Hi, hope you enjoy this chapter. A big thanks to anyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite as always. Hope I'm keeping it interesting enough for you all! :)
"What have you done to Nate?" Miriana asked in a quiet voice. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold the phone to her ear.
"Nothing he won't recover from. Yet," he replied. She could literally hear the smirk in his voice.
"Why are you doing this?" she hissed into the phone, "Why Nate?"
He laughed, an awful cold, predatorial sound, "Why else? To get at you, sweet cheeks."
"Then why not just kill me? Nate has got nothing to do with this," she snapped.
"Well I would have done," he said, a mild note of annoyance in his town, "If it weren't for that angel you've got perched on your shoulder."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't be cute, Miriana," he growled, "You know perfectly well who I'm talking about. Castiel, is it?"
Miriana let out a derisive snort, "He's not my angel. Are you so pansy that you won't even come close to me because of him, even when he's not around?"
"He's always around, that's the problem. Those celestial dicks are really persistent, you know. Your pretty blue eyed boy is always hovering around you somewhere, like he's your goddamn guard dog, or something. My demons have been tracking you for weeks, but every time they get close he's there. Either him or some old bag I've seen a few times."
"What the hell are you talking about?" she snarled, "I only see him a few times a month. And I have never met this woman you're talking about."
He gave another cold, raucous laugh, "Looks like you've got yourself a stalker, Miriana."
"I....I..." she couldn't think of anything to say. Were the demons lying about how much time Castiel spent around her without her knowing?
"Lost for words huh?" he asked mockingly, "That's rare. Maybe this will make you a little chattier, baby doll."
She heard shouting in the background and a clatter of metal, and then sharp rustling as the phone was passed between hands.
"Miriana?" came Nate's hoarse voice over the phone line. She felt the tears that had been threatening to spill over her eyes roll down her cheeks in hot streaks.
"Oh my god, Nate," she breathed, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, "You?"
She let out a choked, hysterical laugh, "Not too bad."
There was a crackle as the phone was pulled away, and Reuben's cruel voice returned,
"See Miriana, he's fine. And he'll stay that way it you come and find us within twenty four hours. If you don't, you'll be taking him home in a matchbox."
Miriana took a deep shaking breath, fighting back the fresh wave of tears, "Where are you?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"560, Industrial lane, Minnesota," he snapped coldly over the phone, "Twenty four hours, be here. Come alone and unarmed. No angels, no Winchesters, nothing. Understood?"
He cut the call off without waiting for her reply. She supposed with the terms he had given her, he guessed she would comply. She felt the phone slip out of her hands as she dissolved into fresh tears, trailing down her cheeks in burning streaks. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel again, sucking huge breaths of air in her lungs, desperately trying to control the hitches in her breathing, almost choking on the lump in her throat. She had to go to Reuben; it was the only thing that would stop him from stripping the skin from Nate, piece by piece. She wasn't going to ring Sam or Dean for help, as she'd understood perfectly clearly what would happen if she didn't go to them alone. He would kill her and Nate. She sat up straight in the seat, wiping the salty tears away from her cheeks, her fingers coming away stained black with mascara and eyeliner. She opened the glove box and fumbled with her trembling fingers until she found the box of tissues and pulled a few free, checking her reflection in the mirror, scrubbing the black smudges away from underneath her eyes. She pulled her eyeliner pencil from her purse and diligently reapplied the makeup, replacing the dark lines. If she was going to die soon, she was at least going to look good. Live fast, die young and leave a pretty corpse, didn't it go something like that?
She started the car so it roared into life, turned her Guns 'n' Roses CD up until it rattled the frame of the car, and began the long drive to Minnesota, resolutely ignoring the throb of fear lodged in her chest.
***
Driving on the long, straight empty roads gave Miriana chance to think.
She wasn't really sure if she was afraid of dying. Any time she had come close to death, she had never really had much chance to think about what was waiting for her on the other side. It had always happened too fast for her to mull over it. But now she had hours to think. Too much time, really.
She saw this as her chance to atone for Cristian's death, as although she never let herself think about, it was her fault. She had been the one that had rushed after the demon, hell bent on revenge for her parent's death, ending up hooked up to a network of tubes in a hospital bed, comatose, while Cristian's torn up body ended up in the morgue. It was her recklessness that had lost him his life, and that fact had haunted Miriana since the day she had woken in that bland, sterile room, her body broken almost to the point of no repair. She had never quite decided what had hurt more, the scars or the guilt. If she could save Nate's life in return for her own, at least she could die with clear conscience. On the positive side, it would probably reduce her chances of returning as a vengeful spirit.
She had left messages on both Sam and Deans' mobiles; she had been almost glad they hadn't answered. She didn't think she would have been able to get the words if they'd been listening to them on the other end. She couldn't bear the idea of ringing her aunt and hearing her voice on the other end, so she had stopped at a gas station and written her a note, folded it carefully and placed it on the passenger seat. She did the same for Bobby, as hearing his gruff voice, the voice of the surrogate father that had protected her and helped her all through her life would only tip her into a fresh wave of tears. She was emulating Dean in that respect; keep all those feelings bottled up safely inside. She wasn't going to face death crying like a little girl. She turned the volume up a little louder, so the thundering drumbeats numbed her frayed nerves.
