Realm of Dreams
It was a basement bedroom the family had in case they had guests or if they ever decided to take in foster children. It wasn't the best, but it wasn't so bad either. The washing machine was never turned on at night, but there were no windows to allow in natural light. Things were alright in that house, all except for the fourteen year old boy that would visit her during the night in the basement.
He'd say he couldn't sleep and talk with her, mostly talking about his comic books and school. They would laugh and play together while everyone else was asleep.
It was fine at first, but then he'd play too roughly and the last straw was when he had tried to touch her chest. She was eleven; it's not like she had much going on there.
She pushed him away with great offense and told him to get out. She vaguely remembered that, but now she relived it, especially what had happened. Her voice was different and the boy was scared as she glared at him, anger filling her. He decided to be brave, to let his older body's strength conquer her little frame. When he reached out, she gripped his wrist tightly in her hand, squeezing so hard he had begged her to stop.
Through her glare and her rage, she gave him a cold smile and told him that bad boys don't get very far in life. She released him and laughed as he ran back upstairs.
The next day he told his mother, but he also lied. He said she was in his room and for that, her anger returned. At the moment, the mother was lecturing her about appropriate and non-appropriate things, which confused her. She had denied any of that ever happening and the mother got mad, punishing her with a spanking.
Later that day, when no one was looking, she glared at that boy. That had been a memory she had forgotten, but now she was reliving it. She watched as the boy trembled, then fell to the floor screamed, holding his head in his hands.
His parents quickly called the social worker and wanted her out because she was a dangerous child. They were convinced she had thrown something at their precious boy. As soon as she left, a couple of days later, their son had died of a brain aneurism.
The images shifted, unlocking another forgotten memory.
It was a pink bedroom, filled with beautiful happy things. The parents were happy and wished her a goodnight full of happy dreams. They had a baby and she was the only child who they could take shopping and spoil her. It was a great place to be and she was very happy.
Only it didn't stay like that.
One night, the father came into her room, saying he had heard her whimpering in her sleep. That had been a lie, but he hadn't harmed her. She let him comfort her, tell her a story, and she fell back asleep as he watched over her.
That continued for a few things now and then, until it wasn't enough.
He too tried to touch her then thirteen year old body; his hand cautiously going down her pajama bottoms. She glared at him, shouting at him to stop and to get out of her room. As he looked up into her eyes, he seemed afraid of what he had seen. Perhaps it was a cold glare and a vicious snarl.
The wife then came in and was adamant it was just a bad dream. Of course it was, because she didn't remember the father touching her. He was very happy about that and told his wife she was having a night terror, probably because her last foster home was so horrible.
There were more nights just like that where he tried to touch her. Every time she'd threaten him and his wife would stress over these supposed night terrors. The father was determined to get his way, but her last threat really frightened him. If he laid a hand on her again, his wife and child would be cast into the realm of the dead where their flesh would burn for his crime.
He tried to tell his wife they could no longer help her night terrors; her dreams were becoming violent. But the wife was just as determined to help the poor child.
The night was about to become more terrifying, as her husband was the one to get bad dreams. The next morning she discovered him in the kitchen, apparently he had suffered a major stroke while making breakfast.
The images shifted, onto another hidden memory.
The night was loud and humid, as the house was full of partying young adults given complete freedom as they began their journey of education and careers. She walked in with some friends from her previous college. She nearly forgot that she had transferred to Maple City.
She got a drink and met some new people, boys her friends had introduced. They liked her and played beer bong as a way to determine who could spend the night getting to know her. The winner emerged and told her he knew where they could go to have a quite conversation.
His room.
He brought along some bottles of beer and they talked and laughed. It seemed alright, but she knew something was about to happen. She was old enough to know that when scenarios like this fell upon her, it ended badly for the other person. She was also old enough to see people's true intentions although they masked it well.
Thus she got him drunk. She remembered those memories, but not this one where he tried to kiss her and she pushed him away. It happened so quickly, but the pain to her face stunned her into a sudden fit of rage. He had fought back, determined to get what he wanted from her and being drunk made him all the more violent.
She screamed and when he met her eyes, he froze. She could see a light reflecting in his eyes just before he fell to the floor, clutching his chest, unable to breathe.
No one could hear them through the loud music and the roaring laughter of the crowd.
His heart was giving out on him and she left his room. She walked through the crowd and one of her friends tried to stop her, until they met her eyes. They seemed startled and released her.
That guy had been taken to the hospital for a mysterious heart attack that forever changed him.
The images changed, sending her to her peaceful place. The temple built into the cavern walls. It was once again empty, but the silence and the air were comforting. It was a sense of home much like being in the bunker was for Sam and Dean.
A breeze swirled around her, yet again carrying a whisper to her ear.
Hel.
This time she knew it was a name for a death deity and not a name for a place of torment.
Helheim welcomes you again.
She turned around, seeing no one and as she turned again, the image shifted to her night at the Maple City sonority house. Jormungand was coiled on the lawn, warning the hunters to stay back. His eyes locked on her, his tongue flickering out of his mouth, hissing his words to her.
Hel, my dear sister. It has been too long.
Jormungand, brother, is it you? Where is Fenrir? Where is father?
Father is dead.
She could hear Veronica talking to her, turning her away from Jormungand as the hunters shot at him. She turned and witnessing his death sent her into a state of shock, instantly forgetting what had happened.
She turned away and then relived the moment she straddled Crowley, kissing him and refusing to let him out of her kiss. Her hands wanted to unleash his sexual desire that she knew was hidden deep. He fought against this idea and summoned her as he called her name.
Yes, he knew who she was and his eyes, those dark glimmering eyes, suggested that he was pleased to be in her presence. She could see through him, see the demonic essence within; that crimson shade of power. She had never seen something quite like him before. He was powerful and staring into him intrigued her.
Then, the image of Crowley changed and she felt as if she was falling, and then pulled into a memory she had long forgotten.
Her father, Loki.
He was a magnificent God with mischievous eyes. He stroked her cheek, his eyes seeming sad. She had never seen him sad. He kissed her forehead and whispered something to her, but everything had become blurry. She could feel herself slipping away from him. She tried to fight against the courant that was pulling her away, but then couldn't remember what she was fighting for.
Rowan bolted upright in bed, breathing hard, her eyes wide opened as her head throbbed with a headache. All those memories flooding back towards her, especially the last one. Her father, Loki, must have done something to make her forget everything.
It made no sense. She was a full grown woman when her father kissed her forehead and then she was a little girl in the modern world. How was that even possible?
Rowan swung her legs to the side of her bed, rubbing her face. She wasn't tired, but her head was pounding. She glanced at her clock and her mouth dropped open. She vaguely remembered what time it was when she took those sleeping pills, but was she correct in calculating a nearly ten hour sleep?
Rowan quickly got out of her room, feeling her pockets for her cell phone. It was safely tucked away in her pocket and when she pulled it out, there were no text messages or missed calls. She exhaled with relief, but then realized that there were only a couple more days until the Winchesters returned. She didn't have much time to uncover everything. She was remembering memories of unthinkable power against those that harmed her and then of Loki. She was dreaming of what she knew to be Helheim, the realm of the dead. She remember what Jormungand had said and now, she seemed very certain of one thing.
She was Hel.
But there were still so many unknown facts and there was only one friend that could help her understand everything.
Rowan walked down the hall to where Crowley was chained up.