Hey! I'm still alive. I know I haven't updated this in a while, but I've been working on this chapter slowly due to just moving to a new state and also not being in my own home just yet. I'm also working on another story; Sanity Is Poison, which is just me sticking Wendy in the Walking Dead universe and hoping for the best. The first chapter is up if anyone wants to read it (a warning that it is graphic and deals with very serious situations).
I'm sorry for the wait, don't hate me!
I admit, I haven't looked over this for mistakes. And this chapter is quite long, but I really love this chapter and the banter that happens with the characters. So I hope you all enjoy it to.
If you're feelin' kind leave me a review!
Chapter Eight
"Do you know why you're here? Shall I tell you why we brought you here? To cure make you sane."
-George Orwell
Chapter Quote: "Yeah, alright. We heard you the first time. Three down and ninety-seven to go."
1995 Shreveport, Louisiana
"We're going to try something a little different this evening, Wendolyn." Doctor Larsher began, a seemingly warm smile upon his features; but Wendy knew it as a lie. It was always a lie.
Wendy sat in the small room. I was cold, clinical; smelled like—well she didn't know what it smelled like, but if she had to really try to explain it, Wendy supposed she would say the scent was like a zap. Resembling when she would slide her feet across carpet and then touch metal; the scent hit her in the face every time she inhaled; she didn't like it. The little girl wanted to leave, wanted to go back to her little bedroom in the children's ward and just stay there, to never leave again. But instead, Wendy was here sitting at a small wooden table in an uncomfortable chair; the padding too hard to offer any kind of cushioning and staring at the camera that the doctor had set up to document their sessions as of late.
The room itself offered no solace, the walls too plain, the atmosphere too taut. The toys that littered the floor to her left didn't look like they were meant to be there; just dumped in the middle of the floor trying to look inviting, but the inanimate objects only made dread fill up inside Wendy.
"You're a curiosity, Wendolyn." Doctor Larsher continued, giving the young girl another smile that curled Wendy's insides in a painful grip. "And I want to see how much so."
A knock sounded lightly at the door, and in strode a nurse, Julia. She was young—pretty—with bright blonde hair, her dark roots just starting to show and light green eyes that held a dark glimmer within them. Julia was an easy target for the doctor to manipulate to his liking. Wendy's skin tingled weirdly, stomach tightening as Julia gave Doctor Larsher a slow smile. The young girl didn't know what the feeling was, though she knew that adults were the only ones who experienced the sensation.
Julia's cold gaze shifted to the child at the table.
Wendy visibly shrunk in her seat, tyring to make herself seem smaller than she already was. She didn't like Julia. Whenever Wendy was in the nurse's care, Julia was always a little too rough, dragging her around, forcefully sticking pills into her mouth or unnecessarily locking Wendy into the tiny padded room the doctors and nurses called The Quiet Room whenever the nurse deemed Wendy as overly difficult for the day. Though the thing that unsettled the little girl the most were the violent thought that belonged to the nurse that wandered into her mind whenever Julia was present. It was like short movies of Julia wrapping her fingers into Wendy's hair and throwing her against the wall—of gripping a food tray and bringing it down upon the twelve-year-old boys head from down the hall. Wendy could only praise the clearly violent nurse for her self-control.
"Good evening, Doctor Larsher." Nurse Julia snapped her gaze back over to the intimidating man and smiled sweetly; a pretty maroon twining with pink as her words coloured in Wendy's mind. Wendy didn't know what that meant, she hadn't figured out what most of the colour's meant yet; however, she did know that bright red mean angry—which was something Doctor Larsher became whenever Wendy didn't give the outcome he wanted during his tests.
"Ah yes, Julia. So good of you to join us." the doctor greeted amiably and gestured for the young woman to sit opposite Wendy at the table. "You remember what we discussed earlier?"
"Yes." Julia nodded, taking the seat as requested, staring Wendy down liked the little girl was an opponent of some kind. Wendy averted her eyes and fidgeted; she fought the urge to lift her legs and curl into a ball—doctor Larsher hated when she did that though. Last time he had jabbed her with a needle, made the skin around the puncture sore and bruised for a week from the force of it.
"Good," the doctor gave a nod. "put your hands in the middle of the table." Larsher picked up a notepad as he came around the table to stand behind Wendy, leaning forward to speak softly in her ear. Wendy forced herself not to flinch. "Now, you're going to do exactly what you did to me to the nurse. If you don't, I put you in the chair. Do you understand, Wendolyn?"
The child gave a hasty nod. She wanted him to move away; she didn't like him so close.
"Good girl." said the doctor.
The young girl tearfully meant the nurse's steely eyes. "M'sorry." small hands shot out and latched onto Julia's. Wendy's jagged and bitten fingernails dug into the older woman's tanned flesh as memories, emotions, thoughts swam through Wendy's mind.
