her room. His mouth nearly fell open. He'd thought Dean was a nester. He had nothing on this girl. The concrete walls were almost completely covered. One side of the room was covered with contact paper, she had built a wardrobe against the wall as well, which was a smart improvement to the chest of drawers all of the rooms were equipped with. A large cork board stood on the chest of drawers, now against the other wall. Lights were strewn above her bed - and sheer curtains hung from the ceiling to surround it. Overall the room had taken on an open and airy appearance. Sam was impressed.

"It's like out of a magazine," he said. She beamed. "I thought you were all about books."

"I am," she said. "But I also love fashion and decorating. A girl can have many interests." He nodded, taking her words to heart. "And since I can't exactly go browsing through Bebe whenever the mood strikes me, I'm making pretty things here." She sat on her bed. Sam liked the way she looked, a little messy and homey - perfectly framed by her elegantly redesigned room. She looked, at least for the moment, happy. So he went back to his business and didn't see her again. When he stopped in to offer her dinner he realized she was sleeping and withdrew again.

He sat with the large tome in one of the more comfortable chairs and set to reading. He read well into the night for it was after midnight when he heard the scream. He leapt to his feet, his knife already in hand, and bolted down the hall to Elanor's room. He burst open the door only to find her still asleep. But mumbling incoherently. He edged in, watching her. A nightmare, he realized. He hesitated, unsure whether or not to wake her. But how many days had it been since he'd seen her last nightmare as she tossed and turned after the vampire abduction. How many nightmares had she suffered through? As he stood there hesitating he focused in on how strange she'd been acting - between fighting and decorating and... not eating, he realized. He stepped in, and sat on the edge of her bed - gripping her calf through the blanket.

"Elanor," he spoke. She woke quickly. Too quickly, so that the terror of the dreams still surrounded her.

"Sam," she asked. "Are you okay?" He smiled softly.

"You were having a bad dream," he said. The twinkling lights she'd left on lit the room in a pinkish glow. Her eyes were heavy and confused. She sighed, swallowing back the fear and the sleep. "What was it?"

"Vampires," she said, lowering back into the bed.

"Have you been resting at all?"

"Not really," she replied. "I can't seem to close my eyes without finding one of my fears in the dark." He waited, wondering if he could be of any help. She didn't tell him the entirety of the dream. How it was Sam they had tied to a chair with tubes coming from him - draining him of his life force. And how it was Elanor who struggled against the brutes who laughed at her when she fought and usually ended by biting into her overly exposed throat. She didn't tell him that the dream was about a botched rescue.

"Do you want some water?"

"Sam, do you have allies?" Elanor asked instead. He glanced back at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," began Elanor, shifting to sit up again. "I mean someone you can count on."

"Other than you?" Elanor couldn't hide the clutch in her heart, though Sam thought it was an appreciation rather than fear. "I have... Jody. And Castiel. And a friend who's out of the life." Elanor nodded. "Why?" She didn't particularly want to explain herself. Or, more specifically, to have to listen to his pep-talk if she told him.

"Just wondering."

"You're worried," said Sam.

"Of course I'm worried. I'm living behind the veil."

"Behind the veil is worse," Sam mumbled.

"What?" she asked. She genuinely hadn't heard him.

"Nothing," replied Sam. "It's not important." She eyed him for a moment.

"I think I'm going to take a sleeping pill," Elanor said.

"Do you have any?"

"No," she replied. She laughed. "I was hoping you did."

"I do," he told her. He left the room and she followed, walking barefoot behind him. As he entered his room she realized she'd never seen the inside of it. He always kept his door closed. But she leaned in the doorway as he went to his bedside table. It was quite sparse, though several books lay about the room. From the doorway she could see a shotgun beneath his bed, and a knife in an altered sheath that was attached to it, near the headboard. But as far as personal effects went, there was nothing discernible. He returned with a small green pill.

"What is it?"

"Compressed, powdered sleep," Sam replied. She took it, dry swallowing the medicine. "I would suggest water." She drank a glass and then went back to bed. He didn't hear her after that.

