Nora stood quietly in the doorway of the small greenhouse that had been erected a few months before to house the various fruits and vegetables she was able to grow in the climate here, taking in the beauty of the plants with keen eyes. Her sanctuary. The brother's had left a day ago, a call from a nearby town telling tales of some monster haunting its' grounds, and she had been left behind, blissfully so. It wasn't often now that they didn't take her, that she got a reprieve from the Hunts that ran their lives, and she reveled in the sliver of freedom and normalcy it gave her. Standing here, breathing in the earthiness of her garden, it stirred up emotions that felt so foreign these days. Happiness. Peace. Calm. The demon sigils were painted over the doorway, on the ceiling of the greenhouse and throughout various pieces of wood as a protection, and so far that had worked. Here she operated her own world, she felt purpose, she felt safe.
Nora walked through slowly with a spray bottle in her hand, spritzing down leaves that needed it, shifting and turning others to give them more light, others more shade. When she was satisfied that they were all happy she picked up her small basket and began to gather vegetables and fruit that were suitable for picking, there were always tomatoes and lettuce available, and finally her strawberries had begun to vine ripen and she was able to pluck a few handfuls of those to add to her haul. She put one in her mouth, sucking down the sweet juice greedily, feeling light as air for just one moment before it was time to leave the preserve behind. Making sure the door was shut firmly behind her, the girl paused to wipe a bead of sweat from her brow, the humidity of the greenhouse a stark contrast to the dry heat outside, the dry heat that never seemed to end now. As she lowered her hand, she spotted an unwelcome but familiar sight in the driveway of the bunker, the Impala was back. Immediately, dread filled her stomach and she forced down the sigh that threatened to escape her lips. It was fine. She knew it was fine. It had to be fine. She needed them, the daily mantra that kept her sane, without them she'd be a mindless demon in the void of Lucifer's grasp. Without them, she could be dead.
Without them, I could be dead.
She repeated the phrase in her head, each step towards the house was a word, an intonation to keep her going. What would she find? The anxiety of not knowing where her place would be in comparison to the sense of freedom she had when they were gone was such a laughably stark contrast that it made her want to cry. Anxiety didn't exist in their world, that was weakness and weakness wasn't acceptable. Shifting the basket from her hands to one hip so that she could open the door, she took another deep, steadying breath and repeated quietly, "without them, I'd be dead." She was barely inside the bunker before they were on her, pushing her forward so they could shut and lock the door tightly behind her, almost making her lose her grip on the basket. She didn't speak, didn't smile, didn't stumble for more then a second before continuing her journey to the kitchen so she could set down her small bounty. She never smiled anymore if she could help it. What was there to smile about?
"You were gone for nearly a half hour," Sam's voice followed her into the room, but she didn't flinch. Flinching was weakness. "You can't be gone that long, you know that those sigils only do so much. How often do we go over this shit?" His voice was behind her now, but she didn't turn around, though her senses were heightened now, the familiar edge of anxiety creeping up her neck. She kept herself busy, turning the water on to start rinsing off her tomatoes, although every hair on the back of her neck was raised, waiting for the fight to begin.
"I didn't mean to lose track of time, I had more to do then I realized," her voice was neutral, not raised, not offending, the only way to stay safe was to stay disinterested. "I didn't think you'd be home for awhile, anyway. It won't happen again."
"That's not good enough," her hand stilled at the words, just a moment of fleeting emotion. Her stomach clenched, but she tried to continue without letting him see the sick rising inside of her. They keep me safe. They keep me alive.
"Sam, it was just one time-" the words weren't out of her mouth before his body was against hers, so quickly that she dropped the tomato she was holding into the still running water, a small grunt involuntarily leaving her body as the air was pushed out of her lungs. She couldn't speak, the words died in her throat at the same time that his hand moved to her jaw, bruising fingers clenching tightly into the soft skin of her facial bones, holding her firmly in place. He pulled her backwards from the sink, and moved her to face him, the fingers digging tighter, making it hard to breathe. Behind them the water continued to run, drowning out the moan of fear that had finally left her body. He released her and at the same moment she had started to raise her hand to her face, Sam reared back and smacked her hard enough across the cheek that she was thrown back against the counter, which she instinctively grabbed to keep from falling to the floor. She saw stars, the sick, dizzy feeling rising higher into her stomach as the pain began to spread and throb. She tried to hold it back, to hold it in, the weakness, but she couldn't help it, tears leaked from her face silently as she clutched the hard marble top in front of her. In the haze of tears and pain, she could see her reflection in the stainless steel of the sink, water still splashing over the tomato she'd dropped, joined only a second later by the blood leaking from her nose.
"ONE TIME IS ALL IT TAKES!" His voice roared against the water, the tears, the agony. She steadied herself as best as she could, but it was hard. Her head ached, her jaw was screaming at her, and the blood was coming faster now. But she had to get ahold of herself or it would escalate, the violence always did. She carefully brought her hand to cup beneath the running water and used it to splash the blood from her nose, biting back a scream as the cold water hit her aching, bruised face. Then she turned it off and brought her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose and face him again, blood still dripping but slower now.
"I'b sorry," she managed to say tightly, the position making it difficult to speak, and in the instance her eyes met his and he took in the blood, the damage, his face shifted slightly, only slightly, to something like regret. He grabbed a napkin from the other counter beside him and thrust it toward her, and she tried her best to steady her shaking fingers before taking it from him and replacing her fingers with the rough surface. She felt sick, so sick. So tired. Is this better than death?
Neither of them spoke, a long, awkward moment passing between them before Sam looked over his shoulder and then back to her, "No, I'm sorry." His voice was low, so low that she wasn't sure she'd even heard him correctly. He must've sensed how startled she was because his eyes hardened, and when he spoke again, his voice was louder, meaner. "It's not going to happen again, and you better be damn sure of it or Dean and I will burn that shithole to the ground."
She nodded, because she had to. She didn't understand any of it, none of the scene that had just unfolded made sense, but she knew she never would. The way they operated was purely based on survival, the brutality that came with it was a reminder- a reminder that it was worse out there, and it could always be worse in here too. It fucked with her head in a way that made her wonder that if this were to ever end, if they ever came out of this godforsaken apocalypse, how would she function again in the world? The idea of going back to Botany and cheerleading was laughable. Would she ever marry? How could she? She didn't know if she'd ever be able to live without this violence and hopelessness, or without them. Sam only stood there for a second more before he'd turned on his heel and left the carnage behind for her to clean up.
Bringing the napkin away from her nose she stared down at the bright red blood, how much had been spilled since she got here she didn't know, realizing how very similar in color it was to the tomato in the sink. The grotesqueness of her observation wasn't lost on her, and her stomach turned again as she went to throw the offending paper away and finish washing up the tomatoes to put away. Get it together, get it together, get it together. Over and over, the chant got her through the motions until it was all done and she could safely retreat to her small bedroom, close the door, and allow herself to fall into the void of darkness beckoning to her.
It could be worse. It could always be worse.