Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. That privilege belongs to the awesome creator, Eric Kripke.
"Ally? You all right, kiddo? You don't look so hot…" Uncle Sammy said, standing beside my bed, observing my half-asleep form. I was slightly buried in the sheets, my eyes shut tightly. I had a "headache", or at least I was pretending to have one. I had also gotten up early to apply makeup to make myself look pale. If I wanted to pull this off, I had to look convincing. You'd be surprised by how well some leftover Halloween makeup and a bit of acting will work. I groaned in reply, stuffing my face into the pillow.
"Uhhh…" I muttered, sniffling. Sammy then insisted on taking my temperature, and that got me a little worried; I knew I'd be done for. He would know I'd been faking it. Sam grabbed the thermometer out of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom down the hall, came back, and stuck it in my ear.
"98.6…you don't have a fever." He stated. He put his hand to my forehead for good measure, making me smirk. Sam acted like such a mother sometimes, it was almost as if I actually had one around. Nagging about grades, making my lunch for school, and now taking my temperature? It was ridiculous, really. No wonder why Dad constantly made fun of him all the time, calling him a chick.
"Sore throat," I said hoarsely. "Headache." I coughed. "Chills." Sam sighed.
"I'll call the school to let them know you won't be in today, and I'll bring home your homework. Your Dad's gotta go to work. Are you going to be okay by yourself?" I nodded.
"Thanks, Sammy," I answered groggily. "You're the best." Sam gave me a lopsided grin, ruffling my hair. He planted a kiss on top of my head before walking toward the door.
"Feel better." Sam said. He walked out and shut the door. Once I was completely sure he was gone, I set my alarm clock for eleven-thirty. Dad went to work at ten, but I wanted some extra sleep so I could be prepared for the exorcism. (Which I still couldn't believe I was doing…) I settled back into the blankets and drifted off in a matter of minutes.
When I heard the alarm at eleven-thirty, I hopped out of bed quickly and got dressed in a pair of jeans and an emerald green, long-sleeved T-shirt. I went downstairs to the kitchen, where I wolfed down two bowls of Cheerios. After breakfast, I dialed Oliver's cell.
"So, you managed to pull it off after all." He laughed.
"Yep." I answered.
"My mom's away on a hunt. She doesn't know that I'm skipping, and I doubt she'd care even if she was here anyway." It seemed to me like Lily Devereaux was very resentful of Oliver. Did she not care about her own son at all? Sure, he's half-demon, but he's still her son, for crying out loud.
"Lucky you," I said while climbing the stairs up to our attic. "I had to trick my uncle into thinking I was sick, with my superb acting skills." Opening the creaky, attic door, I pulled on the chain that turned on the light. I padded across the room, my flip-flops clicking with each step. I unlocked the large trunk that contained some extra hunting equipment, and started digging around for the things I needed.
"When do you want me over at your place?" Oliver questioned. I glanced at my watch.
"How about…a half-hour?"
"Sounds good to me. See you then." He hung up, and I went back to my search. I fished out a container of salt, a rosary, and some holy water. I knew I would need my Grandpa's journal, since it held the actual exorcism ritual; the journal was kept safe in my dad's room. Leaving the supplies out, I dashed into Dad's room, got down on all fours, and dragged a box out from under the bed. Grandpa John's leather-bound journal was in it, beneath some tissue paper. I took it out carefully, and pushed the box back under the bed.
Returning to the attic, I pulled a chair in the center of the room, and set the rope on the floor next to it. I placed the journal, rosary, and the small flask of holy water on the table across from the chair, and made a circle of salt around myself. After everything was set up, I sat down in the chair and read over the ritual, just to make sure.
Oliver was at my house at twelve-thirty sharp. I let him in quickly, and he followed me upstairs to the attic.
"So, you're absolutely sure you want to do this? Because, you really don't have to. I mean, we don't know what's going to happen…" I reminded him, picking up the rope. What was this exorcism going to do to him if it didn't kill him? Take away his demonic powers? Get rid of his blackouts?
"Yep. I trust you." He answered, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. We shared a kiss, and then he sat down in the chair. I tied his wrists to the arms of chair, and walked over to the circle of salt, grabbing the journal and rosary along the way. My hands were shaking as I opened it to the correct page. I was really nervous; I had never done an exorcism unaccompanied, since—as I stated before—it was against the rules for me. What if this did kill Oliver? How would I explain that to Dad and Sam?
I took a deep breath and started reading the ritual in Latin. Everything went okay for a short while, until Oliver looked like he was in a great amount of pain. He kept grimacing and struggling against his bonds, yelling out in agony.
All hell was beginning to break loose. Literally.
The attic door slammed shut with enough force to shake the entire room. The container of holy water began to rattle on the table. The window suddenly flung open, and a strong breeze filled the room, whipping my hair all over, and threatening to make me loose my page. Oliver was doing his best to fight it, but unfortunately, the demonic side won over. I think he was having a blackout, because his whole personality changed drastically. He stopped thrashing, and gave me this wicked stare, his eyes now black as coal with a hint of yellow. It was seriously the creepiest thing I had ever seen. I stopped reading temporarily, and stared right back at him.