In just a few seconds Wendy knew every miniscule detail about Julia. Every thought the woman had, every emotion that she had ever felt was all the tiny little girls now. Memories swirled with Wendy's own—Julia screaming as a child while her father hit her for trying to throw away a beer bottle that he hadn't finished drinking. That same child burning the family dog with the blowtorch she found in their garage; watching in glee as the canine fur caught alight and whimpers escaped the animal. Elven and being held down in the bathtub as her elder brother repeatedly dunked her under because he thought it was funny. Smashing in an ex-boyfriend's windshield when he booted Julia out of their apartment. So many memories coursed through Wendy's mind that she ripped her hands away from the woman and covered her head with her arms—as if that would stop the images from playing over and over.
"Very good, Wendolyn." Doctor Larsher chuckled, clapping his hands together; the sound causing Wendy to start in her seat. "That will be all Julia, thank you."
Julia stared wide eyed at the child before her, the woman's face drawn and pale, though seeming to come back to herself at the sound of Larsher's voice. Julia got up and left without a word. Leaving the other two occupants in a silent room. The only sound Wendy could hear was the soft scratching of the doctor's pen against his notepad. Larsher was still stood behind the girl, which had Wendy wanting to turn around and face him, but she was terrified to do so. If she turned to look, what would she see? Would the doctor morph into something else even more horrifying or was her imagination running away again? Wendy sniffled as he came around the table, his confident foot falls sounding in the tiny room.
"Tomorrow will be the same. We'll be having someone new come in. A very good friend of mine." Larsher smiled widely, eyes glimmering darkly before clasping his hands upon the table. "Now, I'm going to ask questions about Julia and you're going to answer them for me."
"Found him," Samuel announced, writing down the address of Mark Hutchins before closing his laptop just as the waitress came back around with their orders. A burrito was placed in front of Dean, with a Greek salad for Samuel and a hot fudge sundae for Wendy.
They sat at a booth in a little diner, the place was a lot smaller than Marco's, but the atmosphere was the same and had Wendy missing her place of employment and the friends she had there. She wondered how long this whole endeavour would take. She missed Danny and Marco, she missed being invited to their home for dinner and having the two bicker at each other the whole time she was there. She missed Joyce's motherly gaze and words of advice when she asked for it. But mostly she missed her grandmother. Wendy would try to call again after they speak to Mr. Hutchins but feared that she would only be ignored once more.
Perhaps she should just go home. Surely her grandmother wouldn't be too cross with Wendy just strolling through the front door of the old farmhouse. But what if she was? Or what if Grams wasn't there? Maybe she was already off hunting the Valtushard? And if she was, what was Wendy to do, would she follow her grandmother after being given strict instructions to stay away or would she blatantly ignore Gram's words?
Dean's knee bumped into her own as he twitched beside Wendy, knocking her out of her internal conflict. He hadn't really left her side since leaving the Sheriff's station—which was something Wendy considered as strange because of his flagrant untrusting nature beforehand. She wanted to know why. It would be so easy to tear down her walls to shift through his thoughts and see what was going on inside that brain of his. The temptation was high, but Wendy withheld. She didn't think she's be able to justify that to anyone, even herself. Besides, the witch figured that she had seen enough of his thoughts and memories; she didn't need to invade his privacy over something so small. So instead, Wendy watched him eye off his burrito like it had teeth, as if it would maul him at any moment.
"Uh, okay. We'll head over after food." Dean said, frowning down at the burrito in his hands—still looking at it in a distrusting manner. "How likely am I to choke and die of this?" He questioned to no one in particular.
"One in three thousand, four hundred an' eight die chokin' on food." Wendy responded nonchalantly, spooning a large portion of ice cream into her mouth and frowning a little at the hot fudge that was no longer hot. She had no idea where she got the statistic from, having it pop into her mind at the end of Dean's question. Wendy assumed that maybe she had stolen the memory from another long ago, but she didn't linger on the thought; not wanting to bring forth anything she tried ever so hard to forget.
Dean mulled over her words for a moment then shrugged and with a soft "What the hell," took a large bite out of his lunch. "Careful with that." he spoke after chewing delicately, watching while she at the fudge.
Samuel openly stared at his brother and the witch from across the table, a crease forming between his brows as he squinted at the pair. Confusion rolled from the younger sibling as he watched on, letting the two interact in their own unusual way while he took a bite from the meal he ordered.
"It's fine." Wendy paused, playing with the hot fudge that donned her sundae, pulling at it with the spoon. The sugary liquid becoming tacky since being placed upon the cold treat. "Why do they call it hot fudge? By tha' time it hits tha' ice cream it's too cold t' run an' then y' jus' get'ah blob of chocolate that ain't goin' nowhere." Wendy eyed the next lump of chocolate she scooped; sitting upon her spoon, she turned it upside down; unsurprised when it didn't budge.
"You should be careful," Dean repeated, ogling her dessert warily. "Could still be hot."
"But it ain't." Wendy waved her fudge covered spoon near his face that had him flinching away even though the food hadn't moved an inch.
"Son of a—you could've melted my face off!" Dean said dramatically, leaning away from the blonde and shuffling so that the space between the pair was bigger than it was before.
"You alright, Dean?" Samuel asked, brow raised and completely baffled by his brother's sudden interest in the witch's safety, not to mention the extreme anxiousness of sticky desserts.
