A/N: Whoa, hey! Long time no see. xD
So, this chapter is slightly trippy... Kinda... More like "confusing". Read everything CAREFULLY! :D Also, a LOT of swears.
Emotional chapter, so... I hope ya don't O-phelia emotions! ;D Heh. Heh heh. Hah.
horrible puns...
I do not own Supernatural!
Rrrrrrr-chik...
"Answer..." She muttered to herself.
Rrrrrrr-chik...
She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.
Rrr-chik!
Her fingers fell from her nose as the tone was interrupted. She held her breath waiting for his gruff greeting.
Rrrrrrr-chik...
She gave out a restrained groan, and clenched her jaw.
Sam peered back at her when her head thumped against her seat. "I'm sure he's fine, Ophelia," he assured.
Ophelia's head lifted when Sam said her name, and she studied him to see sincerity in his concern.
She was surprised to find it.
As her father's gruff voicemail message droned, she cocked her jaw in annoyance only to hear Sam chuckle at the expression on her face.
The sound of his laugh made Ophelia resist the urge to grin.
She was agitated. She didn't want to laugh.
She sighed heavily and set down her phone. "It's not that I'm worried he's dead or some shit. I just need to know where he is."
It was Dean's turn to chuckle, grabbing Ophelia's attention from Sam.
"That's family bonds for ya..." He joked.
Ophelia bit back a retort, turning to face the window. Her jaw was becoming site from being clenched...
"There has to be a story behind that," Dean practically prompted, peering at her through the rearview mirror.
"Obviously there could be, but who the hell said it was any of your business?" Ophelia immediately snapped, turning to look at the man ahead of her with fire in her eyes.
Dean only chuckled again, causing Ophelia to restrain from punching the back of his head.
"My apologies, Opie," he said raising his freehand in surrender. "Just askin'."
She just shook her head and huffed. Looking out of the window to her left, she tried to ignore Sam's imploring eyes watching her.
She sighed heavily, fogging the glass.
Calm the hell down, you sack of ungrateful shit, she berated herself. These guys helped you, and you haven't done shit to repay them but snap at them.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, suddenly feeling guilty. "I just met you guys, so fair warning: I get snappy."
Dean shook his head, peering up at the mirror. "No need to apologize, Opie. Me and Sammy understand daddy issues."
Ophelia couldn't help but chuckle at him. What added to the humor of the moment was Sam's side-glare at Dean's terminology.
Ophelia rested her head once again against the back of her seat. The leather was so comfortable, and the bumps of the road so soothing... She slipped her eyes closed.
"Try calling again, Ophelia," Sam suddenly suggested with a small smile and a long glance in her direction.
She huffed again, picking up the phone that was somehow in her lap.
She flipped it open, staring at her textual background. The words spelling out:
"An Eye For An Eye,
A Tooth For A Tooth
And Anyway I Told The Truth, And I'm Not Afraid To Die"
With another, but slightly madder sigh, she held the number one on her keypad, bringing it up to her ear.
Rrrrrerererr-*chik*
Why did it sound garbled...?
Rrrrrererer-*chik*
Furrowing her brow, she pulled the phone from her ear to check the screen.
"Dad" shone up at her from the screen, and dismissing the unease in her gut, she placed the cancer-machine (as her father so thoughtfully called phones) back against her ear.
Rrrrrerere-*chi*-
"Oh-fuckin'-phelia?!" A voice bellowed with obviously feigned surprise.
Not her father. Not her father. NOT her FATHER.
"Who the flying fuck is this," she growled in the receiver, gaining two pairs of concerned eyes.
"Oh, you probably don't recognize the new voice, huh?" The voice casually asked, as if he were talking about a new haircut.
"The meatsuit's name was probably Reginald or some shit judging by how he dresses. Sad, ugly sweater vests and some ancient spectacles. You'd hate it. But he has the cuh-yew-test accent, though! Glad I picked him."
Ophelia felt physically sick. It sounded like the owner of the motel.
"Damon," she breathed, so close to hyperventilating, so close to crying.
No! She fumed. No, no, no! He is the only fucking one I have!
"You fucking son of a bitch... WHERE is my dad!" Her voice was trembling with pure rage.
