White sterile walls brought familiar anxiety. The light at their ceiling flickered briefly, revealing shadows of dead flies inside the casing of fluorescents. Channels skipped haphazardly on the ancient television that perched out from the other side of his bed. At least it was private. Those close to death obtained small notions of respect, even in the grand US of A.
"Fucking remote." Allie clicked incessantly, focused primarily on the half-assed piece of archaic technology, rather than the truth that befell them. "I almost got it, gimme a sec."
She hit it against the side table, flimsy plastic rattling from the batteries that lived inside of it. That seemed to do the trick! Numbers on the television moved in sudden gaps until landing on reality TV.
Pimp My Ride.
"It's fine, Alls." Dean spoke out, voice unusually quiet. He knew she'd avoid the truth, turn anywhere other than the situation that sat just ahead of them, emerging from the distance. She stayed, though. Sat by his bed ever since death began to knock. The thought of her having prior experience led to his usual mechanism of coping with humor. Allie left every once in a while to speak with the doctors. Frankly, he was cool with that. Less awkward conversations and being viewed as some sort of… dog to be pitied.
His hand reached up, pulse oximeter sticking out from the end of his finger as he pointed to the tv. "Good choice." There was a pause while he tried to think of something clever to say, keep things light. "Tell Sammy if he puts that shit in Baby's trunk, I'll kill'im." He referred to the massive subwoofers that the host had planted into a stupid old rust bucket, before painting it lime green with flames. "You gotta make sure my doll stays pretty, Blondie."
The turn of conversation had her spiraling, forced into pacing around the room as she pretended to ignore his impulsive jokes regarding his nearing fate. Idly, slender fingers reached out to grip the chart off of the end of his bed and read it for the millionth time. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. They'd replay it over and over if the outcome allowed the two of them to avoid all of the stupid little jokes that he would make, all while she battled with her own fears.
"Allie," Dean started again, noting the lack of a laugh. The threshold of his humor dimmed daily. Allie would generally throw him a gawking snort, even if the joke he told sucked. She didn't look up, though, eyes glued to whatever asinine doctor's handwriting gored the patient page. "Allie! I'm talking to you!" His leg kicked the bar that resided at the end of the bed.
She perked up then, meeting his gaze while feeling as though she resided under a microscope. "What? Sorry." The chart still lay in her hand, dropped down to her side as Allie forced her weight between her feet.
"Can you just… sit in the chair?" He looked around the room and awkwardly motioned to the plastic seat beside the hospital bed. Chick flick moment. God! Chick flick moment. It was coming and couldn't be avoided. They would have to talk about it, right? The job had bitten him in the ass, just a typical part of the lifestyle. That meant there would need to be some… guidance, though. Life or death, he was still her mentor and took on that esteemed title with the trust of Bobby. Who would he be if he kicked the bucket without giving her a little one on one?
Short legs avoided their usual grace, instead approaching the chair in a lazy fashion - really an attempt to prolong the time until the conversation that she felt barking in the shadows. Each step forced an anxious breath into her throat until finally she sat down beside him. "...What's up?"
He sighed. "Burkitsville," how did other people do this? The topics didn't condition themselves well inside of his dome. All of what he wanted to say was… split, divided into weird proclamations and odd truths. Nothing inside of his head would be known as coherent. "You said -"
Allie was quick to cut him off, waving nervous hands into the air. "We don't have to talk about that," It was nothing. Less than nothing. A shout in the wind in preparation for the end. Jeepers creepers, why did everything have to be so… deep? One and done. They could move on without ever talking about the admission or how the final words of appreciation felt as they left reverent lips.
"You've gotten better at shooting." Dean continued on without missing a beat, no matter her meager avoidance. "Look Allie - Sam's gonna wanna find dad. You…" It felt wrong to ask, regardless of his need to do what was best for his younger brother. But it wasn't as though she could hunt alone, either. He'd never want that for her. "So you're going to go with Sam. Call it my last will and testament." A meek grin complimented the statement.