Samuel was well beyond understanding what was going on. He frowned at the witch, but she only met his stare head on with an owlish blink. Samuel had his suspicions that Dean's behaviour as of late had something to do with the case, and less to do with the witch that was sat next to his brother. He may not have known Wendy for long, but he didn't see how she would benefit from having Dean cling needily to her whenever he got spooked by something stupid; which was starting to happen regularly.
"I'm fine!" was Dean's gruff reply.
"Right." Samuel deadpanned. "Let's just finish and get going."
"Sammy, calm down. If we eat too fast, we'll choke. If we choke, we die." Dean turned back to Wendy. "What was the number again?"
"One in three thousand, four hundred an' eight." the witch repeated, popping a huge spoon full into her mouth; her cheeks puffing outwards due to the food. Dean raised his brows at his younger brother—as if to say 'See?'
Samuel only returned the gesture with an eye roll. "Don't you think you're being dramatic?"
"No." Dean scoffed.
They finished their food as quickly as they could with Dean telling them to slow down and left the diner with the eldest sibling leading the way at a swift pace. He had taken one look at the darkening clouds that hung above; muttering something about getting struck by lightning. Samuel hung back with Wendy, though he could've easily stridden forward to catch up and leave the witch to lag behind the siblings. Samuel slowed his step just a smidge more—so Wendy didn't have to quicken her already fast pace to keep up; her lips stretching into a bright smile to show her thanks.
The car ride over to Mr. Hutchins house was short and in a matter of minutes the trio sat parked out on the curb in front of the house. Dean didn't move, clutching the steering wheel in his hands to the point that his fists turned white. Wendy sat quietly in the backseat of the car, torn between easing Dean's nerves or leaving him alone. Waves of anxiety bowled into her from the elder sibling. It was like someone had dunked her head beneath a water's surface before quickly letting her up for breath, only to dunk her back under again. She stopped herself from bringing down her wards by digging her fingernails into the palms on her hands; focusing on the pain to stop from letting them crumble.
"You good?" Samuel asked, his brow wrinkling as he looked over at his older brother, throwing a hasty glance back at Wendy before snapping his gaze towards Dean. It was an unspoken hint, a request. Wendy knew she didn't have to, but she wanted to—it was a struggle to lower the walls just a little, just enough to get Dean to relax somewhat before she filled in the gap with what could only be described a brick slotting back into place and cementing itself in.
"I'm fine, stop mothering me." Dean bristled, sliding out of the Impala with ease and slamming the door behind him, waiting on the sidewalk for the other two to join him and occupying himself by frowning at a dog that was tied to streetlight just a few metres from where he stood.
"Thanks," said Samuel softly.
Wendy hummed in acknowledgement. "This ain't normal behaviour, is it?" she questioned just as quietly.
Of course, she already knew this—but Wendy still felt the need to have this confirmed for her; just to be absolutely sure that this was most certainly odd. She only received a single nod before they before climbed out of the vehicle to join Dean. The trio made their introductions to Mr. Hutchins, who was a portly man with a jolly disposition, and had open his door with a python that was draped upon his shoulders while they explained themselves.
As they stood out on the porch, the witch watched as Dean grew more and more uncomfortable standing out in the open; continuously eyeing the darkening clouds above them. Wendy followed his gaze upwards, the both of them standing behind Samuel as he spoke with their heads titled back to look up at the sky.
The sky did look a little cranky, so Wendy supposed she could understand Dean's unease. No one ever really liked to be rained on, especially when wearing a suit. Plus, wet socks were never comfortable, and Wendy didn't like the idea of being struck with a cold.
The sound of Samuel clearing his throat had Wendy straightening her position as Dean jumped at the sudden noise. Samuel gestured to the open door and walked through. Dean shuffled over to the doorway and peeked in before pulling away, looking a little stricken.
"Y'gonna' be fine, honey." Wendy said softly so that neither Mr. Hutchins nor Samuel could overhear.
Dean nodded along to her words and stepped through the doorway after he took a steading breath. Wendy followed after him, walking into the home that was filled with various reptiles. Ah. She now understood Deans apprehension before. Wendy didn't mind reptiles, and she always found snakes to be oddly mesmerising with the way they moved; almost that a belly dancer, she supposed.
"Tyler and Perry, "Mr. Hutchins commented, gesturing for them to take a seat. The three were cramped together on the small love seat. "Just like Aerosmith—and that witch from Buffy." The large man grinned happily while petting the snakes head. Wendy didn't know what Buffy was, but gave the man a sleepy smile, watching as he lovingly stroked his pet. She felt the affection Mr. Hutchins held for all the reptiles in his care, and the emotions had Wendy feeling warm and gooey on the inside.
Dean shifted in-between Wendy and his brother, scrutinising the room with apprehension. The witch tried not to frown at the oddness of it all, she had only known Dean for a short amount of time, but she had also been inside his head and she couldn't fathom why he had this sudden change in personality. The strangeness surrounding the sudden change had her more concerned then what she'd usually be. Surely there was something more to it?
"Yeah, small world." said Samuel, hastily brushing aside Mr. Hutchins comment and leaned forward on the loveseat, elbow resting upon his knees as he did so. "So, the last time you saw Frank O'Brien?"
