Silver In Our Blood

Chapter 4

Now I Know

"So watchu find out while she was passed out?" I heard Dean's voice ask as I slowly regained consciousness.

Their backs were facing me, so I decided to play limp doll in order to satisfy my curiosity.

"Apparently, these Argent people are werewolf hunters." Sam said.

what the hell?

"They have been around this for longer than any family of hunters we know of, even ours." He continued.

"How long back?" The first asked, rumouring through stuff around the bedroom.

I could tell, by the scent, that we were in my bedroom, the familiar odour of autumn leaves coming from the mason jars I filled with fallen leaves and rain water. My favourite.

"About probably five- maybe six hundred years." The agent answered and Dean deposited what he was playing with to come next to my bed.

"So you're saying that she's supposed to be the best of all of us and she passed out because she was scared?" He scoffed.

"I don't think she even knows about it. Even the existence of anything supernatural really. The werewolf did say that she had been locked in an asylum all her life…" Sam added before his friend left my side to go back to his initial spot.

"I wonder why." He said while opening one of my drawers.

I wonder too, Dean. But please stop poking around my stuff.

"Well, I think I might know why." The agent spoke up, proud of being the first one to know.

"What were you waiting for to tell me?" Dean told him, irritated.

A small chuckle escaped the slightly taller man. "I like seeing all the wrong assumptions you make."

I heard someone being playfully smacked before Sam spoke again. "See this? It's not just any kind of diary." He marked a pose probably handing the said journal to Dean. "It's Mama Argent's journal."

Pages were flipped quickly. "Mind resuming it for me?"

Wait, how long have I been unconscious? Why am I not in a hospital?

"When Blaire here was just about a year old, she started to show signs of an abnormal intelligence along with ultra sharp reflects and senses." He took the book back from his friend. "I quote: We are devastated to learn that Aeacus' plan worked. Our baby Blaire, our flesh and blood, is half-werewolf, but for the strangest reason, because he poisoned me during the last months of my pregnancy, it has only affected her brain. She doesn't have claws, fangs, glowing eyes neither anger issues. But we can't take that risk, if Gerard knows he will probably kill her. The code is strict and can't be bent, but we just can't simply kill her. We are hunters not baby killers. We'll get her a place into an asylum in England after her first birthday. Our hearts are crushed by this decision, but it's the only way she can live."

"Wow, they're even worse than us."

So this is why? Why they never wanted anything to do with me?

"According to their "code" if any member of the family gets bitten, they must end their life. There's this sentence that keeps coming back again and again every where in their house. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent."

"In english please?"

"We hunt those who hunt us." I spoke up and both whirled on their feet to stare at me.

They both looked at each other before Sam opened his mouth to speak: " How long have you been awake?"

"Enough to know that I'm a hunter, and apparently, I also hunt what I am." I said sitting up on my bed wincing at the pain coming from my arms.

"Here." Dean said offering me his glass in which twirled an amber liquid. "How's the head?"

I took his glass and gulped the few of it down, my throat burning in the process. "The head is great. The mind is a little confused though." I said handing him back his glass. "Can I ask what you were doing in the wine vault?" I said eyeing the bottle of whiskey sitting on the drawer.

"Investigating." Dean simply answered and I asked him another drink.

Hell, after what I saw I deserve it.

"What did you find out there?" I giggled getting up to take the glass from his hands. "I have absolutely no endurance for alcohol." I explained before walking towards the other part of my insanely huge bedroom. Seriously, who has their own living room in their bedroom? Not to forget a freaking fireplace. There's like a thousand fireplaces in this house. It's crazy I swear.

I dropped on one of the white velvet sofas before motioning to them to join me.

"Uh, nothing in the wine vault." Dean said. "But I think my brother here dug up some pretty good info in the creepy ass library."

"So you're brothers?" I asked taking a sip from my drink. "You don't really look much alike though." I cocked my head to the side trying to get a better view of their faces.

Both were sitting on the couch facing me, hands clasped, leaning forward, elbows resting on their knees.

I smiled.

"You see, in the asylum there weren't many datable men, imagine being completely sane with a bunch of fucking crazy people." I scoffed to myself.