"What am I, a piece of jewelry?" Not funny. For all of her dark, sarcastic jokes - his seemed to fall flat given the weight of his impending doom. Fucking Rawhead. Hunting may have been a dangerous profession, but she had always thought it more likely that high sodium levels would take his ass out of the race. The man ate like health was going out of style. "You know that only applies to assets, right? You don't have a power of attorney or any dependents."
The knowledge bustled out of her in a long crawl. Sadly, it existed before Stanford. After all, Allie listened to the phrases over and over again, falling just below the legal age limit in Ohio to attend legally to her mother's needs. Legally.
She was quick to stand from the chair.
The conversation was already difficult without her usual snark. No wonder Bobby found them to be too alike, fire and fire. Not always a good mixture. Dean caught her arm before she moved too far to reach.
"I'm sorry." For the past few weeks things had been different. Their flirtatious camaraderie held distant undertones, as if his mistake furthered the gap between them. Did he want to die without her knowing? Words were no walk in the park for him; he usually fucked something up with his shitty inner filtration system and that meant actions spoke louder, most of the time. She had begun to withdraw from him recently. Maybe Sam hadn't noticed. Little actions gave it away. Allie was damn near the hardest person he had ever met to get close to, not that they made considerable effort to sit around and play happy family.
"What? Why?" He was sorry? The man sitting a mere inch away from a reaper's call? Allie turned to look at him, noting the way he gently held her wrist, keeping the palm of his hand just barely wrapped around her joint. Looking at him, his skin held a nearly gray tint. The bags under his eyes were sunken, clearly from lack of proper blood rotation from his ailed heart. The sight was both foreign and familiar at the same time. The failings of different organs bred separate symptoms. Her mother turned yellow, too much bilirubin in the blood. Jaundice.
"I care." Dean's words were more distinct, then. Rather than an ill croak, he summoned further energy. "I should have told you." The word of love still dried up at the tip of his tongue. So rarely used in the Winchester lifestyle, they almost felt bleak. What was he going to do? Tell her that care wasn't the right word, but he hardly knew what love was in the first place to identify that feeling? He loved Sammy, loved Bobby, but Allie was… it just wasn't the same. He'd known both of them for his whole life. They were his family. "Saying thank you was stupid."
An unfortunate, icky feeling ran up her spine before she sat back down. "It's okay." Great. The talk. To think that this would have been her job, helping those in need at the end of their lives. Their families could find some peace in her company, her understanding. Why did it feel so difficult now, compared to her prior yearning for that… role? "You're not supposed to say sorry right now. You're supposed to relax." Allie eased somewhat and rubbed her hand at his shoulder. "Call it a truce, Cowboy." Her softened words referred back to his own. "You want me to get you some food, now that we've had our Beaches moment?"
"Figures you'd be Bette Midler." He fawned. Wait, that would mean he saw it. He just admitted to watching fucking BEACHES. "Yeah, I've seen it. Motels… there's not a lot on at night." The wry explanation came from him without her asking. Did that make it more comedic, at his own expense?
"Did you cry?" Allie whipped her head back upon hearing his answer while heading for the doorway. "Bacon and cheese?" Her hand tapped the doorway, inciting a familiar discussion. Hamburger, no point in assuming he wanted anything else. Why did she even ask if he wanted food? He always wanted food.
"Extra ketchup and mayo!" He called while she approached the hallway. "They keep acting like I'm gonna have a heart attack!" He joked before she turned the corner and walked out of the room. "They don't put enough! Alls! ALLS GET EXTRA!"
Sam's hands flexed around the wheel. In another circumstance, he'd bite his nails out of the growing stress and anxiety. Specialist. Specialist. Taking Dean to see a 'specialist'. The same verbiage was used while describing his idea to Allie. That was a harder sell. Dean took the sentiment at face value, Allie began to ask questions. He was forced to talk circles around them. "Wait until we get there. I read about it. What is this, 20 questions?" The joys of bringing a nurse along for the ride. She settled… eventually.
Gravel scratched beneath run down tires, flattening in the joining mud while the Impala approached a simple white tent.
