So, you're all going to hate me and I'm sorry.
But I'm alive, so heeeey.
This is shorter then usual, but I promise the next will be longer. I just couldn't see how I could keep the chapter going at the end.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, you guys are so nice.
If you're feeling kind, leave me a review!
Chapter Ten
"... insanity is never reasonable."
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly,
Chapter Quote: "Okay, that was dicky—I'm a dick."
Wendy could sense the shift immediately as she stepped through the threshold of the small family home. Sorrow seemed to seep from its painted white walls, dripping onto the wooden flooring and pooling at her feet. Mrs. Wallace, the widow, greeted the trio at the door, looking at their small group in bewilderment as she allowed them entry into her home.
Wendy couldn't fault Mrs. Wallace on being confused by their presence. Their appearance was confusing. Why would three so-called FBI agents be interested in such a bizarre and deadly prank? The 'why's' couldn't be given to the widow nor could the 'how's', because how on earth can you explain to someone that their loved one had died by the hands of a magic user?
Samuel and Dean asked the questions while Wendy sniffed at the air around her, wrinkling her nose at the faint smell of Hemlock throughout the house.
Hemlock was only used for two things. The first; to poison. The second; to curse. And judging by the scent around the home and the soft magical signature Wendy could feel pulsing in the air—which was not coming from the grieving Mrs. Wallace—there had to be a curse pouch lying about somewhere.
The awful magic prickled at Wendy's skin, the sensation of ants crawling over her body had her shuddering in repulsion. Body twitching as Wendy repressed the urge to brush off the imaginary insects (no doubt that she would look like a flailing loon). Instead, she ignored the irritant and homed in on the curse pouch and the magical signature that sung darkly in the air around it.
The ebbing power of the small displeasure seemed to be coming from down the hall from the entry.
Really, it was quite lazy of this other witch not to cover their tracks. Leaving the magickal residue all over the home was sloppy especially with the intent of murder. If her grandmother were present, no doubt she'd be lecturing the importance of covering your tracks to Wendy. Y' see, Wendolyn. This is tha' reason so many of us ah hunted. Other's come'ah snoopin' when y' don't tie up loose ends.
Wendy bypassed the grieving woman, leaving the brothers to speak with her. As the tiny witch strode past the pair, she ignored Dean's indigent expression as he quickly followed her like a suspicious house cat. The thought had her thinking of her own familiar that was too far away to ask for any form of comfort.
Poor Nancy, no doubt he was harassing Grams during Wendy's long absence.
The blonde stopped abruptly at the entry to the kitchen.
The magical waves buzzed about Wendy like a pesky mosquito that didn't understand that she didn't particularly want her blood to be stolen at this moment in time and perhaps should come back later and ask again.
Samuel stepped around Wendy easily with the unfortunate widow who wiped at her eyes when tears gathered there. Mrs. Wallace frowned at the small FBI agent who stood sniffing in her kitchen like a dog trying to find last night's leftovers. Samuel, so clever and quick, stole the widow's attention by asking her another set of rapid-fire questions before she could begin to ask her own.
"What'cha got, Sabrina?" Dean murmured as he came to stand beside her, eyeing the cupboards around them.
"Curse pouch." She replied just as quietly. "It's got Hemlock in it."
"You mean 'hex bag'." Dean remarked, throwing Wendy a cocky grin, thinking himself smart for having corrected her.
Wendy met his grin with a blank stare, his smile quickly dropping. "No, honey. Ah hex bag is used t' wish bad luck or ill intentions on tha' victim." She stepped away, opening the drawers beside Dean. "An' ah curse pouch is designed t' cause direct harm t' tha' victim."
"What? No way." Dean scoffed, joining her in the search for the course pouch in question.
"Ya'll only call it ah hex bag 'cause y' think it sounds cool."
"Better then curse pouch." He muttered under his breath and shook his head. "So, witches. Great."
Wendy side-eyed the older brother and began to open the cabinets, ignoring the look she received from Mrs. Wallace. She was close to the pouch, it's haunting little song humming from its hiding place.
"You think it's your Valtu-ee?" Dean came up beside her again, looking in the bottom cabinets for the tiny pouch.