She had considered Castiel a few times, but she didn't have the bravery to call for him. The idea that it might the last time she ever saw him made the sting of tears start behind her eyes. It was too painful, thinking that she might never fall into his deep blue eyes again or listen to his calming voice. Besides, she didn't imagine that he would care too much if she died. He surely had too many other things to think about, like the devil rising from hell or the threat of the apocalypse and fire raining from the sky. She was nothing compared to that. She was tiny in the big scheme of things. But she clung to that tiny, fragile hope that flared up in her chest that maybe, just maybe he would feel just a little bit of pain if she died. Just a little, before he carried on with things so much more important than her.
She glanced at the clock; she still had six hours before she had to meet Rueben. She still had plenty of time. Her head was feeling a little fuzzy and her eyes were aching with tiredness, and her brain was screaming for coffee. She carried on down the road and pulled in at a service station, its neon sign blaring over the road, it colours muted against the slowly fading light. She waited in the long queue beside the counter, frustrated that this was the way she was spending what was likely to be the last few hours of her life, standing in a gas station waiting for coffee. Shouldn't she be going on a drinking binge in a bar and dragging the cutest guy back to her hotel room? Or maybe she was thinking a little too much like Dean for her liking.
She returned to her car, parked in the farthest corner of the car park. She leaned against the bonnet, breathing in the early evening air, mixed with the harsh tang of gasoline. She had always thought it had sounded like a clichéd movie quote when people said you didn't really appreciate the simple things in life until it was coming to an end, but she found she could kind of agree with that statement. She hadn't really realised how much she loved eighties rock, or how good cappuccinos tasted.
She had the feeling that Reuben wouldn't make her death quick, like snap her neck or stop her heart with a twist of his fingers. She guessed it would give him much more enjoyment to peel her skin of, bit by bit, listen to her screams, to prolong it for as long as he could. After so long chasing her, she couldn't imagine he would want it over and done with quickly. She got the impression he was something of a fan of torture; he probably even interned under the master of torture himself, Alastair, down in hell. Well, life, and death, it seemed, could be a bitch. She took a last swig of her coffee and turned to unlock her car, and walked straight into a solid figure next to her.
For a heart stopping second, she thought it was Reuben, come to find her early, but she looked up into a pair of stormy blue eyes and instantly relaxed.
"Cas, bloody hell, you frightened the crap out of me," she said breathlessly, stepping back, increasing the small distance between them.
"You can't go to him," he said, his voice low and intense. She frowned. How the hell did he know already?
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"Reuben, the demon," he replied, "You can't go. He'll kill you."
"I have to," she whispered, her voice breaking against her will, "He'll kill Nate. I can't let that happen." She felt the lump rising in her throat again. She was surprised to see the anguish colouring his eyes when he looked at her. He said nothing.
"You have to understand," she said quietly, closing her long fingers around his arm, "I can't let someone else die because of me." She blinked back the tears, determined not to cry in front of him.
He cupped her face in his hand, the warmth of his skin burning straight through her skin and sinking into her bones, "Cristian's death wasn't your fault," he murmured, "And neither is this. You don't need to sacrifice yourself."
She folded her hand over his and gently returned it to his side, surprised by how much she missed the warmth of his skin against hers. "Yes I do." This was too painful. She turned away from him, back to the handle of her car door.
He caught her hand, pulling her back to face him, "Don't..." he said, his voice raw with pain. She hadn't expected him to be so pained by the prospect of her death. She almost would have preferred cold indifference; this was too hard for her.
"Just let me help you," he pleaded, "Don't go alone. They won't be a match for me."
She shook her head, "I can't. If I don't go alone, they'll kill Nate. I just...can't..."
She tried to pull away again, but he kept her anchored in place, his hand tightened over hers. She swallowed hard, fighting the hitch in her chest. Why did he care so much?
They stayed like this for a few long seconds, then Miriana gave up trying to fight against him and threw her arms around his neck, turning her face into his shoulder, breathing in the clean smell of cotton and that light scent underneath that she could only describe as the smell of sunshine. He stayed still as a statue, as if unsure of what to do, but then she felt his arms around her waist, pressing her so close against him she could feel his heart against hers, like he was trying to mould her body into his. She moved her fingers across the nape of his neck, brushing through the short lengths of his dark hair, and she felt him shiver. She let out a trembling breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and she pulled away slowly, brushing her lips gently against his cheek, the stubble on his jaw grazing against her skin. His arms around her were as strong as iron, and she thought, almost hoped, for a second that he wouldn't let her go. But he released her, his eyes dark when she looked up at him. She swallowed hard.
"Miriana..." he began softly. She turned away quickly, before he saw her dissolve into tears.
"I have to go," she choked out, yanking the handle of her car door so it flung backwards, and threw herself into the front seat. She jammed her keys into the ignition, very aware that he was still stood there as if frozen to the spot. The music blared back into life, drowning out the roar of the engine and she pulled out of the parking lot, turning onto the road with a screech of tyres. She couldn't bear to look in her rear view mirror. She managed to get halfway down the highway before she burst into tears.