THE CHURCH OF
ROY LE YANGE
—FAITH HEALER—
Sundays 11am & 2pm
WITNESS THE MIRACLE
As the sign approached, Sam was met with aggravated sighs and the slamming of a passenger door while Dean stepped out. He supposed such would be the reaction. They dealt with demons, ghouls, ghosts, and every other nasty thing that roamed the earth. Comparatively, faith and all it included didn't seem to be a far reach. Demons existed, they knew that, why wouldn't GOD or any other adjoining entities?
Dean's exhaustion combined with his irritation over their setting boiled to the surface. Forest eyes took in Allie's form from his peripheral vision. Sam doesn't know . The words crested in and out of his thoughts while his hands balled into half-fists at his pockets, gripping at the boxers just below his jeans. "Garbage. This is religious junk, Sam." The older Winchester snarled in impulsive retaliation, keeping himself between his younger brother and devoted trainee. Although Allie rarely described the traumatic choir that was her upbringing, he had brought tidbits together to form a linear line. Sure, it may have been somewhat obsessive and altruistic, but he was a hunter, after all. That meant being skilled in more than handling a gun. In Sam's seemingly honest desire for a miracle, he had inevitably thrown Allie back into the gator's mouth, ripe for consumption and bound to be shit out worse for wear.
People rounded them, filing into the tent with abundant hope. Her feet collided slowly with the gravel, the wet dirt. Every step counted against her. The cruel reality of faith was hanging ; a rope that tied itself to the desperate before flinging them into an ocean of donations and indoctrination. The people that surrounded them came for absolution, for answers, for healing. Surely, they came to the wrong place.
Sky eyes dimmed from their usual manufactured careless attitude while white flaps that resembled an entrance approached.
Rather than allow them to perch at the back, Sam pushed them forward - second row. Right at the front. She sat, disjointed from reality between the boys. Sam on her left, Dean on her right and close to the aisle.
ROY
Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?
Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.
ROY
But, I say to you, God is watching.
ROY
God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt.
ROY
It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts.
ROY
Let us say the PSALM!
ROY
PSALM 151:4 -
ROY:
Who can proclaim,
who can announce,
who can declare the Lord's deeds?
God has seen everything;
God has heard everything;
God has listened.
A gulp. The proclamation sat like a revving engine in sorrowful, disdained ears. Tight teeth gripped together while disillusioned eyes stared forward. The crowd agreed, so gleefully, so devout. This man had hurt people in his palm and toyed with their convictions. The church never completed promise, it only made empty platitudes.
Sensing her change in demeanor, the vengeful, tight way her body clamped up - hands rooted in her lap like a statue - Dean whispered a few…sarcastic entries in line with Roy's religious ramblings. The bags under his eyes, the hoodie that kept most of his skin covered, the way his legs shook while he sat as if something weighed atop them. He was weak, but not a fucking idiot.
And then Roy called to him - pointing him out amidst the crowd, giving his wit a spotlight before calling him up to the stage. The mass production of stares in combination with their egging brought his legs to stand out of the chair and approach. "Look, no disrespect, but ahh, I'm not exactly a believer." He spoke with slight anxiety as the audience hollered, their faces were so… so… wanting. They yearned to be in his place, to witness a scene unseen by many. Truth or doubt, he stared out at the flapping white entrance and the dirt ground just past, before his eyes could no longer avoid their awestruck gazes.
ROY
You will be, son. You will be.
ROY
Pray with me, friends.
The crowd joined in with urgent understanding, lifting joyous hands into the air while some hummed and others let their lips move to proverbs and psalms, common words that would lift HIM into their vicinity - that would bring forth the true understanding of GOD, honest values - though corrupt in the sight of monetary 'healing'. Allie watched in silence, despite a growing gnawing in her to take part in the endearments. Her own prior cognizance of the hymn nearly took over, bringing childhood forward in the most hellish of ways. That deep seed never faded.
Then Roy's hands moved - one planted on Dean's shoulder before the other took purchase on his head.
ROY
Alright now. Alright now.