The second week of October was quiet. After the first failure, and the hopeful lead of Metatron turned out to be useless, Elanor and Sam were quiet. Studious. Along with drawing blood on a semi-daily schedule, Elanor had begun to try to learn Enochian. She had underestimated the gruelling task. Today was her birthday, and Elanor treated herself to a couple of small spa-things around the bunker. She started with a bath, allowing her own private celebration as she soaked in the bubbles. And she made her favorite foods, slicing papaya and mango, though they were a bit out of season. She was cooking plantanes in a pan, when she heard Sam speaking in the other room.

She stepped out, and saw Crowley, standing at the end of the long table with Sam.

"I have a little gift for you, songbird," Crowley said, lifting a small paper bag. He'd never used a nickname with her before. She opened the loosened seal and withdrew a fold of tissue paper. She reached in, hooking her finger around a chain and allowed a length of jewelry to spill forth.

The necklace was beautiful. A rose gold chain and setting hosted the most beautiful amber beads Elanor had ever seen. Instead of a portrait of the virgin was a small two-sided amulet. On one side was the demon protection symbol, on the other was an angel ward. The crucifix was a rose-gold frame, that melded perfectly to the narrowly sculpted amber cross.

"It's genuine," Crowley said. "The impressive bit is the amber - you can get that pink gold just about anywhere. But that amber doesn't have any twiddly bits caught in it, that's why it shines so brightly." Elanor looked at Sam. She'd never been particularly enamored with jewelry but this... this one was special. She slipped it over her head, fluffing out her coppery hair over the top of the rosary chain. She didn't notice the faint look of consternation on Sam's face.

"This is gorgeous," she murmured.

"The important thing is that you can't be found out or possessed if you're wearing it. Angels or demons, you're hidden," Crowley added, nodding to Sam.

"Dean can't find her?" Sam asked. Crowley nodded, bouncing on his heels. Elanor nodded vaguely.

"Well it's beautiful," she said. She felt strange. Happy but also... strange. She wasn't sure if she should be overtly thankful or act as casual as Sam was. His utilitarian nature was overshadowing any fun he would have had. But she'd never had a better birthday gift. "Thank you so much." She hugged Crowley who immediately hugged her back, curiously without restraint. She turned to hug Sam but saw that he had moved away from them, and had sat back at the large table. She looked back at Crowley and found that he had tears in his eyes. Sam glanced up, apparently, because the next thing she heard was his voice.

"Are you crying, Crowley?" Sam asked, humor lacing his voice.

"Shut up," Crowley snapped.

"Been a long time since you've been hugged?" Elanor asked, stepping closer to the softening demon king. He raised a hand, bidding her to stay back. But he nodded before disappearing. "That was weird," she said to Sam. He nodded.

"Yes, it was. But he hasn't been his usual self since I almost made him human."

"This was really nice of him," she said. "I miss celebrating things. And this is probably as good as it'll get for now." He closed his laptop. Watching her.

"It's your birthday?" he said carefully. She nodded. "How old are you, now?" She grinned.

"Twenty-five."

"Well," he said, pushing away from the table. He marched into the kitchen and emerged with a bottle of sweet-looking liqueur. "Happy Birthday."

"Where did that come from?" She asked, reaching out to read the bottle.

"I got it so that you might be able to celebrate with us when we healed Dean. Since you don't drink the good stuff."

"Oh, Sam," Elanor replied with a wry smile. "This is the good stuff." He laughed softly, low in his throat.

"Anyway, to you," he continued, pouring two small glasses and encouraging her to toast. She did - the glasses clinking together.

"You know, it's supposed to be bad luck to toast to yourself," she said.

"Well I've broken a lot of mirrors in my day," he replied. "You'll probably live."

"Maybe that's why your life has been such a wild ride," she retorted.

"Probably," he admitted. He seemed to pause, maybe a genuine consideration. "But I don't think so.

"Yeah, sure..." She left the tease hanging, and found herself holding the crucifix in her palm. "Why did Crowley bring me a birthday present?" Sam shrugged. "Do you trust him?"