"The talkative drunk. Fantastic." Dean sarcastically said, half smiling to his brother.

"I'm not drunk, I've only had two glasses in the past minute." I slurred, my accent thick.

"You're what? 5 foot 3? Probably 120 pounds, and I doubt you can drink a lot in a mental institution. So, exactly, 2 glasses are enough." Dean said before Sam moved forward to take the glass from my hands.

"You're lucky I think you're cute." I told Sam, looking him dead in the eyes before kicking my heels off and putting my feet on the coffee table. I frowned. "I'm hungry. But I just ate breakfast."

"That's because it's 7pm now." Sam explained.

"Wow, I've been out for 10 hours?" I laughed. "I don't think I've ever slept that much." I said and Sam offered me an apologetical smile. I lifted an arm and looked at the bandage circling around it. That's when I noticed that my favourite silk blouse was now ruined by blood. "Fantastic. and quite frankly disgusting." I said scrunching up my nose. "So you guys aren't really FBI agents are you?"

"No, not really." Sam chuckled.

"So what are you?"

"Hunters." Dean answered and I frowned again.

"So you mean that my family, like my bloody rich family, diamonds, Dior and Channel Suits, expansive wine, polo games and collection cars, are werewolf hunters… like you?" I think I offended them a little. But it was a little hard to believe it. Yes I saw it from my very own eyes, but my parents? My mom was like a mini Princess Diana, well at least from what I saw on pictures.

"Yes." Sam answered simply. "But we don't hunt exactly the same things." I looked at him and waited for an explanation. "Your family only hunts shape-shifters, we hunt plenty of stuff, mostly demons." He said casually.

"Of course." I answered. "Because I know perfectly what a shape-shifter is." I said pushing a lock of black hair away from my face with annoyance.

"A shape-shifter is a creature that has the capacity to change it's shape. Like werewolves, they can change in mi-human, mi-wolf beasts." He explained as Dean got up and walked around the room.

"Is there a lot of them?"

"Werewolves, yes. But there is a lot of other species, and according to the thousands of books your family owns, a way lot more than we thought there was."

"And so what tried to kill me was a werewolf and may, or may not, also be my parents' killer and the dude responsible for the way I am?" I added.

"It's what we think." Dean spoke up from the window. He was eyeing the land as if he was looking for something. "And we think it'd be safer if you come with us."

"What?" I spat out. "I'm perfectly fine here." I crossed my hands on my chest holding back a grunt from the almost faded pain. The alcohol still hadn't fully kicked in.

Both offered me a "are you serious?" annoyed look.

"Says the girl who nearly got killed just this morning." Dean mumbled from the window.

"Look, we don't wanna freak you out, but here you'd be in constant danger. This guy could come back any minute, and he could come back with backup." Sam explained to me.

"I'm not leaving with some kind of freaking weirdos talking nonsense. I barely even know you. What if it's some kind of twisted kidnaping technique. uh?" I stood up and so did Sam.

I frowned, looking him dead in the eyes. He slightly cocked is head to the side thinking of what he was about to say.

Putting up his hands before him for me to wait for what he had to say he spoke up: "Listen, I know we're shady and all, but you have to trust us. You're safer with us than here all alone." He took a step towards me like he was approaching a scared puppy.

That's when Dean suddenly ran out the room.

"Behind the staples. Stay with her, Sammy." He ordered as we heard his foot steps echo in the hallway.

"You know what? I think we should stick together. It's a great idea right? I thought about it myself." I quickly rambled as I felt fear crawl under my skin again.

Gunshot.

A scream escaped my lips as felt back onto the couch. My breathing quickened and I could feel the rush of a panic attack rising to the surface. It had been years since my last panic attack, I was probably 18. I usually did them when I did't know what was going on, when couldn't control it or when someone was utterly angry after me. They began when they started using me as a lying detector back at the asylum. When they noticed what I could do, they offered me privileges for making the patients talk and know if they were lying. Sometimes the patients would get angry because I didn't understand their madness and nonsense, they would start screaming at me. At first it shocked me and soon I started to dread the moment where they would get angry, I started to dread confusion and incomprehension. I needed to know everything about anything, I needed to understand or they would get angry. I started to read more and more and more. I learned different languages, cultures, diseases, hobbies. I needed to know or else I would panic. And now that I didn't know anything, I was panicking.