"You really thought you could get rid of me, didn't you?" he mocked, his voice turning harsh and menacing. "An exorcism?" he laughed. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but those tricks don't work on me either, princess." I swallowed hard. Using his telekinesis, he untied the ropes that held him with his mind, and got to his feet. Oliver stepped right over the circle of salt, and shoved me into the wall, knocking the journal from my hands. He had an iron-like grip on my wrists; I couldn't budge.
I mentally kicked myself for doing something this stupid. This definitely taught me a lesson. Now, I had the Demon's son pissed off, and I had no way to defend myself. Great job, Alyx I thought. He's gonna kill me, and Dad and Sam are going to come home and find my dead body in the attic.
"You know, I thought you were better than this, Alyx, with all that training you've had," Oliver mused. "I didn't think it'd be this easy to kill you."
"Man, you've got a big ego." I muttered, receiving a hard slap across the face. The ring on Oliver's finger created a cut on my cheek, which stung immediately. I knew, however, that it would heal in a few seconds.
"You should really learn to shut your mouth." He advised. Like I didn't know that already. I needed to get out of this situation fast…
Naturally, I did the only thing a girl does when in a bad predicament with a guy. I kicked him between the legs. Not exactly a hunter's best approach when dealing with a demon, but hey, the guy's still half-mortal. Moaning in pain, Oliver dropped to his knees, and I made a run for it, grabbing the flask of holy water on the way out of the room. I sprinted down the stairs and got to the living room when I heard Oliver's footsteps moving rapidly down the staircase.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Alyx." Oliver called, as I moved swiftly over to the kitchen. Unfortunately, Oliver was standing in the center of the kitchen when I arrived. Yeah, that's right. He was already there. He had the power to transport himself anywhere he wanted in the blink of an eye.
Unfair.
All I had was healing and annoying premonitions in my dreams. Neither of which helped at the moment. Well, unless I got hurt, that is. Like, for instance, when Oliver decided it would be fun to fling me through the air to show off his impressive telekinetic skills. My back hit the cabinets over the sink, and I tumbled onto the floor. I lay there for a moment, trying to recollect myself before gripping the edge of the sink to get up. I got to my feet painfully, and thinking fast, I grabbed a heavy, stainless steel pan out of the sink to use as a means of defense. Not the greatest weapon, but maybe I could somehow knock him out—maybe get him back to his old self.
The two of us maneuvered around the kitchen—okay, so I kind of ran around the kitchen swinging the pan like wild woman while Oliver moved stealthily about with his unearthly speed—dodging each other. Oliver ducked agilely when I swung the pan at his head, and I jumped and rolled out of the way when he tried to throw knives, plates, and other kitchenware my way. Somehow, during the struggle, I managed to catch him off guard, which resulted in whacking Oliver in the back of the head at full force. And boy, did he go down like a sack of potatoes.
I dropped the pan onto the floor and approached his unconscious body, kicking at his leg just to make sure he was really out cold. Now, I had to figure out what to do with him. I lifted up his torso and slipped my hands under his arms, and dragged him into the living room. Pulling one hundred and fifty or so pounds of sixteen-year-old guy isn't any picnic, either. It was a wonder how I even got him up onto the couch. I prayed that he wouldn't wake up angry—that is, if he woke up. I hoped I didn't give him brain damage or anything, because I did smack him with the pan pretty hard.
When Oliver finally came to, it was about two-thirty. I was sitting in one of the chairs in the living room; Oliver sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch, groaning, rubbing the back of his head where a huge bump had formed.
"What happened?" He inquired. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
"A pan is more like it," I laughed. "You don't remember anything?"
"Not really…I remember being tied to a chair up in the attic, and you starting to read in Latin, then I blacked out." I walked over to him, taking a seat next to him. I took the glass of water and aspirin I had left on the table, and handed it to him. He swallowed the pills and downed the glass of water, thanking me. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Nah, I'm fine. I did more damage to you. I'm the one who sidelined you with a steel pan. I had no choice, of course. You were trying to kill me."
"I'm sorry, Alyx, I shouldn't have put you in this position; making you do the exorcism."
"I'm the one who agreed to it, Oliver. I decided to help you. I knew it would be dangerous, and I took the risk anyway. You had no idea what you were doing. As far as I'm concerned, it wasn't really you I was dealing with earlier. I saw the hate in those eyes and I knew, Oliver. The real you—the one I'm going to save—would never do that to me." I told him. I leaned over and started kissing him, and he kissed me back, cupping my face with both of his hands. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and ran my hands through his shaggy, slightly disheveled hair. Both of us were too preoccupied with the fact that we were practically making out on the couch to notice a car pull up in the driveway…