It was surprisingly easy to get Dean onboard with helping her find the Valtushard. Both Samuel and Wendy thought it would take a lot more effort. Samuel even going as far as preparing a speech and multiple arguments should Dean turn their idea down outright. Which was very sweet, but he hadn't needed to. Dean agreed, though not out of the kindness of his heart. While the younger brother had warmed to Wendy greatly, Dean still liked to think he was a closed book to the witch and took this as an opportunity to be rid of her faster. Wendy knew Dean reluctantly enjoyed her company, no matter how much he resented that fact. He just couldn't look pass the witch business.
Wendy supposed it was related to the childhood he had, and the lessons ingrained into him from an absentee father at a young age. Not that she'd voice that thought out loud—Dean didn't need another reason to try and hate Wendy anymore then he already was.
"Was his chest pried open with ah missin' heart an' lung?"
"No . . ." Dean frowned up at the witch in confusion from his crouched position next to an open cabinet.
"Then no, honey. It aint ah Valtushard." Wendy paused in her search and looked over at the older sibling. "Tha' magic feels likes bugs crawlin' 'cross y' skin. Wanna' know what that means?"
"Uh, no. Not really." He scrunched his face up in disgust, standing to his full height and towering over the blonde.
"They're ah borrower. Demon deals for power." Wendy informed him while her nose wrinkled.
"Great." He repeated sarcastically as he opened the oven beside Wendy to give it a quick check over.
"The candy was never in the oven." Mrs. Wallace suddenly informed the pair with angry eyes. A crease formed between her brows as she watched Dean close the oven door slowly.
Confusion, grief and anger whirled around inside the woman. Wendy didn't need her powers in order to know. If you looked close enough, you could see it in the way Mrs. Wallace clenched her hands together to keep from shaking, how her shoulders hunched—almost like she would cave in on herself if Samuel mentioned her husband's passing again. Or how her eyes turned to storm clouds when Dean opened the oven door—why are you checking the fucking oven? He wasn't near the oven. He didn't touch the fucking oven! He . . . he—no don't think about it. Just answer their stupid fucking questions. They'll go away soon.
Mrs. Wallace was hard to ignore when angry.
Not that Wendy could blame her.
"We just have to be thorough, Mrs. Wallace." Dean responded softly; his face somber as he spoke.
Samuel once again stole the house owner's attention as Wendy tapped Dean's shoulder. He looked over and saw the witch point to the drag marks on the floor beneath the fridge. Wendy stood in front of the refrigerator, providing cover for Dean to shuffle the heavy object forward and spy what was hiding there.
A moment later Dean stood to his full height, showing both Wendy and Samuel the small curse pouch that radiated so much malice.
Wendy plucked the small bag from his hand and sniffed at it.
Without a doubt, it was Hemlock.
She walked from the room and out of the house, taking the bag with her, unbothered by the looks she received from her quick departure. Once at the Impala, Wendy pulled at the string, laying the pouch out on the trunk of the car. Immediately, the little witch was able to identify all the objects within—and was certainly surprised when she saw what other herbs were within the pouch. Wendy supposed that Grams wasn't too paranoid with wanting Wendy to study extinct plants. The blonde plucked the Goldthread up and held the herb between her fingers. Someone would have had to gone through a lot of trouble to acquire it.
Footsteps approached Wendy, Samuel speaking up as he came to stand beside her. "That's not a typic hex bag."
"It's not ah hex bag." Wendy corrected.
"It's a curse pouch." Dean added superiorly, grinning smugly at his brother.
Samuel just frowned at him, "What?"
"Hex's are for bad luck. Curses are t' cause harm." Wendy repeated simply, she thrusted the plant she held into Samuel's face. "See this? It's Goldthread, it's been extinct for two hundred years. Not easy t' come by. An' that's Hemlock—don't touch it!" Wendy smacked Dean's hand away.
"Ow!"
"Oh, stop it. That didn't hurt."
"It didn't not hurt." Dean shot back, completely put out from being reprimanded by someone smaller than him.
"It's poisonous." Samuel explained before Dean started to pester Wendy. He reached out and picked up the small metal coin that sat within the pouch. "This looks Celtic, and I don't mean the New Age knock off. Looks like the real deal." He placed the coin down. "Let's head back to the motel, do some research and see what we're dealing with."
Wendy tied the pouch securely and tucked it within the pocket of her blazer.
"You alright to do some digging on the victim?" Samuel asked Dean, throwing the keys over to him as he rounded the Impala.
"Oh, so I'm stuck on dead guy duty?"
"Halloween is my favourite holiday. Well, Halloween an' Christmas." Wendy mused happily as she placed the freshly made pumpkin and apple pie in the small oven. It was time for tea, she decided, and placed the kettle on the burner. "Oh, an' Beltaine! I love Beltaine."