"Monday. He was watching me from his window. I waved at him, but he just closed the curtains." said Mr. Hutchins, frowning at the memory and looking somewhat dejected. Wendy watched the sunny yellow colours of the cheerful man's words as he spoke, the truthfulness of them as clear as day to no one else, but her. A slight nod from Wendy to a watchful Samuel told him the legitimacy in Mr. Hutchins retelling.
Samuel hummed, "Did you speak to him recently? Did he seem different? Uh, scared?"
"Oh totally." Mr. Hutchins nodded vigorously. "He was freaking out." Wendy discreetly side eyed the elder sibling at the moment Samuel did. Dean sat stiffly in-between the two; mildly panicking and taking shallow breaths—his anxiety wiggling into the cracks of her shield and making her twist her fingers together before she noticed and pushed him out. Sweat beaded upon his forehead, and Wendy had to restrain the urge to dab at his brow with the handkerchief that sat inside the pocket of the blazer; lest he swat her hand away.
"Do you know, uh . . ." Samuel paused, as if searching for a better way to phrase the question—wincing for a moment when he found none. "Do you know what scared him?"
Wendy on the other hand was becoming increasingly worried by the elder brother's freak out, she wanted to reach over and grasp his hand to stop him from constantly rubbing his palms against the fabric of his suit pants. She knew she'd have better control if she had the physical contact, but Wendy withheld herself from doing so. No, no that wouldn't be appropriate in front of someone they were questioning. But she allowed her wards to slip again, calming Dean enough to stop the fidgeting—smoothly, quickly, before slamming them back over her mind with a weary sigh.
"Well, yeah, witches." Mr. Hutchins spoke, amusement colouring his tone as he shrugged.
Wendy snapped her head up so fast it almost looked unnatural, "Witches?"
"Like . . ?" Samuel prompted, leaning forward and resting his elbows upon his thighs.
"Well, Wizard of OZ was on T.V. the other night, right?" Mr. Hutchins explained. "And he said that green bitch was totally out to get him."
"Oh," Wendy grinned, clasping her hands together in her lap, "I love that movie!"
Samuel cleared his throat, a small tug of his lips the only thing that gave away his amusement at the witch's outburst. "Anything else scare him?"
"Everything else scared him." The jolly man shrugged and listed: "Al-Qaeda, ferrets, artificial sweetner. Those pez dispensers with their dead little eyes. Lots of stuff."
"An' Frank? What was he like? Wendy asked, watching on as Mr. Hutchins shifted a little in his place upon the overstuffed armchair.
His forehead became wrinkled while he took a great interest in the floor beneath them, "I mean he's dead, you know? I . . . I don't want to hammer him, but—he got better."
"He got better?" Samuel asked.
"Well, in high school he was . . . he was a dick."
Wendy's mouth pulled down into a frown at the word.
"A dick?" Dean tuned back into the conversation, finally taking his eyes away from one of the snakes in the glass enclosure to their left.
Mr. Hutchins nodded along. "Like a bully. I mean, he probably taped half the towns butt cheeks together." He muttered the last part, though not low enough for the elder sibling not to hear. Dean sat snickering between Samuel and Wendy before Mr. Hutchins shot him an annoyed glare, "Mine included."
The thought or Wendy should say memory, wiggled through her wards of a chubby pre-pubescent boy being cornered and shoved in a school locker room by a younger looking Frank O'Brien and Al Britton—the sheriff. The emotions that accompanied the memory were ones of humiliation and shame, which had Wendy breathing deeply to try and not let the feelings take control. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fill her eyes and pushed the memory back and away from the forefront of her mind.
Clearing her throat, Wendy reached over towards Dean and gave his ear a swift flick that had him flinching away and shifting his eyes all over the room. "Do'ya think anyone would wanna' hurt Frank? Revenge, maybe?" Wendy questioned for a distracted Dean. She vaguely noticed Samuel looking at his brother in perplexity as Dean twitched his head around the room thinking a snake just tried to take a bite him.
"Well, I don't . . . Frank had a heart attack, right?" The man's brow creased as he looked between the three fake (though obviously he was unaware) FBI agents.
"'Course Mr. Hutchins, we're jus' coverin' all tha' bases." Wendy replied in a soothing manner, smiling brightly and weaving his emotional state to something more calming and agreeable. "Do'ya think someone would wanna' hurt Frank?" Wendy repeated.
"No, I don't think so." Mr. Hutchins smiled back, stroking the python that was still coiled around his arms gently as it slowly made its way up and around his thick neck. "Like I said, he got better. And after what happened to his wife."
"He was married?" Wendy asked conversationally, watching on for any shift in Mr. Hutchins words, for any slight indication of the colours changing; showing that he was lying. But as Mr. Hutchins spoke, Wendy saw that all he spoke was truth.
"She died about twenty years ago. Frank was really broken up about it." The large man looked up, eyed Dean's weary disposition and gave a sheepish grin. "Don't be scared of Donny—he's a sweetheart. It's Marie you got to look out for." Mr. Hutchins gave a nod to the couch they sat upon. "She smells fear."
Dean gasped dramatically as an albino snake slithered its long fat body over the back of the couch, coming between he and his brother. Dean leaned as far away from the reptile as he possibly could without climbing into Wendy's lap.
