Chapter Six
The cut on his head still twinges, threatening to tear open and bleed afresh. His whole body aches from crashing through the wooden closet doors. He lets out a small moan of pain as he shifts his position, trying to get comfortable, but he only makes it worse. He kicks his legs around and tries to let some of the cool night air in under the sheets. A few more restless moments pass; he grits his teeth and turns again to watch Sam sleep. His eyes focus on his baby brother's breathing, watching his chest rise and fall.
"You okay little brother?" the question echoes in his ears. The striga is dead, he knows it is, but he still finds himself apprehensive. The image of Sam's fragile life, the wispy white glow, pouring out of his mouth flashes before him. He shoves his arm under the pillow and frantically feels for the familiar touch of the knife handle. After a few short seconds of blindly groping around, he grasps it and feels a small sense of security return. He grips it so hard his fingers start to hurt, the handles edges digging into his palm. He continues to stare intently at Sam, waiting for something to come for him. He strains his ears against the noise of the howling wind and tree branches smacking at the motel window.
Nothing will hurt his brother tonight.
Sam's rhythmic breathing pauses, a small pained expression appears on his face before his breathing starts up again, but more rapidly than before. Dean tenses, ready to hurdle out of the bed if need be. His muscles rigid and his eyebrows furrowed, he sweeps his vision across the wall behind his brother. He continues to listen and watch for the signs of an attack. From what he doesn't know, but he won't let it near his sibling. A few nervous moments pass before Sam appears to calm himself and fall back into a dreamless state. Dean relaxes his aching body but doesn't release the knife from his grip.
No…not tonight, not ever.
So long as he is still breathing or, hell, able to fight, living or dead, he will not let Sam be harmed. He will not fail Sam again, or his father for that matter. Never again. The hunt was over, and though he feels more responsible for Sam than ever, a huge burden has been lifted from his chest. He has found closure, if only for one night.
He sighs and feels the tension released from his stiff muscles as he experiences an odd sinking sensation. He continues to sink into the mattress, and drifts off into a world of dreamless sleep, the dagger still in his hand.
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"I know the concept of having a social life, or 'mingling' as you humans call it, is lost on you, but don't you think that you have better things to be doing than hanging around here all the time?"
She's heard this question many times before. He asks it almost every time she's down here, just worded differently each visit. She ignores him and brushes a layer of dust from the top of an aged leather-bound book, attempting to get a closer look at the faded lettering on the cover. She hears him sigh in annoyance and she smiles to herself. They just had this argument the other day when she paid him a visit. He has yet to get through to her, but she finds his perseverance amusing.
"Ayden, if you're so tired of me being here you could just say it instead of turning it around on me and my lack of a social life" she answers, a sarcastic edge as always.
"But for God's sake Sakari, you could be out making friends, getting high, drunk, or help increase the human population and public school taxes-"
"Okay I get it! I'm a walking recluse with a possible mix of inferiority complex, anxiety and depression. And even though I DO have friends, I find a shape shifter such as your self far more appealing than any human I've met" she teases.
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "What am I going to do with you? First of all you certainly don't have an inferiority complex. Second, the only time you got anxiety to the point that people are concerned was in that cramped Spanish classroom you had to sit in your sophomore year of high school; people were yelling and screaming right behind you for an hour. Third, you have very mild depression and you take your meds, so you don't have that much of an excuse. And lastly, I know I'm quite the catch, but I know you don't mean it when you say you find me more appealing than most humans."
"But I'm a still your little recluse" she replies, grinning as she fingers through the mass of pages sitting in her lap.
"Only lately" he mutters to himself. He clears his throat and continues. "And I'm still not sure as to what you're looking for. And apparently neither do you," tapping his right temple as he speaks. "So why are you wasting your time here again? Enlighten me, please."
"Couldn't you just pry into my thoughts again?" she asks. "It would save me some breath. I like to keep my lung capacity at optimum level, thank you very much."
"I want to hear you say it. It has more meaning when you put in the extra effort."
She pauses, unsure of how she'll answer. She knows what he's trying to do. He loves to pick apart people's answers, hear where they stress their syllables in their statements. It's a habit of his that she finds particularly annoying. Plus, he gets to hear and see them say it; apparently it's something he finds more exciting then simply "crossing the threshold of another boring lump of gray mass situated in between two delicate human ears balanced on those shoulders of yours" as he put it. She keeps her expression blank and her eyes unreadable as she decides to answer him, a near impossible feat with Ayden and his observant nature.
"I guess…I'm just trying to kill some time. Or maybe if I keep piling through all of this information, I'll come across with something" she answers slowly, trying to keep the fatigue and worry out of her voice. She had spent almost four hours last night looking for an explanation as to why she keeps having these dreams. And Dean as well. It was at three a.m. that she decided all the additional exposure to the paranormal this late at night was making her jumpy and she called it quits. She has been trying to combat the weariness all day with coffee and energy drinks, something she almost never resorts to.
"You humans and killing time" he scoffs, clearly annoyed with her lack of expression, confirming her success in shutting him out. He leans forward and interlaces his fingers, stretching them out and cracking his knuckles. He does the same to his neck, jerking it awkwardly across his shoulders. His usually light brown eyes turn the trademark moonlight color she has become accustomed to showing up whenever he gets annoyed. They never fail to creep her out despite her fascination with them. He blinks and they return to the brown he keeps when he has to go outside, or at least look marginally human. He ruffles the short black hair on his head and rests his head on top of his knees, hugging his muscular legs together. "Well, I'm not exactly the expert on dreams. Actually I can't really tell you anything about them."
Sakari raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why's that?" she asks, naturally curious.
"I don't dream. Or sleep for that matter" he answers, his voice carrying a serious note.
"You can't sleep or you just choose not to?" she asks, pressing the issue as far as she can. She never really did know if shape shifters sleep or not.
"I can if I want to, but I don't usually need to. The only time I would really have to is after I…change" he says honestly, tilting his head to see if she'll react. He rarely mentions the painful process of transforming, the tearing of flesh and the grotesque contortion of his features. She has only witnessed it once, and she hopes that she'll never have to again.
She shudders slightly, and shakes her head when Ayden mumbles a small "sorry."
"Don't worry about it" she says, slamming the enormous book shut, dust flying around her like a cloud of flour. She places it back on the top of the pile she got it from and grabs her purse, feeling his eyes follow her every movement. She turns to face him and opens her mouth to say something but he cuts her off.
"Go see a movie. With that one guy, Scott or whatever his name was. You need some human exposure once in a while. Some normalcy."
She smirks and starts to walk out of the room. As she reaches the door, she faces him and asks, "What is normalcy? Really?"
A small smile appears on his face for the first time since she arrived on his doorstep that morning.
"You'll have to ask Herbert Hoover on that one."
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Hey sorry this is so short. Let me know what you think of it, reviews are always much appreciated. A big thank you to those sticking with this story, you rock my world. Thanks again.