A.N.: Hello again. In case you are keeping up with this tale we are on Chapter 9 now. This is mostly a recovery chapter and nothing too major to the plot happens (we find out where Bailey is) but other than that just some bonding and snark. I hope you enjoy anyway. Also if you have never played "Gears of War" in my opinion, you don't know what you're missing. :P For those of you who want to see some Kayla/Dean goodness, be patient…you only have to wait one more chapter. Thank you for your continued support, it means more to me than I can put in mere words. *hugs* You guys are the best.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter 9
I get dressed slowly, checking myself in the mirror and realize suddenly that my computer chair is strangely vacant. Did they let Anne go? Did I know about this? I can't remember...
I end up in jeans and a loose t-shirt before checking out my face in the mirror. My lip is split from the backhand and my necklace still covers my bruises. When I pull the choker down I can see the faint outline of fingers tips against my windpipe. I can't do anything about that though, I need to find out what information Sam has collected. I wonder if this is how the Winchesters carry on as I put my game face on and head down to command central.
Three pairs of eyes track me as I move into the living room. So I guess Anne is still here.
"Oh my god!" she gasps and runs over to me. Her eyes scan my face, taking note of the injury there. "I'm so, so sorry." she whispers.
So this happening to me means it didn't have to happen to her? Okay, silver lining.
"Go home Anne. Your mom is going to be taken care of and your family is waiting for you,"
She nods and gulps down her tears before pulling me into a tight hug. "Thank you, thank you so much."
I pull away. "Change your number, as soon as possible. Move, change your name, do what you need to do to keep you and your family safe. It's up to you now."
She looks me over again, paying close attention to the way I have my arms wrapped around myself. As if that will keep out the terrible thoughts and feelings that are gnawing away at me.
"I will, I promise I will." She swears. "Thank you," she turns to the boys with a faint smile. "Thank you all so much."
She gives me a swift kiss on my cheek before she disappears out the door.
Sam and Dean watch me. I feel numb. Dean approaches me.
"You look like Kayla again," he starts and I back up a step without even thinking about it…Directly into a streak of sunlight.
"Son of a bitch." he spits out, hand moving to touch the cut in my lip.
It doesn't hurt, but I wince anyway.
"Tell me what happened."
"Nothing," I groan, pushing away his hands.
"Nothing my ass!" He moves towards me again. "You have a split lip and don't want anyone to touch you, tell me what happened." he insists.
"I already told you nothing happened. Back off." I bite out.
"Dean, I think you should," Sam is talking from the side.
"Kayla," he starts, his voice winding around me like an embrace I so desperately need and can't accept.
But it's his eyes that break me, a hurricane of emotions brewing in them. I take a quivering breath.
"Don't make me." I whisper. "Please don't make me." my voice is the epitome of despair.
Dean stops moving. "Kayla?"
I lift up tear bright eyes to him. "Just don't." I say again.
He sighs, his hands dropping to his sides, his feet stepping away from me now.
"I'm going to kill that bastard." he declares.
I choke out a bitter laugh. "Get in line."
After the breakdown of the case reveals that the ritual is happening tomorrow night, roughly around midnight, Sam tells me that he has found out it is being performed at Ned Houk Park. And thank God, he also learned that Bailey is going to be there.
This week has been hell, for my body, for my mind, for my heart, and when the boys state that they are going to case the park and will be back later I let out a loud pent up sigh and sink into my couch. I've never needed my family so much in my whole life. I start to cry and soon my exhaustion and heartache have pulled me under into comforting oblivion.
My dreams are upsetting and involve me and Bailey being attacked and I have no way to save her. I am completely trapped up against a post, knives digging into my sides. And where the hell are Sam and Dean? Somebody has to save her!
I wake up screaming and the two figures across from me jump up into defensive positions as I stumble to my feet.
"Bailey," I mutter, reaching a hand out to grab onto something. "She's in trouble."