"Aw, dah wittle baby gonna cwy?" Damon mocked in a baby voice. "Boo-fuckin'-hoo, princess. Your daddy's fine for now. Just checkin' in on you for 'im."
There was a small pause, until he spoke again. "Why is your room empty, sweetheart? Ya forgot your luggage," he chided. She could hear the whoosh of his breath and thumps of - no doubt - her bags being kicked.
"Ophelia...?" Came Sam's voice, but she tuned it out. She tuned out the sound of him turning around and she tuned out both of them, stopping her brain from focusing on anything besides Damon.
"OoOoh!" Damon suddenly girlishly squealed. "Who was thaAat! Your boOoyfriend?"
Suddenly dead serious, Damon drawled, "You know I'm gonna have to kill whoever you're with, sweet-cheeks."
Ophelia opened her mouth to answer, opened her mouth to tell him to eat shit, but nothing came out.
"HelloOo?" Damon singsonged. "You're probably having an stroke or something right now, aren't you, baby?"
Ophelia was frozen, her face suddenly blank.
After chasing this fucker for so long, he turns around and suddenly the hunters are the hunted...
"Realizing your whole little world is crumbling down, little girl?" He jeered smugly. "Realizing you're dead meat?"
At her silence, he cackled. "Good. Know that this is going to happen. Know that this is going to be a reality, kid. Expect it. I'm tired of trying to shoo you two flies from my work."
It was then that it registered to Ophelia what Sam had said.
"Oh... She fell asleep again."
"Cute," Dean chuckled.
She woke up with a barely restrained gasp.
She bolted upright, hugging herself to prevent herself from lashing out and punch anything.
"Just in time, sleepin' beauty," Dean chuckled to himself. He must've not seen her panicked expression.
Sam did though, and the stare he leveled her startled the shit out of her when she glanced over only to see him facing her entirely with an intense gaze and a furrowed brow.
Immediately she avoided eye contact.
She hated herself for loosing her confidence - loosing her calm in front of them.
It was humiliating.
At least Sam didn't say anything.
When they pulled into the motel parking lot, Ophelia felt a massive weight lift from her heart when she spotted Wanda.
She was desperate to get out of the car, the backseat making her feel increasingly emotional and claustrophobic.
But she forced herself to be still. She forced her shoulders back, avoiding the cowardly self-protection-hunch position they had been in. She crossed her arms stubbornly.
In her desperation to appear alright, she failed to notice Sam watching her collect herself.
Ophelia felt her brain melt away as she focused solely on keeping her poise.
When they all emptied from the Impala, Ophelia offered a distracted "see you later", and rushed as calmly as she could to her room.
In a fluid movement, she lifted the key from her back left pocket and inserted it into the keyhole of the door.
Opening it as quickly as she dared and bolted in.
When she closed the door behind her, she was met with her bags scattered around the entrance way and her father looking up with surprise.
"Thought you took off again, kid," he admitted quietly.
She bolted to her father, wedging herself into her father's unopen arms.
Startled, he awkwardly rested his arms across her back.
The unexpected discomfort of the action caused her to start sobbing.
"What the hell..." She heard her father mutter confusedly, trying what little he could to comfort her. Rubbing her back didn't help, and squeezing tighter made her sob harder.
"Ophelia..." She heard.
She looked up, and was startled to see the aged ceiling of the Impala.
She looked around, confused and disoriented, to see Dean giving her the quirked "you okay" eyebrow from outside her window. Sam was stretching a few feet away from the car on the passenger side, towards where their room must have been.
She shook her head clear, angry at nothing but herself and exited the car.
She was tired. Very tired.
"Ope!" Dean called suddenly.
Startled, she turned around, a nod to prompt him to continue.
"Is this goodbye?" His smile seemed greasy, and a little bit fake. He was flirting, was he?
She stared confused at the man by the Impala, and she found it within herself to smirk.
"Not yet, cowboy."
She turned and unlocked her room.
She was greeted by an entirely dark room, save for the one lamp in-between the beds. There was a piece of paper.
Ophelia,
I love you.
I haven't shown it too good, I know. But I know we share a fucked up version of love for each other.
