Disclaimer: Bobby Singer is not my character.
A/N: Sorry for the long update time. Yeesh.
The warehouse was actually pretty clean—for a nest of serial killers. There were couches and chairs scattered about in the main area, and a kitchen was tucked into one corner. Random bedrooms were behind open doorways, and I searched through the rooms methodically, peering around corners and metal posts with clinical caution, even though I knew there was only one vampire standing guard. One vampire that I had just killed.
No, I commanded myself. Think about it later. For now, you have more important things to do. It still didn't wash out the horrible, sick feeling gnawing at the back of my mind. But I shook the thoughts free and focused on finding the girls.
The room I was looking for kind of threw me for a loop. I had expected a "Dungeons-R-Us" type vibe, but what I found was on the other end of the spectrum. It was a definite room, and it was definitely decorated for girls. The only giveaway was the massive, iron jail-cell door across the opening. The worst part maybe, was that it was interspersed with all the other rooms. Like having a cell was no big deal. Oh, need to restrain these kidnapped girls? Let's just slap some bars on the door. It was sick.
I hustled up to the iron grating, inwardly cursing at the heavy chains and padlock that secured it. I had many things in my handy-dandy pack, but bolt cutters or a welding torch were not included. In the movies, the people sometimes shoot the lock, and while I trusted my accuracy, I didn't trust the potential for ricochet.
Fine, then. I sat in a huff, pulling my backpack around and digging through it for my lockpick kit. Using it twice in as many days, I mused. I am such a criminal. It wasn't even funny anymore. I scowled as I inserted the tension wrench. Then I inserted the pick, still scowling, and jiggled it slightly in hopes that I could set at least a few of the tumblers right off the bat. The logo on the lock was American, which meant that there were probably at least five tumblers, and the almost silent clicks told me that I'd gotten two done.
I rolled my eyes, blowing a stray piece of hair out of my face before going back to work. In the movies, the actors bend down, pick the lock, and are inside in less than a minute. In reality, that was bullcrap, and it was seriously slow going.
Eventually, the lock dropped open, and I almost didn't even notice. When I did, though, there was a definite victory dance, bloody machete in hand and all. Then I reigned myself in and proceeded into the room. There were two beds with pink blankets. Two desks painted purple. No closets. A few books were strewn about, and there were a few boyband posters decorating the walls. Other than that, the place was pretty bare.
I turned my attention from the decorating job to the actual occupants. Both were girls, and both were lying prone on the beds. Only one looked like she was breathing.
My heart hammered wildly in my chest, and I made my way forward cautiously, going to the girl who was most definitely not breathing. I eased up to her side, holding my machete ready as I pressed two fingers against her very pale, very cool neck. Nothing. I moved my fingers to her wrist, wanting to deny what I already knew was true. No pulse, again. Her skin was too cold for her to be alive, she wasn't breathing, and she didn't have a heart beat.
She was dead.
My stomach turned violently. There were bite marks on her neck. Not the neat, two-hole puncture from popular fiction. These were big bite marks, and they were layered across her neck and arms.
Any guilt over killing the vampire earlier disappeared. I was cold and furious, and I didn't even know this girl. She was young, which made it worse. My age, maybe a few years older. In my head, I called the vampires I'd seen earlier several uncharitable, R-rated names. Then I set my anger aside and went to the next bed.
The girl there was still breathing, thankfully, but her skin was pale. She looked like she was barely hanging in there. I brushed the long sandy-colored strands of hair out of her face. Then I froze. Holy. Crap. Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap.
She had a heart shaped face, all graceful curves and ridges. But three things stood out to me like beacons. First was her nose, straight and narrow. Second was her cheekbones, delicate and proud. Third was her mouth, thin and expressive. Right now her lips were chapped and pressed into a tight grimace, but I knew just how expressive they could be, because I often found myself staring at another pair just like them.
They have someone I want, Finn's mother had said. Understatement of the freaking year, lady.
I pressed my fingers to the girl's neck, feeling for a pulse. It was weak and fast. Not good. Not good at all. But at my touch, her eyes snapped open, and I added yet another physical feature that stood out. Her eyes, dazed and dull as they were, shared the same hazy blue and gray tones of the apparent McAllister genetic code. This was...this was utterly ridiculous. I had never in my life met three people that looked so similar. It was mind-boggling.