"Whoa Kayla, it's okay, you're safe. We're here." Sam? Dean? I can't tell which one it is as I am guided to sit back down.
I slow my breathing, jolting my head free of the horror that had played out in my dreams.
"When did you guys get back?" I pant.
"About thirty minutes ago." Sam replies. "We didn't want to wake you up."
"Are you okay?" Dean inquires and I can see now the concern that blazes from his eyes.
"Tell me what you found out at the park." I declare, ignoring the question about my wellbeing.
They both inform me that there is an area of the park closed off for the governors' personal use and that police offers were circling the place. They couldn't get close enough to see except what it is that they were guarding, but it was definitely where the ritual was going down, and it's where Bailey would be.
As soon as they finish distributing the facts, I excuse myself and go out into the garage and lay into my punching bag, trying to disperse some of my rage. I remember the day after Christmas when my Dad and I had set it up. I remember the conversations, fights, disputes that had happened before I would come out here and tear it up. I remember my father holding me when my anger had run its course and given way to sorrow.
Through my grunts I hear the boys stop outside the door and argue about who should go talk to me. Sam's' argument 'you're the one who likes her.' and Deans' 'you're the one with a vagina.' I smile through my tears at that one when I hear what sounds like fists hitting palms and then a muttered. "Son of a..."
What the heck was that about? I don't hear anything else for another couple of minutes as my concentration goes back to beating the hell out of the bag.
I'm just hitting my stride, landing punch after punch after punch when the door opens. Is it Sam or Dean?
"I just thought you might want," I turn and he is holding a water bottle in one hand.
"Dean, I appreciate what you are trying to do really, I just," I reply rolling my stiff shoulder.
He holds both hands up in surrender. "What can I do?" he asks.
I sigh. Stupid, stubborn Winchesters. "Hold the bag?" I suggest with a shrug as he strips his over shirt, and walks over to grab the bag on both sides.
In just his t-shirt he looks great, but that is a secondary thought as I pummel the bag even harder this time, panting in exertion by the time we are finished.
"Better?" he asks.
"Yeah," I wheeze, wiping sweat from my forehead and yanking my saturated shirt from my head. "I'm too tired to be traumatized now." I moan and start to fan myself.
Embarrassment flashes briefly across Dean's face as I realize I'm just in my sports bra and jeans now.
"Sorry!" I yell, snatching my shirt from the floor and pulling it up to my chest.
"Uh..." he starts flustered, his eyes looking everywhere but at me.
My head gets stuck in the arm hole and when I make a soft strangled noise Dean looks back at me before he promptly bursts out laughing.
I want to get angry or embarrassed or something, but his laugh is contagious and soon I am almost falling over with the force of my guffaws.
"God, I feel like I'm going crazy," I state in between hiccups.
Dean stops laughing for just a second, meeting my eyes as he says. "Congratulations, you're officially a Winchester."
It's the best compliment he can pay me, I know. I grin widely at him when I reply. "Can I hyphenate that?"
Sam looks completely out of place when we both come back in from the garage; he's standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching us with all the curiosity of a puppy. Its uncanny how much he really does look like a puppy dog, a big, Sam sized puppy dog. I was going to miss them so much when they left.
"Everything okay?" he finally inquires and the look on his face makes me want to run and give him a hug.
Instead I nod and grant him what I hope comes across as a hopeful smile. "Oh yeah, everything's just great. What's for lunch?"
He looks flabbergasted as I snag an apron from one the kitchen hooks.
"It's a rule in my family that you don't stand in the kitchen if you don't want to end up cooking in it." I say slipping the apron over his confounded and ridiculously high sitting head.
Dean thinks it's hilarious, less though when I walk up behind him and give him the same treatment.
"Not funny Kayla," he grits out.
I have to disagree, it's pretty damn funny.
I take a mental picture as Dean says "Looking good Martha Stewart."
"Right back at you Rachel Ray." Sam retorts dryly.
I don't even bother asking how they know who those two are; the Winchesters are always surprising me.