"Uh, he's got a fear of snakes." Samuel spoke up and stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hutchins. If you think of anything, please call us.
"Yeah, sure."
A few hours later had Dean sitting in the car with the witch in the back seat of the Impala, munching on a bag of almonds that Samuel had kindly shared with her. The witch had offered the bag to Dean, who had outright refused to consume the food, as in his words; 'A choking hazard'. She had been watching the eldest brother carefully for the last few hours, panicking at things one wouldn't normally panic at—or scratching at his left arm persistently.
After visiting Mr. Hutchins, the trio tried to brainstorm what could be the cause of these deaths. The boys had first been adamant about it being a witch, but Wendy had argued that that wasn't the case. Firstly, there wasn't any magical residue surrounding the body of Frank O'Brien. Secondly—if a witch was involved and had the sense to cover her tracks, they would've cast a concealment charm to hide their signature and the residue. Wendy had put together a simple spell to sniff out anything of the witchy variety and had found nothing.
At this point in time, Dean and Wendy were both sitting in the car waiting on Samuel to return from Mr. O'Brien's vacant house while Dean read up on Marie O'Brien. And he was still scratching at his arm. Wendy watched the movement for five minutes, until she found herself copying the action; wincing when the area became inflamed and sore.
"Stop that." Wendy flicked Deans ear, which had him flinching and groaning in annoyance.
The passenger door opened before Dean could turn around and whine at her.
"Hey." Samuel greeted as he climbed into the car. "Any luck at the county clerk's office?"
Dean glanced back at Wendy after hearing the chomp of another almond and shot her a frown. The blonde sent a dreamy smile his way, happily crunching on the snack she had just popped into her mouth; watching him wince at the sound.
"I'm not sure I'd call it luck," He muttered, turning away from the witch with a pout and instead answered his brother instead of instigating an argument with the tiny pain in his ass. "Frank's wife, Marie, was a manic-depressive. She went off her meds back in '88 and vanished. They found her two weeks later, three towns over. Strung up in her motel room, suicide."
"Any chance Frank helped her along to the other side?" Samuel asked reaching back to Wendy and gesturing for the bag of almonds, whom stole three more before handing them over.
"No, Frank was working the swing shift when she disappeared. Airtight alibi." Dean turned the key in the ignition, wrinkling his nose up at his brother and the witch's choice of snack. The car pulled away from the curb and towards the middle of town. "How was Frank's pad?"
"Clean. Searched it top to bottom. No EMF, no hex bags, no sulphur." Samuel ignored the small 'told you so' from the back seat.
"So—probably no ghosts, no witches, no demons." Dean relented.
"It's not witches." Wendy sung, while watching the shops go by as they drove.
Dean rolled his eyes and flicked them over to the review mirror to squint at her. He quickly shifted his gaze back out the windshield to make sure he didn't crash and kill them all; slowing the car down to a more sensible speed. "Yeah, alright. We heard you the first time. Three down and ninety-seven to go."
"Yeah . . ." Samuel trailed off. "Dude, you're going twenty."
"And?" The elder sibling retorted defensively, grip tightening upon the steering wheel.
"That's the speed limit."
"What? Safety's a crime now?" Dean bit out, driving through the intersection, past their motel.
"Oh, Dee-dee!" Wendy said, tapping on the window with a pink nail. "We need t' turn 'round."
"I told you not to call me that!"
"Dude, where are you going?" Samuel sided with Wendy, turning around to see the motel growing ever smaller in the distance.
"Sam, I'm not gonna' make a left-hand turn into oncoming traffic. I'm not suicidal." Dean scoffed at his brother, huffing a laugh at the ridiculousness of his companions. Samuel shared a look with Wendy before they both turned their attention back on Dean. "Did I just say that? That was kind of weird." Dean guffawed weakly, squirming in the driver's seat, when a truck drove past too closely.
The whirling noise of the EMF started up. It's frantic sounds seemingly echoing inside the car. Samuel pulled the device from inside his jacket, moving it to and away from Dean as Wendy leant forward watching the movement, a matching frown to Samuel's upon her features.
"Am I haunted? Am I haunted?"
Wendy browsed the aisles of the little grocery store, trailing behind Samuel as he grabbed a container of four chocolate donuts and placed them in the basket she carried. The shrill ring of his cell phone sounded from inside the pocket of his jacket causing Wendy to pause ahead of him and glance behind; watching as he placed the device to his ear.
It was only the two of them, they had managed to coax Dean out of the hotel room and into the car, but that was as far as the trio got before Dean began to have a meltdown about how likely he was going to crash on the way to the tiny supermarket. So, Wendy had suggested that her and Samuel go while Dean waited back in the room, but the older sibling was adamant that no one would be driving the death trap anywhere and that he'd be just fine waiting in the car for the pair to get back.
"Hey Bobby," Samuel greeted the older hunter.
"Tell 'im I said 'hi'," Wendy whispered loudly, taking a step towards him and tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.
"Wendy says 'hi'," Samuel paused, smiling at whatever Bobby had said. "He says 'hello'," Wendy beamed happily before wondering away from the tall man and down another aisle.