"Yeah, can't say the same." Samuel muttered, frowning at the book he was reading from. "Every day is Halloween."
Researching the items from the curse pouch to try and understand what this unknown witch was trying to accomplish with murdering Mr. Wallace was proving to be difficult. Wendy could only help so much and seeing as the young witch had never needed to use such items, she in turn didn't know what kind of spells would require that kind of power punch. And unfortunately, they both agreed that they wouldn't know anything more unless another person wound up dead. Which wasn't ideal.
"Samhain is tha' last harvest before Winter. It's for honorin' passed family members an' ancestors. An' tha' costumes ah t' trick evil spirits. You doin' that every day?" Wendy sassed, glancing over her shoulder to watch him huff and roll his eyes good naturedly.
The motel door swung open with Dean barging through and tossed his keys on the small flimsy dining table. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, he produced a mini chocolate and popped it into his mouth. Pulling out another, wrapped in bright pink foil, he handed it over to the tiny witch. Wendy gave him a beaming smile that had the eldest sibling clearing his throat and glancing away awkwardly.
A scoff sounded from the couch Samuel sat upon, watching his brother and Wendy.
"Really? After that guy chocked down all those razor blades?" Samuel raised a brow disapprovingly, watching on as Wendy popped the small treat into her mouth. He winced, "Too soon."
"It's Halloween, man." Dean shrugged, sitting himself down on the arm rest of the couch. "So, don't be a downer."
"Anyway. We're on a witch hunt, that's for sure. But this isn't your typical hex bag." Samuel mulled over, staring down at the contents of the small pouch. Like frowning at the ingredients would somehow make their purpose known.
"Curse pouch." Dean corrected, a pleased smile growing on his face when he received an approving nod from Wendy.
"Yeah, yeah, okay. Wendy was saying earlier that everything in here wasn't accidental. This is some serious mojo."
Dean reached over, picking up the small, charred bone that rested inside the pouch. He gave the object a quick sniff, his own curiosity swirling around Wendy as she watched on. The witch's face scrunched up in distaste as she watched the elder sibling sniff the bone again.
"Yeah, um . . . that's the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby." Samuel's lips thinned as he knowingly nodded at Dean's repulsion.
"Ugh, gross." Said Dean, all but throwing the ingredient back down on to the coffee table with a grimace.
"Relax man, it's like a hundred years old." Samuel grinned a little, picking up the tiny black bone from where it landed. His concentration was broken when the whistling kettle sounded from the stove top—Wendy bounced over and pulled it from the element.
"Oh right, like that makes it better?" Dean shuddered, shoulders shaking up and down as if he were trying to shake off invisible hands. Vigorously he wiped his hand on his jean clad thigh to get any dead baby heebee-jeebeeies off him. "Witches man, so friggin' skeevy."
Dean stood and sat himself down on the armchair moving away from the weird ass magic stuff. Why dead babies, huh? Why'd they'd have to go there? Couldn't it be bunnies? Why is it never a bunny? He could handle bunnies.
"Oh, I dunno'," Wendy spoke up, placing two tea mugs in front of the brothers and watching Dean flinch at her sudden appearance. "Sometimes magick requires gettin' yer hands dirty. Can't ask somethin' for nothin', it's all 'bout balance."
Wendy sat down beside Samuel while the younger sibling too a large gulp of his beverage. She sat with her ankles crossed and hands folded upon the knee length pink skirt that was covered in white doves, waiting for Dean to move towards his cup of red clover tea.
"Well, I think we can all agree that it takes a pretty powerful witch to put something like this together." Samuel said, gathering the ingredients together and placing them back on the cloth. "More juice than we've ever dealt with, that's for sure. You ever seen anything like this before?"
The question was directed at Wendy.
"No, never." Wendy answered. Pushing the tea towards Dean and motioning for him to drink; she ignored the eye roll she received and waited as Dean took a tentative sip before continuing. "Grams an' I try t' avoid otha' witches as much as possible. Most ah prickly, like Thistles. But this is ah Borrower an' it bein; so close t' Samhain . . . well, that jus' sounds like trouble."
"Samhain? What's that?" Dean questioned, brow furrowing as he looked towards their resident witch.