You've grown up so well. You've become a hard-assed, beautiful woman right in front of me.
You're mom would be proud, Ope. Maybe not of the life I threw you too, but definitely of who you are.
I'm getting too old for this shit, baby girl. And I want to be with her again.
Wanda was meant for you. Your mother said how she couldn't wait to see her grandkids in the backseat, your husband at the wheel, and you with at his side.
I kinda fucked that up, but do her a favor and try to fix it.
I know I'm a fucked up asshole for leaving you like this, we were all we had, and now I'm leaving you.
But I couldn't imagine a situation where you'd let me go off and do this without shooting me in the leg or some shit.
I raised you crooked, but I like to think I raised you morally right at the very least.
I'm not afraid to die.
I love you Opie. I'll say hello to your old choppah, and momma and the gang for you.
She had sunk to the floor, the loose sheets of the motel notepad spread around her knees and she couldn't breath.
She raised a trembling hand to her mouth, pressing her hand against it so hard it hurt, trying not to make a sound.
Her eyes were overflowed with tears, and they fell down her cheeks and onto her arms.
She couldn't hear herself, or else she would have stopped breathing to prevent the whimpers and gasps emitting from her throat.
The sobs were pained and panicked, almost sounding like a terrified child.
So many questions she wanted to ask, but only one answer would be her response.
Gone.
No take-backs, no halfsies. She had one answer now, and no matter how much she wanted it to be different, the more she asked, the more the answer stayed the same.
Dead.
Her face fell blank, tears still running over her eyes and down her face. She was hyperventilating, and she was getting light-headed.
She couldn't reclaim her breathing, but her face was impassive.
He was dead. And he didn't care.
Her face twisted grotesquely with every single emotion she carried... and she moaned.
She moaned from physical pain in her stomach; guilt. The guilt that eating itself out of her body.
She moaned from the physical pain of her heart fluttering, off-beat.
She moaned from the pure physical pain of pure grief.
She didn't hear the two quiet knocks on the door and she didn't hear his voice calling her name confused. She didn't see him run towards her, cradling her heavy head in his large hand. She didn't see him notice the note papers littering the ground, and she didn't feel him picking her up and placing her on the bed she was half leaning against.
She didn't feel herself attach herself to him, whispering curses and gasping at the weight of the guilt that had plunged back down on her chest.
Sam gently repositioned himself so that he could comfortably sit and allow her to... break down on him.
As he felt her entire body quake with hoarse sobs, he stared down at the note, reading what words he could from his distance from the floor.
When Dean peeked into the opened door casually with a beer in his hand, he became alert immediately and barged into the room.
"What the hell?!" Dean exclaimed quietly. "We leave this broad for ten minutes... What happened!"
Sam just looked up at Dean with a distressed 'bitchface' and just nodded to the scattered notepad papers spread across the floor.
Dean gave the trembling woman a weary but concerned glance and set his beer on the night stand.
After he picked up the papers, he sat across from Sam on the bed closest to the door, shuffling the papers in what he considered the order - double-sided one first, half-page last.
As he read through it, the expression of weary concern became disbelief.
He wordlessly shared a heavy look with Sam, and they both silently looked down and the woman huddled into Sam's side inside his jacket.
Dean cleared his throat quietly, and looked to Sam again.
"Well, this sucks ass," he said hoarsely.
But Sam recognized the seriousness behind his brother's words.
He couldn't find anything to respond with, so he simply answered, "Yeah."
A/N: Did you feel the feels? I mean, I kinda did. Cuz I didn't plan on killing him off so soon. :|
I just wrote and wrote, and then BOOM, I accidently made the death happen. Woooo... *facepalm*
On another note, HI! How ya doin'... Good? Good, good...
I'm so sorry it took so long to update! D: I procrastinate writing ever since I started an account on this site, so that's amazing.
I promise I'll try to write more.
Oh, also! There's going to be a new cover image for this story, and I wanna clarify that I don't know who the chick is, and it isn't mine! I just wrote the *NEW AND IMPROVED* title and badda-bing, cover image. So. Yeah. I don't claim ownership of a chick I don't know's face. Promise.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed (kinda), and have a great day! :)