Lunch, it turns out, is chicken strips. As I bustle around the kitchen, making the batter and frying them up, I can't wait until Bailey is home and I can make them for her.
Dean and Sam shed the aprons, but help out in the kitchen and they are surprisingly good at cooking, or at least they are good at pretending. Dean hums as he does dishes and it's something I wish I could see for years to come.
After lunch we go back out to the shooting range, and this time I don't need any coaching from either of them. All I have to do is think of Rich Kipling's smug face and I hit every single bull eye.
I notice that both Sam and Dean make sure not to touch me and to have come so far just to be back at square one makes me sad.
Dean and Sam spar in the living room for almost an hour before they notice me watching and tell me that maybe it is a good idea that I pick up this skill too. Unfortunately this skill is one that suffers from being fueled by rage and it takes me quite some time to not just strike out in anger. I have to focus and think ahead to where my opponent is going to strike. I only ever best Sam, never Dean, and I really think that is because Sam lets me win.
Although I do notice when he pauses to take a breath his hand goes to cradle his ribs. Dean notices it too as he passes him an ice pack and tells him to sit down.
This day goes slower than most, there is nothing left to do other than play the waiting game and by dinner time, after making myself and the boys a PB and J I bust out the Xbox controllers. Sam and Dean look at me like I'm from another planet as I inquire "Gears?"
Turns out in their entire lives the only game system they had ever played was a super Nintendo and that was years ago. Sam had the opportunity again at Stanford, an interesting story I'm sure, but he was always more of an intellect and his time off was spent reading.
"Nerd," Dean teases, but it hasn't escaped my eyes that his tone is a shade darker at the mention of college.
Dean never had the patience or the time for video games, him and Sam only really having an idea about Mario world. I'm the only one that seems to think it's ironic that the game is about two brothers saving a princess.
When we play Gears it is the first time I feel like I'm going to school them for once, and I do. Sam picks up the controls faster, but stays behind cover most of the game, Dean just goes in guns a blazing and I cover his ass. The third time I pick him up and then turn and chainsaw a gruesome creature in half he drops the controller and stares at me in awe.
"Dude," he breathes and I'm grinning ear to ear.
"It's not a big deal." I state. Although it feels better than I'd like to admit that the slack jawed expression is on his face for once.
Sam rounds on one of the enemies, systematically taking it out with his shotgun.
Dean continues to stare at me with his mouth agape and then he utters. "You're awesome."
I add blush to my face as I turn back to the game to cover Sam. Too bad it isn't this easy in real life.
I'm feeling almost human by the time the boys' tire of the game, Sam keeps rubbing it in Dean's face that he is way better at Gears than his older brother. Dean huffs and slugs him on the arm as he snuggles down into the couch. "I let you win."
"Really? You let yourself get ganked a dozen times?"
"All part of the plan Sammy."
Sam sighs. "Part of what plan Dean?"
Dean smirks at his little brother. "The plan to not make you cry in front of Kayla." He rises and grabs the empty plate in front of him before retreating to the kitchen.
Sam and I share a 'Yeah right' look before the younger of the Winchesters gets up and trots off toward the kitchen.
Dean is rinsing off a plate and as Sam passes him he aims the nozzle at his younger brother, grinning gleefully as Sam lets out a yelp of surprise.
I can't help but wish that Bailey was here to celebrate with me as I watch Sam lob a wet sponge towards Dean's head. I wish Sam and Dean could stay, Mom and Dad were here, that we had more time… wishing for so many things.
The day comes to a close when Sam nods off on the couch where he's reading his father's worn leather bound book. I watch him with a soft snort as he loses the fight with fatigue and succumbs to the embrace of sleep. Dean doesn't look much better.
"That was fun." Dean says tiredly and the tone indicates that there is not much of that in their lives.
I remember belatedly that I wasn't the only one who had a rough night last night.