The Valkaras felt the small baby before she saw it. He was laying in the shopping cart fussing while his mother tried to sooth the infant; though that only managed to make the little guy wail louder than before. The mother was tired judging by the bags that sat beneath her eyes, but Wendy could feel the exhaustion that rolled off the woman. I'm a bad mother. What's wrong with me—there's something wrong with me; that's why he hates me. I don't know what you want, why don't I know? I can't do this, he's better off without me. It's too much, you're too much. I can't look after you—I don't know how. You hate me, I know you do. Why wouldn't you? I can't—I don't—please, please stop crying.
The woman's thoughts echoed through Wendy's mind and it took so much force to push back the intruding thoughts and emotions. The witch felt the urge to cry as she watched the mother bite her trembling lip and try to discreetly wipe at her eyes. Her throat tightened as Wendy took a breath and exhaled slowly through her nose before she stepped towards the two; ignoring the wide-eyed frightened look the mother gave her as the witch gazed down at the cranky little human.
He was tired, the baby, that is. Over-tired, actually, the poor little guy hadn't had a decent sleep for two days due to his sore tummy. All he wanted was cuddles but didn't understand why his mother couldn't hold him twenty-four seven. Wendy winced at the tightening sensation in the pit of her belly, feeling the need to curl up into a ball upon the tiled floor of the grocery store.
"You're not ah bad mother," Wendy reassured as she rubbed her thumb across the baby's brow; calming him and draining the uncomfortable sensation in his belly and allowing the sleepiness to take over—watching on as he began to quieten, his brown eyes drooping until they closed completely. "An' there ain't nothin' wrong with ya'. He loves ya', tha' sound of y' voice, the feel of y' skin—his tummy's jus' hurtin' is all." Wendy recounted as she smiled down at the sleeping baby.
"How . . . how did you—how do you know that?" The mother questioned with watery eyes.
"Take 'im t' tha' doctor for his sore belly." Wendy said instead of answering. "An' maybe find someone t' speak 'bout how'ya feelin'. Doesn't hav'ta be ah doctor—maybe ah friend?" The mother nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and tried to move on, but Wendy quickly grasped the woman's wrist, focusing to not absorb everything within her mind—to keep her shields in place. "You're not ah bad mother. Bad mothers don't think they're bad." Wendy gave her a sleepy grin. "You're ah wonderful mom, he knows it, I know it. Don't let y' thoughts convince y' otherwise. He'll sleep for ah while, so don't worry." Wendy let her own calm flow into the woman, watching the mother's shoulders relax as she stared down at her son.
Wendy let go of the woman's wrist and watched as she walked away and down another aisle. Silver eyes browsed the shelves until a large packet of almonds caught the blonde's eye and she hopped happily over to the snack, plucking two from the shelf—one for herself and one for Samuel; and placing them into her basket. Twirling away from the food packets as the orange skirt she wore lifted slightly with the movement before colliding with a solid form. Large strong hands shot out and held her shoulders to steady the witch.
Silver met gold and Wendy grinned brightly.
"Hey, sunshine. Where's gigantor?" Gigi asked lowly, eyes shifting around them to look for the person in question as Wendy's smile melted off her face and she stepped away; watching his hands fall back to his sides. He didn't seem to notice her movement, his golden eyes currently occupied by scanning the area around them.
"His name is Samuel, an' don't be mean." Wendy said, eyeing the janitor getup he was wearing; the outfit randomly tugged at a buried memory that wouldn't quite surface to the forefront of her mind. She frowned at the uniform; maybe if she glared at it long enough it would give her the answers she sought. Wendy rolled her eyes at her silliness. As if a uniform would ever give her answers to anything.
"Samuel." Gabriel repeated mockingly in a horrid southern accent, which only earnt him a strong glare in return for his childish behaviour. Wendy eyed him coolly. The blonde turned away swiftly and stormed away from the angel.
"Oh, c'mon!" Gabriel whisper-shouted after Wendy, arms waving around. He sighed dramatically as he slinked behind her; keeping low while he tried to match the witch's pace. "Alright, alright—I'm sorry."
Wendy deliberately ignored the angel, throwing a bag of Cheetos into the basket for Dean along with a bag of gummy snakes for herself while she strode down the aisle and turned into another.
"C'mon, Sunshine. I said I was sorry." Gigi smiled charmingly, appearing in her way suddenly and looking up from under his eye lashes.
"Your only sayin' sorry 'cause y' think that'll stop me from bein' mad." Wendy scolded. "Go away an' come back when ya' mean it."
"What—really?" Gabriel scoffed, chuckling a little before witnessing her face morph into a disapproving frown. The angel raised a single brow. "You really want me to go?"
Wendy simply hummed, but Gabriel decided to answer anyway.
"That's stupid."
The Valkaras didn't respond straight away, only looking up at him with her thick brows lowered angrily; giving the angel the stare she'd seen Grams give her Pop over a hundred times. Perhaps this was the best response to such a statement, because she didn't know what to say. The witch wasn't able to go inside his mind and find out why he was being rude, all she had to go on were the colours of his words and the random waves of emotions she would feel from him every now and then—but even then, that gave her nothing as it was few and far between every time they saw each other. And right now, there was nothing from him, only the bright glow that had always surrounded him—which did nothing regarding why he was acting like a—
Wendy held the thought back. Because why should she stoop to his level of pettiness? When has calling people names ever done anybody any good? And why should she have to engage with him when his behaviour was so foul? The witch fought the urge to jinx him. Then she considered it. He wouldn't notice, would he? She could do something simple, like turn every sweet he popped in his mouth into something that tasted awful.