I stepped back from the bed, lost and reeling for the second time this week. Holy crap. Finn had a sister. Finn had a sister that he'd never even told me about.
On the bed, she moaned, and I snapped back into a business mode. "Aren't you a little short to be a vampire," came her first words in a hazy, yet definitely sardonic tone. Oh my gosh. Could she really be quoting from my favorite sci-fi movies?
I moved forward again, getting an arm under her shoulders and helping her sit up. "I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you," I told her.
"Star Wars," she with a teensy, exhausted snort, her head lolling against my shoulder.
"Star Wars, indeed. At least you're better versed in the cinematic universe than your brother. Can you stand?" I really didn't know whether she could stand or not, and with the way she looked, I was leaning towards a no on that one.
But to my surprise, she slid her legs off the bed in jerky, uncoordinated movements. Then she latched onto my shirt and pulled herself upright. Wow. Color me impressed. "I don't have a brother," she grated, voice hoarse as she struggled to balance against me. My eyes widened, and I froze, incidentally making it easier for her to remain upright.
"Oh," I said, channeling my one hundred percent extremely proficient mastery of tact. "Well, that's nice." Then we made our way toward the door.
"What about Kate?" she said softly, sagging against me slightly as she reached one thin, bruised arm back towards the girl on the bed.
"Don't worry about Kate," I said. "I'm more concerned about you at this point." Oh gosh, how was I going to tell her? She obviously knew the girl on the other bed, but didn't know Kate was dead. How was I supposed to break news like that to someone who was seemingly so fragile? I wasn't, I decided. At least not right now.
The girl glommed onto my side, staggered a few steps, and then collapsed, half dragging me down with her. "No, no, no," I told her quickly. "We have to keep moving. We need as much of a headstart as we can get before they come back and find you're gone."
"So tired," she whispered, her eyes taking on a vacant dullness that scared me.
"Just hold it together—" I stopped, realizing I didn't even know her name. Shaking her shoulder, I asked her exactly that.
"Mika," she barely got out before her eyes slid shut.
"Okay, Mika. Just hold it together for a few more minutes. Can you do that for me? Come on, open your eyes, sweetie," I pleaded. Her eyelids fluttered, and I saw a crack of blue. "Good," I praised. "Now we're going to get up and make it to the door, then we can rest. Ready?" She nodded.
"Okay," I said. "Ready, set, go." On go, I heaved her upright, and we battled our way towards the outer door I'd come in. Unfortunately, our path took us by the body of the downed vampire.
Again surprising me, Mika found a sudden burst of strength as we went by. She clung to me and let out a little sob, and her foot flashed out, kicking the dead vampire in the side. Another sob, another kick. I let her, knowing that anything was better than her previous dazed acceptance.
Finally, Mika's strength faded, and I got us moving forward again. When we reached the exit, I shoved the door open and propped her against the metal frame. "Alright, you can take a two-second break. I'm going to be right back." Mika's fingers were clamped on my arm as I turned back to the room, but I gently broke free of them. "I'm coming back. I'll only be a second, I promise."
Jogging back to the room where I'd found her, I pulled a can of Axe body spray and a roll of duct tape of my backpack. Tearing a strip of tape off, I quickly slapped it over the spray can nozzle and tossed the improvised grenade into the room. It hissed loudly, venting noxious man fumes into the air. I turned and ran, repeating the process again as I got closer to the doorway.
Then, for my big finale, I produced a giant spray can of "Tahitian Sunset" air freshener and let it fall to the floor. I didn't know what a Tahitian sunset smelled like, but if it was anything like what came out of the can, I was going to avoid Tahiti for the rest of my life. The round, metal cylinder clanked to the ground and rolled to the middle of the room after an encouraging nudge of my toe, coming to rest against the leg of a coffee table. I didn't use my smelly bomb idea with this one. No, I had something special in mind.
"Alright, Mika. Ready to go? My car is just across the street." I said it more to rouse her than to ask her opinion. We were going, if I had to drag her with me or not. Nudging her outside, I followed, until we were both completely shielded by the heavy metal wall. Then I stuck my head and arm back inside the room, taking careful aim with my gun. "T-minus three...two...one," I intoned. Upon reaching one, I pulled the trigger.