Sam's' head drops off to the side, and Dean blinks slowly, his face lit up by the soft light emanating from the TV. By the time I have the game turned off and everything put away both of them are sleeping, side by side. Even in sleep Dean has an arm perched precariously by his brothers' shoulder, always ready should something threaten them. It's endearing, seeing these two men restored to innocent in sleep. Any doubt I have crowding my heart from that bastard is wiped away looking at them dozing, knowing at the core of me that I have nothing to fear from either of them. I throw a blanket across their unconscious forms and stretch out on the loveseat. Maybe it's my growing feelings for them, or the fact that every time I am alone something terrible happens, but I can't quite bring myself to go up those stairs.
When I wake up the clock glares back four a.m. towards me. I sit up and take in Sam still asleep, his legs propped up on the coffee table and then the oddly empty spot besides him. I get up and search the house for Dean, first checking the kitchen and the laundry room, before the glint of his necklace catches my eye. He is out front, standing at the trunk of the Impala. He spots me in the window and I wave. He hesitates for a moment before he waves back.
As I join him in the driveway I can see that he is engrossed in whatever he is doing at the trunk of his car.
His fingers dance over one of his guns, his skin coated in oil. The magazine comes out in one fluid motion as he taps it against the gun before sliding it back in.
His eyes twitch up in my direction as he states. "Hey."
"Everything okay?" I ask as I come to stand at the side of the car.
"Yeah." he states.
"Can't sleep?" I shake my head with a snort. "Sorry dumb question."
"I got a couple of hours." He replies.
"Good." I start. "Can I help?"
"Nah, it's just something I do…" he breaks off and I hear the unspoken 'when I'm nervous.'
The porch light illuminates his face bringing his worry and concern and anxious into view and it's all I can do not to reach for him, wanting to supply him with some sort of comfort.
"Hey, can I show you something?" I ask, an idea sprouting in my mind.
His eyebrow raises and there is trepidation in his voice when he answers. "I guess."
I trot over to the front door, open it up and flick the light off, bathing the front yard in darkness.
Dean's voice is confused when he asks. "Kayla?"
My hand finds his in the dark, fingers intertwining as I say, "Look up."
His face tilts towards the heavens and I can just make out his jaw dropping.
"God," he breathes softly and as my face joins his tilting upwards I think the same thing.
Sure Clovis is a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, but we do have a spectacular view of the stars.
Tiny pin pricks of light litter the sky. If we had more time I would have taken him to Ned Houk park, broken out Dad's telescope, shown him how much more beautiful everything was up close.
"Kayla, maybe we could," his voice is low and subdued and I know he's been reading my mind again.
"Dean, it's okay." I interrupt, giving his hand a light squeeze. "Let's not make promises we can't keep."
When he speaks again his voice is hoarse. "Okay."
We stay that way until the sun starts to peek over the horizon, painting everything in surreal, fantastic colors and Dean mutters an impressed "Wow." Then there are things to do and Sam is awake, wandering aimlessly around the house looking for us.
What I wouldn't give for just a little bit more time.
"How are your ribs?" I ask, watching as Sam comes down the steps.
"Sore," he shifts his body as he says this, to put less pressure on the injury I assume. "But better, thanks for asking. "
I remember reading somewhere that bruised ribs took weeks to heal, but then I didn't think most of what I read applied to the Winchesters.
"Did you sleep alright Sammy?" Dean asks from behind me.
"Yeah, pretty good actually," He says it like it's a rare commodity and then tilts his head towards his brother. "You?"
Dean shrugs.
"Fine." He says and changes the subject before Sam can question the validity of the statement. "You gonna be up for tonight?"
Sam looks offended at the question and maybe without realizing it puffs out his chest. "I'm going to be just fine jerk."
Deans lets himself look proud for just a second before his trademark stoicism is back.
It's over breakfast, French toast this time, that Sam says. "Did you find a pewter knife last night?"
What a random, weird thing to ask.
"Nope, I think we left it behind when I used it to decapitate that vamp in," Okay I guess not so random.