"It's tha' witches New Year an' tha' last harvest. We honor our ancestors an' hide our face from evil beings that want t' harm us. Tha' wall between our realm an' others ah weak between tha' mornin' hours of twelve an' three." Wendy recited perfectly. She had it ingrained into her ever since she began living with her Grandmother. It was something she grew to appreciate. Learning the traditions and histories of her family, and that of other witches helped her understanding of spells.
Because spells were complex. Trying to replicate a spell without somewhat understanding the history behind that spell left you without knowing the emotion it would take to cast a spell, and therefore lead to dire consequences. This was something a lot of beginners overlooked and led them to demons.
"Well, maybe that's the reason for the murder? Maybe it was a part of a bigger spell?" Samuel thought out loud, brow creased in concentration while he gulped down his beverage.
His words rang a small bell in the back of Wendy's mind. Though, when she tried to grasp on to the memory it faded to nothing. Only a wisp of what once was. Another memory locked away by her Grandmother, it would seem.
"What about you? Find anything on the victim?" Samuel looked over at Dean, slurping loudly on his tea.
Dean met Samuels gaze over the rim of the mug.
"Luke Wallace? He was so vanilla that he made vanilla seem spicy." Dean declared with mocking cheer, a sardonic little smirk playing around the edges of his mouth. The cheery attitude dropped quickly, his mood turning somber as he went on, "I can't find any reason why someone would want this guy dead."
"Maybe no one wanted 'im dead, they jus' needed 'im dead." Wendy added softly before taking Samuel's mug and heading back to the small kitchen.
The remainder of the day passed by quickly, a small dinner curtesy of Dean ordering Chinese and a small cherry pie for desert provided by Wendy. The three ended up crashing early into the night.
The next day consisted of the brother's and Wendy heading to the supermarket to pick up food that was beneficial to their health. The trip was uneventful, aside from Samuel and Dean having a back and forth bickering contest about how rabbit food wasn't substantial enough to live off. Also the fact that Gabriel spontaneously showed himself while looking like a grandma shooting Wendy sad puppy eyes while she continued to ignore his presence. This only seemed to encourage the angel more.
Eventually, Wendy and Samuel broke away from Dean to continue their research at the town library, checking over old newspapers, articles, documents, really anything that would give the pair any hint that this has happened before. All the while, Wendy was being hounded by Gabriel who decided to disguise himself as an overly helpful librarian with a dramatic receding hairline. And by overly helpful, what Wendy really meant was overly flirtatious. This in turn had Samuel squinting at the angel turned trickster god, as if he were trying to place him.
Wendy felt a little guilty for having Samuel witness Gabriel's over the top and theatrical flattery. Irritation swirled through the air whenever Librarian Gabriel gave Wendy an overly cliché compliment, but the little blonde witch was beginning to think he was doing it more so to annoy Samuel then to actually flirt with her. And with Gabriel constantly interrupting, they barely got anywhere with their research.
A few hours were spent at the building, but in the end the pair had to call it quits; mainly because there was nothing to go on, but also because Samuel was about ready to throttle Librarian Gabriel. Wendy could understand the urge, seeing as all Samuel saw was a creepy old guy hitting on a twenty-two year old girl.
When they finally arrived back to the motel, they found Dean already there and he too, had found nothing.
It wasn't until eight o'clock that night, a call came over the police scanner about another death. This time, it was a high school student at a Halloween party. Now they had witnesses and hopefully a lead.
Samuel and Dean quickly dressed as Wendy offered to stay back and continue to try and find any more information, hopefully with the help of Google. That, and the fact that the witch could still be at the scene. Dean hadn't wanted Wendy anywhere near there in case it spooked the other witch into hiding.
Wendy walked over to the laptop, setting her freshly made cup of tea upon the table while she sat herself down on the wobbly chair. Not five seconds after hitting the power button, rustling sounded, and a person was standing opposite her. Quickly, her hands darted forward to lift her tea from the table while the new arrival leaned his hands heavily on the surface. No doubt that the sudden movement would've caused the hot tea to spill all over herself and Samuel's fancy laptop.
Wendy shot the figure a disapproving look before gently placing the tea back down.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry." Gabriel leaned down, trying to meet her eyes, only to sigh heavily when Wendy begun typing away on the laptop. He scoffed, annoyance leaking into his tone while he began to pace in front of the table. "You should be grateful I'm even apologis—"
The angel cut himself off as he looked back at the witch, flinching when he noticed her burning holes into him with her silver glare.