Boom. The can exploded. I didn't see it, because I was busy whipping my head and arm back outside of the warehouse and covering Mika with my body. But the sound of the explosion reverberated, shaking the metal siding slightly, and the heatwave was pretty awesome coming out the door. "Oh, look, Mika. A Tahitian Sunset," I remarked, entirely too excited as I straightened and watched a cheery glow from blazing furniture emit from the doorway.
"Boom goes the dynamite," Mika muttered, and then she passed out in my arms. I liked her already.
Shoving my gun into its shoulder holster, I swept Mika up onto my shoulder. It wasn't easy, and she kept sliding around, but eventually I got her in a passable fireman's carry. She was pitifully light, on top of being a petite thirteen or fourteen year old, so it wasn't too bad as I staggered across the street in search of my car.
After what seemed like ages later, I dropped her into the backseat and started the stolen Camry. It chugged faithfully to life, and I pulled out onto the road, more or less pleased with my own bad-assery. Stole a car. Killed a vampire. Rescued a girl. Yep, that was me. Riley Stewart, professional bad-ass.
I drove until the car was almost out of gas. Then I parked the car in a random parking lot, stripped off my bloody shirt, and scrubbed the remaining specks of dried blood off my neck and chin. Being passably presentable, I locked the doors and walked two blocks over to a gas station.
Gas stations all had cameras, and I wasn't totally interested in getting recorded in a freshly stolen car. So I carried two plastic, three-gallon gas cans to the station, filled them up, and bee-lined it back to the car. It looked undisturbed, which was a relief, and I filled the tank with my cans before tossing them in the trunk. Then it was back on the road for us.
Mika didn't wake up often, but when she did, I made her drink lots of water. She also choked down a protein bar after what seemed like an hour of threatening, urging, and haggling. Which, of course, made me finally understood what it must have been like for Dean to get me to eat and drink during the wendigo fiasco. Somewhere up there, God was laughing at my complete role reversal, and I was very much so not laughing along.
Around four in the afternoon, I stopped and got more gas. Then we both managed a bathroom break around back of the lonely gas station. I had gone inside and gotten the key, and then we'd made the two-person trek. Mika was definitely stronger, though, than she had been before. It made things that much easier that she could walk, talk, and function on her own for short bursts.
We hit the road again after getting a few snacks, and this time Mika decided to hang out in the front seat. The car was made in the early nineties, and the radio only worked on occasion, but it made time pass more quickly. Mika played DJ in her bouts of consciousness, and I mostly brooded over what we were going to do next.
Around six, I pulled off the freeway and found the closest motel. Paying for a room that was tucked farthest away from anything and everything, I unloaded my nearly unconscious charge and our bags. Mika collapsed onto the bed, and I went straight to the bathroom.
I jumped in the shower quickly, knowing that if I stayed out, I was going to start thinking about what I'd done, and if I did that, then things were going to get ugly. So, being the typical college student that I was, I procrastinated facing my problems by stepping into a stream of hot water.
When I got out again, I was clean of all dried blood. The evidence that I had brazenly decapitated someone had long since been washed down the drain. I dressed mechanically and then stared blankly at the mirror, pulling a brush through my hair and trying to ignore coldness inside me despite having just put on my favorite sweatshirt.
Actually, it wasn't mine. It was Finn's, and I had stolen it. The sleeves were too long, and it was more like a parka on me, but I loved it anyway. It was soft, and it smelled unmistakably like him. Pulling the collar of the hoodie up over my nose, I inhaled deeply. Then, I just wanted to cry.
Instead, I called Trixie. She nestled the phone next to Finn's ear for me, and then walked away. I heard her call out that she'd be back in five minutes, her voice distant and slightly tinny. I pursed my lips, my throat hurting and eyes prickling for a second. She hadn't even questioned my request. Man, how did I get such a friend like her?
Having only five minutes, I went out and curled up on the bed, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder. "I killed someone, today," I told Finn. "I cut his head off, and it was probably the most horrible thing I've ever done." Silence. Heavy, vacuous silence.