"San Antonio, right."
Decapitation….yeah that's a totally breakfast appropriate subject.
"Well I guess we have to track one down today then, damn." Sam mumbles, taking another bite of his French toast.
I have the feeling with the faces these two make when they are eating my cooking, that they are used to living off of fast food.
"What do we need pewter for?" I ask.
"A pewter knife, dipped in the sacrifice's blood, is the only way to kill the Tascona." Sam says.
Of course, it is. Why does anything surprise me at this point?
"So what do you think? Pawn shop? Walmart?" Dean inquires.
"I guess man,"
"I think I have one." I state dejectedly.
"Really?" they both sound excited. "Where?"
My heart is heavy as I relay. "In my parents' room."
I take my time eating my breakfast, knowing what I have to do and not sure if I have the strength to do it. I haven't stepped foot in my parents room in months, not being able to be in a room that contained their ghosts. I don't say anything as I clear the table, and silently make the journey upstairs. My hand falters on the doorknob and I think back to everything I have been through in the last couple of days and find the fortitude to go in.
It still smells like them, wisps of forgot memories stirring in the room. There is a pile of clothes laid out on the bed for when I had to pick out what to dress them in for the funeral.
I smother a cry as I circle their desk. I miss them so much.
Dad's pewter letter opener lies on the same spot he had left it on the desk, looking dull under the layer of dust. I run a finger along it, caught off guard by the onslaught of emotions that has me crashing to my knees… Years of memories and inside jokes and shared moments slam into me. I clutch my sides, rocking with the type of sadness that never really goes away. It might be minutes, or hours or decades before I can bring myself to stand up and pocket the pewter object.
When I turn I get caught in twin pools of hazel that brim with an echoed emotion. I never closed the door and I have a feeling he has been standing there for quite some time.
I close the door behind me, crossing over to him with a ghost of a smile.
I slip the letter opener into his palm. "Will this do?" The words part from my lips.
He's not looking at the pewter blade when he replies "Yes."
Sam and Dean are talking off to the side and I can't make out what they are saying, but something about the emotions on the guys face has me guessing it is something related to family.
I leave them alone to their conversation and me to my thoughts. Dad would have really liked them…well Sam anyway.
There's nothing left to do but wait, and minutes become torturous after the first hour.
Sam starts pacing, something I thought only the eldest Winchester did and finally says.
"I'm going to go for walk."
Dean doesn't try to stop him, just asks if his phone is charged and watches him leave.
"Sam gets a little claustrophobic, especially when he's laid up." He tells me.
"Do you want to go after him?" I ask, because the desire is carved into every inch in his face.
"He'll be fine." He replies and I don't know if he's trying to convince himself or me.
His phone rings half an hour later and Dean flicks it open.
"Sam? You okay?" His face mellows out at the answer. "Yeah okay…do you need me to come get you? Okay, see you soon." The phone closes with a muted chime.
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, just wanted to let me know he's on his way back."
"Does he do that a lot?" I query.
"What? Take off? Only in days that end in Y." his tone is teasing. "Even as a kid Sammy was always a flight risk." He chuckles.
"But he always comes back." I say, and it's a statement not a question.
"Yeah, he always does." His tone is less light this time.
It's only 2pm by the time Sam comes back and we still have ten hours to kill.
T.V. becomes a great distraction until 1,000 ways to die becomes 1,000 ways Bailey could die. Then we move on to reading, although Dean complains after fifteen minutes that he can't get into this 'watered down sissy version of suspense' causing Sam to dig out a Steven King novel from within his jacket.
Dean beams at him. "This the brand new one?"
Sam smiles back. "Yup. Just came out two days ago."
So that's where Sam had gone.
"Friggin' sweet." Dean mumbles, readjusting himself in the chair and sighing contently.
Sam faces changes into happiness by degrees and I myself can't stop the smile infecting my lips.
It's a welcome change from the thick tension that has permeated the air the whole day.