"Sam!" I pleaded as he headed towards the door. "Don't leave!" To my relief he closed the door, locked it and pushed the heavy drawer before it.

When he turned around, I must've been pale enough for him to rush over to me. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Tears started to spill out my eyes as my breathing became fast and hard to control.

"Panic." I managed to say before I lost it.

You see, there are different kinds of panic attacks. Mines were the blank ones. The ones where you can't control anything, your body acts on it's own, your mind keeps telling you over and over again what's scaring you. It won't shut and you can't control your thoughts.

I started walking in circles. unable to comprehend Sam's words under his horrified glare. Until my eyes saw an empty corner and I ran to it. I dropped to the ground pushing my back into the corner, and hugging my knees to my chest. I pushed with my hands and feet to get back in the wall, as if I was trying to go through it, to melt myself in it. Sam followed me and knelt before me. His eyes met mine but I still couldn't comprehend what he was saying. I could see his eyes, they were blue, not brown like I thought they were at first. They were a beautiful shade of blue, contrasting with his brown hair and tan olive skin. They were the kind of blue that made you wonder about all the sorts of blue existing in the world. Two pools that could contain and express every single emotion existing in the world, two oceans of love and hope, two storms of anger and fear, two waterfalls of laughter and happiness, two arctic seas so strangely warm they could've melt any iced desert or frozen heart. He stared at me, through my own as dark as the night eyes, through my body and soul. Eyebrows frowned, lips slightly parted, he was crouched before me yet so tall and brave, unlike me, petite and fragile. Well I had muscle, but not the kind of muscle to fight, certainly not the kind of muscle Sam and Dean had.

I flinched when I saw Sam's tall hands outstretch towards me. He stopped in the movement to scrutinize my face, seeing how I had react. Instead he came to sit in the same position as I was and showed me his hand. Showed me the lines forming tiny roads in the palm of his hand, showed me scars on his skin, some new, some old. Then he took my hand and the contact brought me back to reality a little. He took my hand and held it in his, the contrast of my porcelain skin against his tan one, the difference between his manly big hand and my little gracious one almost seeming ridiculous. With the fingers from his other hand he traced the lines inside my palm. Only softly brushing the very tip on his fingers on my skin as if it could break. It seemed like seconds, but they probably were long minutes, maybe even hours. During those attacks, it's as if time was flying faster than anything else, it literally seemed like seconds to me but it was probably more like an hour.

Little by little, I was able to finally concentrate on what he was saying.

"-and this line is called The Heart Line, see how yours is broken in the middle?" He asked and I lifted up my eyes to lock them with his'. He started at me back and smiled a little now that he had caught my real attention. "A broken line means emotional trauma." He explained and my fingers flexed under his touch.

I felt drained of all my energy, every time I had a panic attack it was the same. Right after, I would be insanely tired, emotional and have a throbbing head. A lonely tear rolled down my cheek and Sam's hand gently squeezed mine. As he stood up he brought me up with him and took out his cellphone. He sent a quick text to his brother before he spoke first.

"Does this happens often?" He asked me putting his hands in his jeans' pockets.

"Sometimes, it hasn't happened to me in a long time.." I shrugged. But I didn't really want to talk about it so instead I took my turn asking him a question. "Why do I feel like your brother doesn't want you to get involved into the dangerous stuff? Aren't you both supposed to be hunters?" The world felt weird in my mouth, to believe that I was a part of them, what were they exactly? A secret society, a club, a secret government agency, a culture, a race, was it a job, a sport? What were we exactly?

He scratched the back of his neck as we went to sit on the sofa. "Well, yeah. But Dean feels like he has to protect me all the time like when we were kids. I don't think he's ever gotten over all that happened." I curled my legs under me, sitting so I was facing him on the couch, not really polite, but I don't think these men were all about manners and tea parties.

