Alice
I wake up to an empty bed, gently patting the opposite side, and feeling under the pillow. There, I feel a sheet of paper.
"Back soon, sweet Alice. Just out getting a few things, with Sam. Yours, Castiel".
I smile, propping myself up on my elbows. Then I brace myself for the sound of Lucifer in my head, given that I was alone, and the bunker was quiet.
Bracing...bracing...it doesn't come. It is my nature to ask questions, but I don't dare.
I decide to shower. I pass by Jack's room on the way to the bathroom, but he isn't there, and I wonder if he hadn't decided to go with Cas and Sam as well.
Naturally, it is in the shower that Lucifer speaks to me, again.
By now I've realized he has somewhat of a formula; a manipulative, opportunistic formula. He either throws me when I'm with one of the boys, after lying dormant for a while-or he waits until I am beginning to spiral over something, already. He uses my own intrusive damn thoughts to bait me.
What else could you expect from the devil?
As I massaged Sam's shampoo through my hair-which smells like sweet lemon and eucalyptus-the thoughts start to snake through my mind like Kudzu.
Who am I, suddenly? Who do I think I am? Why do these men, these...extraordinary men, find themselves drawn to me? I am a mess. I have nothing. I can be of use to them as far as seeing, but does that really count when half of the time, I'm the reason these monsters are showing up to begin with?
I am pleasant company; I can say that... but the rest is beyond me. And I know I have plenty of issues. I know I have taken some deep, bloody psychological blows in my life-but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with my innate insecurity.
When I'm not obsessing about something anxiety inducing (when I'm alone, that is), my thoughts are all over; no rhyme or reason to anything, no clear path of how I got from where to where. It's a jungle.
I begin thinking of an interaction that happened between Dean and I, last night on the way to bed.
Tea in hand, careful not to spill, I passed by him (still on the couch-the last of us to go to sleep, per usual) before turning around slowly. "Hey, do you need anything before I go to bed?," I ask.
He cracks his knuckles. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I don't necessarily think so, no," I reply. "I think I am privileged enough to be welcome in your home, and it has also been established that I will... at least be here for a while, so... I can certainly be helpful."
Dean smiles, and I return it wholeheartedly. "I don't need anything, Ali, but thanks."
We both caught it. He'd never called me that before. He barely ever calls me Alice, actually. While he had more of a deer-in-headlights look; I simply felt endeared.
"Was that-was that weird?" he asks in earnest.
I take a sip of my tea, trying to make him feel more casual. "Why? Because that is what Sam calls me?"
"Well...yeah. That is pretty much it."
I shift my weight to my other foot, delicately. "Mm... Sam doesn't have a special claim to that endearment. You know? I am fluid...I mean...I am fucked up, but I am fluid and open, and you are all so loved, and I feel like things aren't as rigid as you may see them." He is listening intently, and it throws me off just a bit.
I continue after pausing briefly. "I don't mean that in any certain context, either. Just...be natural, with me. I am always that way with you because that's how you make me feel. Like I can be. I hope that in time, I will do the same for you. ...in the meantime, please at least call me what you'd like. Whatever comes out. Okay?"
He reaches out and puts a gentle but firm hand on my free arm. "I can do that," he says.
Good grief, Alice. Is it not enough for you to have Castiel and Sam; now you want the other brother, too? I'm beginning to feel seriously slighted, here. Or are you just an attention whore?
I wince and groan, frustrated; startled. Shampoo slides into my eyes.
He keeps it up. I'm sorry. You know, I really don't think that at all about you. I just don't get it. I'm nice to you. I need lovin,' too...do you think I'm not lonely? I am, Alice. And I happen to think you're perfect company. But you would even prefer Dean, to me? Do you know how he typically views women...?
I am not able to wrap my head around this "conversation." The new angle he's testing; attempting to appeal to my empathy.
I do what I should not; I speak to him...in my head. "I never said-I never THOUGHT of wanting Dean...your high school tactics are beyond me. I just can't stand you being in my head. Please... please, Lucifer..."
He sighs, mock dreamy. "You've not addressed me by name before, Alice. We are getting somewhere."
I feel my chest begin to ache and my heart rate quicken. I take a deep breath, and another. It feels like I've crossed a boundary that I cannot take back.
Oooh, you're so smart, little one. It is all up...or down from here, depending on your perception.
I am panicking. Head spinning. I scratch at my scalp before clumsily turning the water off and reaching for the door. I notice my vision going in and out of focus. Feeling like I'll faint, I stumble to the sink and manage to get my underwear on.
Oh, you don't have to be so modest.
Tears run down my face. Desperately needing to feel grounded, I sit on the floor and push myself against the wall. My vision fails completely as intense pressure overwhelms my head. I cannot bear the weight, that feeling; like it will send me straight into the ground. Yet somehow it continues to intensify.
"DEAN! JACK!," I yell, hands shaking. My vision doesn't return and at this point I am just screaming.
I hear someone throw open the door and I instinctively cover my head.
"Alice! What's happening!," it is Dean. He runs to me.
"Dean...my fucking head...make it stop...my head...and I can't see...I can't see!"
"Okay, okay...," he runs for a towel and wraps me up. "It's gonna be okay."
I am losing control of something. I feel it. Shaking loose like the onset of an earthquake. "Dean. Something is going to happen. I can't stop it."
My head drops and I think I manage to get the towel over most of him. "What are you doing?," he asks; now sounding panicked himself.
I put my hands over his ears as I scream, the pain crushing my body and my head.
The bathroom mirror explodes, the lights burst. My eyes were squeezed shut anyway, but once I opened them my vision had returned.
We don't move for I don't know how long. I feel his chest beating against mine. I take a cue from the bastard himself and throw modesty out of the window, wrapping my arms tight around Dean, bare chest against him, shoulders shaking.
"Okay...okay...," he holds me. "We're okay."
He grabs two towels from the shelf, throwing one on the ground. It's typical for him to have his shoes on almost always; he does this to protect my feet.
"Okay, okay...up", he gently lifts me under my arms. He is awkward with my body, but minimally so. Gingerly, he wraps me in the remaining towel, careful to ensure he isn't moving any glass deeper into my skin.
I am panting slightly. More than the splintered glass, I am in shock with the whole episode; start to finish. ...I did this. I caused all of it.
"Getting out of here...", Dean mumbles. He speaks more to himself than to me as he lifts me in his arms. I am surprised he does it with such ease.
"Need good lighting", he continues.
"The kitchen counter", I say weakly. We move that way, and he sits me on top of it.
"I need to look you over and find all the glass", he says, clearly overwhelmed..
"It's not that bad.", I reassure. "There could be much more."
"Just because that's true doesn't make this any better". He's rummaging through my hair. I feel what seems to be a larger piece on the left side of my scalp. I use my fingers to guide him to the general area.
He groans and grabs the bigger tweezers. I wince, letting a few tears slip as he removes the glass.
"I know, baby girl. I'm sorry."
Babygirl...
"Oh, Ali...", Dean cringes, pulling more bits of glass out of me as carefully as he can. "Why did you do that? I have clothes on, and I know you purposely covered me instead of yourself"
I stare at a spot on the ground. "Just instinct...".
When I find it in myself to meet his eyes; they are intense, loving, and beautiful. No denying that. I've never experienced him in full caretaker mode before. It is something to behold.
In return, I understand that he is not all that used to being taken care of himself. Perhaps that is where we overlap the most. Perhaps something is beginning to grow from it.
I hope to a god who has abandoned us that this is enough to keep me here, with them. I hope to anything that exists in the universe, anything that might give a shit in the slightest, that I did not just become more trouble than I am worth.