"Okay, that was dicky—I'm a dick." Gabriel quickly emended; hands raised in a placating gesture. "I shouldn't have made fun. I insulted you. I'm sorry, I'll never do it again." He came to a stop beside Wendy and dropped dramatically to his knees—causing her to finally look at him with something other than irritation.
Looking up at the witch beneath his lashes, the soft dim lighting of the room illuminated his whiskey gold eyes.
"I promise. Look—I'll even pinky promise it! I've only done it once before, that means something." Gabriel held up his pinky, shooting Wendy a boyish grin. Eyes softening when he caught her gaze.
"I take pinky promises very seriously, Gigi." Wendy spoke quietly, the crease between her brows showing itself as she stared at the offering in contemplation.
"I remember." He lowered his voice to match her own.
Wendy didn't know how he remembered or even how he knew in the first place. But it seemed that with Gabriel she couldn't bring herself to really care at all. Which was stupid of her, and if she had Danny here, he'd be telling her the same thing.
"Y' promise not t' be mean again?" Wendy asked with folded arms. Her silver eyes looked down upon the angel on his knees before her. What a strange sight, she thought idly to herself.
"I promise not to be a dick to you. Everyone else is fair game, sweetheart." Gigi smirked when her nose scrunched with distaste at his word choice. Gabriel wiggled his pinky when Wendy made no move in accepting his promise. "C'mon, I don't like it when you're mad at me."
He said it like he had experienced it before. But of course, the witch had no recollection of this. The Gabriel from before was trapped within the memories her grandmother had put under lock and key. Memories that were deemed too harmful for Wendy's mind. One day she'd know. Know how she had met the angel; understand how he knew all her likes and dislikes. But not yet—not now. Why ruin the peace she now had with chaos? Was the knowledge of the past worth the tranquility of the present?
Wendy stared at the finger for another beat.
Slowly a small, pleased smile graced her lips as she hooked her pinky around her angels.
"Thank you," Gabriel sighed dramatically, though the tension leaving his shoulders showed his relief. He rested his chin upon her knee, looking at their linked pinkies lying in the blonde's lap.
He seemed to be mulling something over, trying to find the right words instead of just blurting them out. Finally, Gabriel flicked his gaze upwards.
"Could you pretty please take that little jinx off me now? Making sweets taste like shit was mean, sweetheart." Gabriel tried to pout up at the witch, though the smile tugging at his thin lips showed his own amusement at Wendy's fitting punishment for him.
"Only 'cause ya' said 'please'."
"Pretty please." Gabriel corrected, a boyish grin lighting at his features.
Wendy hummed in agreement, smiling softly and bopping the tip of his nose—the counter spell running through her mind; the jinx finally lifting. Gabriel lent back, reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a Hershey bar. As soon as he had it unwrapped, he chomped down and groaned obnoxiously.
"Should I leave tha' two of y' alone?" Wendy questioned, laughter ringing in her tone.
"You could always join in, doll." Gabriel wiggled his brows suggestively, pink lacing through his words and prickling at her skin. A shiver ran up her spine at the sensation.
Wendy pushed the feeling away, scolding herself for allowing her walls to crack again.
Besides, she had much more important things to contemplate about other than trying to understand Gabriel's outrageous flirting and her own reactions to said flirting. Like the witch they were currently trying to find.
"Not right now," Wendy replied off-handedly. Her attention going back to the laptop and opening the search engine. Maybe this witch had been keeping tabs on the Valtushard?
Gabriel pouted at little while he watched the screen in silence from his place beside Wendy's knee. The crunch of the chocolate bar sounding every now and then, until he voiced his curiosity. "Whatcha' doing?"
"Tryin' t' find ah witch." Wendy murmured back.
There was a beat of silence before Gabriel broke it by clucking his tongue. "Yeeeah, you should skip town."
Wendy turned to the angel and blinked. "Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'?" Gabriel frowned back at her. When Wendy didn't elaborate, he rolled his eyes. "You know about the seals, right? Tell me you know about the seals."
"I dunno' what you're talkin' 'bout, sugah."
"Pet names already, doll?" Gabriel flashed her a charming grin as he stood from the ground, eyes flashing with mischief while he plonked himself down in the chair beside Wendy. He quickly turned solemn, meeting her gaze. "There are six hundred seals, they're like padlocks. Only gotta' open sixty-six. The last one opens and, well, it'll be hell on earth."
The silence hung between the pair, so quiet that Wendy could almost make out her heartbeat.
The witch spoke first.