When I didn't say anything, he took this as a cue to continue his story. "Our mom, she got killed when we were kids, I was still a baby and Dean was 4. Long story short a demon took her from us and-" He hesitated a little before carrying on. "And he changed something in me… Then my dad took this as his personal vendetta and swore to kill the thing that killed our mother. He took us everywhere he went, he taught us how to hunt, we'd go from motel to motel, school to school, state to state, killing creatures, hunting down Yellow Eyes, the demon that killed her. I never really wanted any of this life, all I wanted was to go to law school, I wanted to grow old and die of cholesterol, a heart attack you know? I even got the chance to get away for college, but a few years ago the same demon showed up again and killed my fiancé the same way it killed my mom. Since then, I've been on the road with my brother, trying to save as many lives as we can. We've seen it all, trust me." He leaned back on the couch, sighing as he did. He looked down to his folded hands before he lifted his eyes to meet mine. He wasn't really proud of the stuff he had done, you could tell by the way he fumbled with his fingers or the way he adverted his eyes as he spoke. "Your turn." He added with an half-smile.

"Well… All my life I've lived in an asylum, kept away in a forest somewhere I don't even know in England. I was that crazy prodigy that could do senior year mathematics at the age of 11. All I did everyday was to read, I read millions and billions of books about anything, from astrophysics to the perfect soufflé au chocolat recipe. I learned how to play every instruments there is that the asylum could get me. Thank god they didn't beat me or anything like that, but now I think it's mostly because my parents paid to have me there. But one thing sure, it was awful, I could hear the screams, the cries, everything, I could feel the sadness in their eyes, the pain when everyone they loved thought they had gone cuckoo. I could feel all this. When I was 8 they started running tests on me, they brought scientists that all took a look inside my brain and they invented this sort of machine that made me connected to the other patients. when we both wore the electrodes, I could somehow feel the electricity, the hormones producing emotions in a human, exactly how the dogs know you're scared. They used me for many things, lying detector, disease finder… They used me as a tool. When I got 12 they offered me a day to town once a week as a paycheque. That's when I discovered ballet. My first contact with normal people my age, I was such an awkward kid. Little by little I became better and better, I worked harder at the asylum and one day became two, two became three, until it was the complete other way around. Every day of my week was spent at the studio, and every night I would go back home. Strangely, the asylum really was my home. The only home I've ever known. Then I got spotted by a recruiter and became the star ballerina at the Royal Ballet. I lived on a somewhat normal life until a couple weeks ago and now I can't even tell if this life is crazier or the asylum…" I laughed slightly. It probably didn't sound at all like that since I was still a little tipsy, but somewhere along the lines of that.

And it was the complete truth, even though I had grew up in a mad house, it still felt like the real world, or the world I had just recently discovered was absolute madness.

"Strangely, I can understand." He answered me. "Feeling like a freak and never even knowing why, having your life thrown upside down even though it already is a complete mess." His cellphone vibrated and he took it to read the text he received.

I bit my lip.

"Can't you stay here? We're far from lacking places to sleep you know." I proposed shyly and he looked up to me.

Eyebrows slightly raised as in a "sorry I didn't get that, can you repeat" way, he pocketed his phone and I spoke up again.

"You and your brother, you could stay here, for the night. There are plenty of rooms here and I'm sure that, no offense, it will be better than me coming with you to whatever place you're staying at." I offered again, his expression softened while I concentrated on tracing the seams of the couch's back with my fingers.

"I- we wouldn't want to bother you-" He said.

"You're not bothering at all, please do stay. I've never had guest before but I'm sure I would enjoy." I insisted. "It's no problem."

He looked down before meeting my eyes again. He bit on his own lip, pondering the offer. "Okay." He agreed and my smile transferred onto his traits. "I'm gonna call my brother." He announced before getting up.

"Where is he actually?" I asked now remembering that he went out to fight god knows what. "Is he okay?"

"He's at the motel, he came here while you were… uh.." He took a pause unsure how to call my crazy moment back there.

"Panicking" I completed.

"Yeah.." He cleared his throat. "You don't remember?" He asked.

"I'm not really at full concentration when I panic if you didn't notice." I laughed and his shoulders dropped.

"I'll be right back." He said before leaving my bedroom.

I'll be right here.

Hey there :) hope you liked this chapter, I could've made it longer but some people find it annoying so here it goes. Please review, whoever you are it doesn't matter, whatever you have to say just tell me please, it helps a lot. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your day.

XxX Hell-Later-On