"What if he had a family before all this?" I questioned. "What if they don't know what happened to him, and now they never will?" I sighed, wondering if all Hunters felt the post-Hunt crash of melancholic quasi-morality. Then I reminded myself that he had been a bloodthirsty vampire in a nest of eight other bloodthirsty vampires.
"I think they're going to come looking for us," I told him. "There's going to be a lot of bloodshed over these next few days. I don't want to kill. I hate it. But it's either kill or be killed, and I'm not just fighting for me now." Dang, that was true in more ways than one. Another pause. I turned pensive.
"Had an art show. My work was really good, Finn. Really, really good. I was normal. I was being normal. Jeez, when did that even start happening?" I gave a shuddered exhalation, quietly grieving what I'd been able to attain in those long months. Peaceful. They had been peaceful beyond belief. And here I was, starting up the killing again. "Why did I ever think this was a good way to live?" I murmured. "If I'd just tried a little harder, waited a little longer, I could have made myself normal all that time ago. But no, I didn't. Now I'm a killer, and you're in a coma." I pinched the bridge of my nose tiredly. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd just stayed away from the supernatural, then maybe none of this would have ever happened. Is that a bad thing to wish for, knowing how many people I've helped along the way?"
There was no response, and I felt foolish for hoping there would be.
"One day at a time, I guess," I said, choking up. "I'm just going to take it one day at a time."
"Riley?" Trixie called, a polite indication that she was back. I fell silent, listening to the faint sound of Finn breathing. Then the speaker was filled with jostling noises, and Trixie was back. I thanked her and then hung up, unable to stomach an actual conversation.
I put the phone on the nightstand, right next a bottle of water and a bag of beef jerky for Mika in case she woke up during the night. Then I snuggled down, pulling the hood up around my head and breathing in the scent of Finn. This sweatshirt was the only physical reminder I had of him. It was only item that carried his scent, and I valued it more highly than any of my possessions right now.
Any of them. Including my—albeit stolen—car.
I fell asleep, thinking of Finn.
In my dreams, Finn was awake. In my dreams, we were together, living a normal life in every sense of the word. In my dreams, there were no monsters, no people, no nothing. It was just Finn and I, existing in perfect harmony.
When I woke, tears were slowly streaking down my cheeks. I hadn't even known it was possible to cry during sleep. I swiped the tears away, sitting up. Mika was still asleep, resting peacefully on her side. I moved to the end of the bed, looking down at my duffle bag. Last night, I had placed a syringe of dead man's blood on top of it. There was another syringe nestled at the back of the nightstand as well.
I gazed at the murky, red blood, and I remembered the hot splash of vampire blood across my neck and face during the decapitation. I was so lost in the memory that I almost missed the small jiggle of the doorknob. Almost, but not quite.
I was out of bed in an instant, snatching up the syringe in my left hand and my gun in the other as I spun to the far side of the room. Human or vampire, whomever was outside our door was about to be in a world of hurt.
It was a vampire. Not even two seconds after I moved, the door exploded inwards, and a man appeared in the middle room. He froze for a second, catching sight of Mika and the empty bed beside her, and that proved to be his undoing.
I had never even slowed down and only needed to pivot on one foot before I was close enough to slam the syringe into his shoulder, depressing the plunger fully before he had a chance to turn around.
A second later, he went down in an unconscious heap, and I was left with spiking adrenaline and the mad desire to chop his head off. Instead, I remained rational and went to the nightstand, picking up my phone with shaking hands.
I dialed quickly, staring down—unperturbed—at the vampire as the phone rang. I recognized him from the pictures. Why he was here alone, or even here at all, was beyond me. Not knowing how he'd found us so quickly or why he was alone scared me, though. But I had known this would happen. Known it could proceed no other way.
"Yeah?" came a rough growl after a quiet click of the phone connection. Woah, only old school phones made that kind of noise upon being picking up.
"Bobby Singer? Dean Winchester gave me your number," I stated.
There was a pause. Then another gruff, "Yeah?"
I nudged the vampire with my toe, wondering how long I had until he woke up again. "There's an unconscious vampire, dosed approximately sixty seconds ago with two CCs of dead man's blood, lying on the floor of my motel room."
I took a deep breath and let it out, feeling the coldness creep up in my chest. "How do I make it disappear?"