"What are you doing?" He eyed her strangely, taking a step away.
"It's called'ah hard stare."
"Well stop it. I don't like it." Gigi said, squinting at her. The witch huffed, now he was making demands of her. Wendy took a step forward, lifted her thumb and forefinger, and flicked Gabriel on the nose: Veksula Paradarie the jinx formed in her mind. And then strode away from the angel, continuing to walk down another aisle; only stopping to pick up a box of tampons.
Wendy caught up with Samuel at the check-out, refusing to look around and catch sight of the angel she was so cross with Samuel frowned down at her tiny form, watching Wendy tap her bright yellow shoe against the tiled floor. He turned away from her before turned back with the frown still upon her features.
"You okay?" Samuel mouthed at her before they stepped up to the counter. When she gave nod, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet to hand to her; nodding his head along to something Bobby had said on the other end of the line as Wendy paid for their items.
"No, no. I mean panicking. Over things that Dean doesn't panic about." Samuel said as the pair walked out of the small convenience store. He offered to take the plastic bag from Wendy, but she refused and instead looped her arm through his as they walked back towards the Impala. "Yeah, after we say the body."
There was a lull for a moment as the pair walked by others on the street.
"Ghost sickness?" Samuel questioned, pausing in the middle of the walkway. People muttered at the pair as they walked around them, and Wendy pulled Samuel towards the barber shop after receiving a rather large surge of annoyance from a little old lady with pink hair. Wendy liked the shade of pink, it wasn't too bright, more like a soft pastel colour. Maybe she should get pink hair? When they were no longer blocking the path from angry pedestrians, Wendy eyed her reflection in the barber's window trying to picture herself with pink hair. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay."
Samuel hung up the phone, placing it back into his pocket and began to walk again; shortening his strides so the blonde beside him could keep up.
"So, Dee has ghost sickness." Wendy asked as she fished around in the plastic bag and finally found the gummy snakes she bought.
"Yep."
"He's gonna' die?"
"If he keeps panicking, yeah. Turns out though, that this specific bout only effect—well, you know . . ." Samuel trailed off, frowning at a man who wolf whistled at Wendy as they walked by, but she didn't seem to notice as she hummed beside him.
"Assertive people?" The witch offered up, looking up at Samuel and shielding her eyes from the sun that decided today was the day to blind her, the orange gummy snake hanging limply in her hand.
"I was gonna' say 'dicks'. It only effects dicks." Samuel pursed his lips, trying to withhold the laugh that was trying to escape at the look on Wendy's face at his word use.
They continued down the street, faintly hearing music being blasted. As they drew closer, the Impala came into view, the heavy beat coming from the car speakers with Dean nowhere in sight. The pair stood on the opposite side of the street, eyeing the care for any sign of life.
"He's in there, right?" Samuel asked.
Wendy dropped her walls and reached out for Dean, ignoring the thoughts and emotions of those around her, and finding the lyrics of Eye of the Tiger running through her mind. Dean was too focused on the lyrics and the beat to panic at the moment, and Wendy was happy to see that he'd found something to keep himself occupied that also calmed the terror that was trying to kill him.
"Mhmm," Wendy nodded and heaved the walls back up and around her mind; her shoulder sagged a little bit from the effort. They crossed the road quickly before Samuel's large hand came down hard upon the roof of the car, causing Dean to sit up with a stair; his sharp jab of fear breaking through Wendy's wards and causing her to jump—smacking Samuel's stomach in disapproval at his mischievousness.
"Hey. Look at this." Dean climbed out of the car and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm to show the pair the nasty scratches that lives there.
"I told'ya t' stop doin' that." Wendy scolded with her hands on her hips, watching Dean retaliate by scrunching his face up.
"Just talked to Bobby." Samuel started, taking the box of donuts Wendy handed him and gave them to Dean.
"And?" Dean sniffed at the box; frowning down at the desert before throwing it into the front seat of the car.
"Um, well," Samuel stared blankly at the donuts for a moment. "You're not gonna' like it."
"What?"
"It's ghost sickness." Wendy piped up, offering a gummy snake to Samuel.
"Ghost sickness?"
Samuel and Wendy nodded in union, biting into their sugary treats.
"God, no." The elder sibling stared at the two in mild horror.
"Yeah." Samuel nodded.
"I don't even know what that is." Dean worried at his bottom lip, eyes shifting back and forth between his younger brother and the witch.
Samuel rolled his eyes and scratched at his jaw. "Okay. Some cultures believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in house and started taking them off to funeral homes." Samuel switched into professor mode and Wendy thought that the career would suit him, if he were to ever stop the whole hunting thing.
"Okay, get to the good stuff." Dean gestured, placing his hands on his hips, shuffling slightly as he waited.
"Symptoms are you get anxious . . ." Samuel began.
"Yeah . . ."