"Y' mean tha' apocalypse?" The grim smile Gabriel sent her way gave Wendy her answer and sent a chill up her spine.
The room seemed to spin with this new information. Before it was just a maybe, a possibility with no real credibility. Now it was reality. If anyone knew an apocalypse was about the start, it'd be an angel, right? Wendy's fingers clutched the seat she sat on, fingers aching behind the pressure. Grams, Danny, Marco, Nancy, Joyce, Emily—her loved ones unprepared for what could happen in their future. It was all just a bit inconvenient; couldn't the apocalypse wait? What made right here, right now so special?
Hell on earth? Was that a metaphor or literal Hell on earth? Neither sounded pleasant, to be honest. And Wendy would be terribly happy if it would just change its mind and not . . . do that . . . ever. Preferable if it didn't rain fire.
But here Wendy sat in her little happy bubble thinking that the apocalypse was just a theory Bobby had come up with to explain away the dead hunters and their ghostly stalkers.
"Wait, wait." Long fingers laced through her hair and tugged, trying to keep her mind present, trying to keep her from spiralling. Spiralling didn't help. It led to dizziness, which led to nausea. Wendy didn't particularly like the idea of puking in front of Gabriel. "The dead hunters? But—Bobby said it was jus' ah theory—so, that was ah seal? It broke?"
Cracks formed in her carefully placed shield. Splintering off into different directions as the information sunk in. Sixty-six was a lot less than six hundred. All someone would really need is a good lockpick.
Then it smacked Wendy in the face.
"This witch, she's tryin' t' break ah seal."
Gabriel hummed in response, snapping his fingers and producing a slice of boysenberry cheesecake and pushing it towards her, trying to comfort her with sweets.
"You need to leave." Gabriel spoke so casually that she almost agreed. Instead, Wendy gave her head a little shake and frowned down at the slice in front of her. Leaving wasn't an option.
Wendy pushed the cake away. "You're bein' silly. I can't jus' leave. Dean an' Samuel—they'll need help—"
"Forget about those two morons." Gabriel rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. His anger fizzling at her walls, worming its way in. Painting his words in scarlet. Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but Gabriel beat her to it. "You need to skip town. Better yet, forget about the Winchesters."
"An' what would y' have me do?" Wendy countered, the agitation that leaked into her tone not her own. She couldn't stop it though; it was too hard to try and squash the emotion down when it coiled around her like a python. "Go back home? Go back when I know that tha' world jus' very might be crashin' 'round me?"
"Listen—"
"No. You listen." Wendy cut in, anger dancing in her steely silver gaze and burning through her body. "You an' everyone else need t' stop bossin' me 'round. I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions. An' I don't need ah man tellin' me what I can an' can't do with my life."
"Well, I wouldn't have to, if you'd stop attracting the attention of things that want to kill you!" Gabriel snapped back in barely contained anger. His brows lowered over gold eyes as he matched Wendy's glare. "If you haven't notice, kid. I'm trying to save your life. You think I haven't got anything better to do? I was perfectly fine until you came along."
The words stung.
But the pure distain in his tone rang loud and clear around them.
Wendy was just an obligation he was fulfilling. Funny, how much that hurts to hear. Maybe she had been pestering him with her travels. Did he have an alarm bell whenever she was in the slightest amount of danger. True, that would be irritating if an alarm sounded every time danger hit; especially with it being around the corner so often nowadays. And here she was, the sad little crazy girl who thought she had a friend.
But that wasn't the case at all. Just another bother. Another fly that wouldn't stop pestering.
Silly, really. How much that hurts.
"No ones askin' y' to." Wendy responded softly, the anger vanishing and in its place was something that made her gaze dart from Gabriel's.
She built the walls back up, pushing all the animosity away from her mind, reinforcing the collapsed shield with nothing else but fumes and duct tape. Wendy's shoulders sagged with the effort, cursing herself for allowing Gigi's anger to affect her so. Just another thing to add to the exceptionally long list of things she wasn't particularly good at.
Gabriel sucked at his teeth, "You're right. No one is."
Then he was gone.
And Wendy was alone again.
Please don't hate me!
I wasn't going to make them fight so soon after making up, but it wrote itself.
Fun Facts:
- Wendy is a happy drunk.
- Masovas means Soulmate; platonic or romantic.
- Wendy's favourite movie is The Wizard of Oz.
- Nancy (Wendy's familiar) prefers his animal form; a cat.
- Wendy has only seen Nancy in his human form once.