"Then scared, then really scared, then your heart gives out. Sound familiar?"
Dean frowned, "Yeah, but we haven't seen a ghost in weeks."
"Well, I doubt you caught it from a ghost." Samuel took another gummy snake from Wendy's hand. "Look, once a spirit infects that first person, Ghost sickness can spread like any sickness through a cough, a handshake, whatever." He gestured with the snack. "It's like the flu. Now, Frank O'Brien was the first to die, which means he was probably the first infected. Patient zero."
"Our very own outbreak monkey."
"What?" Wendy asked, munching on another gummy snake.
"What do you mean, "what'?" Dean shot back.
"Right." Samuel rubbed his temple and sighed. "Get this, Frank was in Maumee over the weekend. Softball tournament. Which is where he must have infected the other two victims."
"Were they gamecocks?" Den raised his brows, his lips twitching upwards.
"Cornjerkers." Samuel retorted.
"That's not funny." Wendy piped in.
"You're not funny." Dean mumbled, scrunching his face up when Wendy opened her mouth and showed the chewed up and deformed looking sweet that sat there before turning his attention back to his brother. "So, ghosts infected Frank. He passed it on to the other guys and I got it from his corpse?"
"Right." Samuel nodded.
"So now what, I have forty-eight hours before I go insane and my heart stops?"
"More like twenty-four."
"Super." Dean choked out, taking the gummy snake Wendy gave him and chomping into it angrily. "Well, why me? Why not you? I mean, you got hit with the spleen juice." Dean snapped, panicking a little while he chewed on the sweet furiously and gestured over to the witch who was snacking away. "And you were being all creepy, leaning over the body and whatever."
"Yeah, um." Samuel shifted his gaze to Wendy, finding that she was glaring at some old guy in a janitor's uniform who looked a little put out by it. He frowned at her but shook it off; turning his attention back to Dean. "You see Bobby and I have a theory about that too. Turns out all three victims shared a certain, uh, personality type. Frank was a bully. The other two victims, one was a vice principal, the other was a bouncer."
"Okay."
"Basically, they were all dicks." Samuel stated plainly.
Wendy's attention shifted from Gabriel pretending to be an old man, as if she wouldn't notice the golden white light that surrounded him, back to the brothers at the sound of the vulgar word.
"So, you're saying I'm a dick?" Dean took a step back away from the insult.
"No, darlin'. Jus' that, well—ya'll jus' happen t' share ah few traits." Wendy jumped in soothingly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's not just that. All three victims used fear as a weapon, and now this disease is just returning the favor." Samuel explained, watching on as Dean's jaw clenched.
"I don't scare people."
"Dean, all we do is scare people." The younger sibling countered while Wendy stood beside his taller form holding up her thumb and pointer finger so there was only a tiny gap between the two.
"Okay, well then, you're dicks too." Dean accused, looking like a toddler who wasn't getting their own way. Wendy looked positively aghast at the accusation, taking a step away with her mouth dropping open while Samuel smirked at his brother's tantrum.
"Apparently not."
"Whatever. How do we stop it?"
"We gank the ghost that started all this. We do that, the disease should clear up."
"You thinkin' Frank's wife?"
"Personally, I don't think so." Wendy spoke up, stuffing her fists into the pockets of her yellow coat. "Suicidal ghosts don't cause these types of thangs. They don't have fear like this—it's more sad."
"And who knows why she killed herself, you know?" Samuel shrugged. Dean frowned at the witch, but she refused to meet his gaze. "You didn't go back to the room. Why. . ?"
Dean shifted his gaze away from Blondie and looked up at the frighteningly tall building, swallowing down the nervous vomit that was trying to escape his mouth just by the sight of it. "Our rooms on the fourth floor. It's . . . it's high."
"Honey, c'mere." Wendy stepped forward once more and placed her smaller hand on Dean's wrist, fingers brushing against the leather band that sat there and lowered her walls to only allow access to him.
Wendy watched on as Dean inhaled deeply and took another gummy snake from the packet she held; gnawing away as the witch meddled with his emotions, drawing out the anxiety and managing to twist the emotion into something that resembled serenity. It was odd though, Wendy almost found doing so difficult. It was like there was a block on his emotions that wasn't there before, like something was playing tug-a-war with her as she tried to calm Dean down. She managed though, it took longer then it normally would have, but eventually Wendy had Dean calm enough to relax his ram rod stance and lean back against the car.
"I'll see if I can move us down to the first." said Samuel, turning away from the pair towards the hotel as Wendy finally released Dean's wrist.
"Coconuts migrate." Wendy said as she leaned back against the car beside Dean.
"What?" Dean frowned at Blondie, watching as she tilted her head back up at the sky. He shot a quick glance upwards just to be sure that there wasn't a meteor heading their way and the wack job witch forgot to mention it.
"They jus' . . . floated over from Asia an' decided they liked tha' scenery better in tha' Caribbean."
Dean shook his head at the random shit that would spill from her mouth.
"Right . . . uh, thanks, by the way." Dean mumbled to the witch while watching his brother walk into the motel.
"No worries, Dee-dee." she grinned sleepily.
"Don't call me that."
Tell me what you think!