Allie shot up, eyes planted firmly on the vision before them while Dean slowly fell to his knees for the court of the needy, eyes glazed over while he attempted to stay aware. Blue irises darted from side to side. Surely, by the grace of earth, the show was just that - a show. God would not prevail on a small, dead end property in the boonies. The word would be out. Thousands would flock in desperation. Hell, millions attended churches in prayer and lived by the gospel and moral of 'the good book.' Tricks, garbage (as Dean had pronounced), that's all the play before them was. Just theatrics.
Dean forced his eyes to remain barely open, fluttering as the grip made its way through his skull. The tugging centered itself at Roy's palm, condescending a pull of their bodies together. Gravity confined momentarily to that central space, weaving from scalp to skin while his knees rubbed against the stage - a scene to be devoured by many, but felt solely by him alone. Claps erupted amongst the fanatic viewers, and a sucking breath nearly caved his lungs unto his stomach. Mere half seconds became minutes, the world transient around him and moving, ebbing, weaving, the tugging, the pull - a shocked croak left chapped lips and then it slammed into him.
ROY
Alright, now.
Thick streams of whole essence, energy. Nothing. Everything, and nothing. The bricks pushed into his head, bringing his consciousness to a standstill. Cold. Clapping echoed around him in enthusiasm, joy over foreseen prophecy and pandering. Dean's eyes, no longer able to remain open during the torrential onslaught, closed. His body slumped before the overwhelming assault took him, and his body fell for their pleased eyes.
Sam took leap, roaring towards the stage with a booming cry of Dean's name. One time. Perhaps the lord had granted them sincerity and honor over their good doings. His hands gripped the hoodie, shaking him awake. Healed, healthy. The three days of non-stop research may have proven to be their greatest victory. For once, he could save his brother. He could be the one to save Dean. No more childish cooing, no more incessant use of 'Sammy'. He made a difference. Just by being.. him, by persevering, researching, trying. God may have listened, and Sam may have actually been the one to find him.
Green eyes bolted open, moving around the room in a confused daze. Ahead, a white figure - dressed in black. Staring. Looking. Watching. Before turning, lost in the haze and disappeared into the frenzy. Dean's eyebrows tightened while Sam shook him, only to fall on HER. She was racing over, honey blonde waves rolling in water-like springs behind her. All petite curves. And why, in that moment, did she look different from any other time he had seen her? Staring back at him was the color of a cloudless, bright sky - large doe eyes were both entranced and worried. Soft palms began to touch him, God they felt good. Her hands were warm, earthly, undemanding despite her anxiety.
All Dean could release in a response were thick coughs as he tried to catch his breath, forcefully sat up by them and other members of the congregation as attendees began to assist.
The quiet thickened between them. Sam sat, disjointed from his previous hope of false heroics, now back to the basics of guilt. One soul for another. Was Dean right in his anger over it all? Maybe. Someone would have died anyway, though. No matter if Dean was the one saved or not. At least the motel walls didn't feel nearly as suffocating as the hospital room had. They stumbled upon a case. Nothing sweet ever stayed, but his brother was alive. Sam silently thanked something for that, unknowing of who or what - at least not now. Sure, this instance had been fake. Didn't mean he'd stop praying though. Not going to church didn't mean he was faithless.
"I told you not to bring me here!" Dean's voice echoed out of the bathroom, hands gripping the shitty sink - probably from the fucking 70's. If he looked underneath it, grime definitely accumulated there from the maid not giving two shits.
Marshall Hall.
27, young, healthy, athletic; a complete apple pie life ahead of him. Traded for a hunter, who would most-likely die young anyway. The trial was unfair in all the worst ways. The fact was, that poor sap was dead - so he could live, and probably inevitably squander it. Might even be on their next hunt. Who knew?
"Dean, Stop it." Allie spoke out amongst their back and forth. Yeah, sometimes she could be a bit… persuasive. For a moment slowed in time she even had half a mind to believe that GOD was in that forsaken white tent in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. "We can't do anything now. Sam didn't know." Dean Winchester, however well intentioned, was stubborn as a mule.
Dean stopped for a moment, throwing the soap into the sink with a porcelain thud before crossing the small room. "You're defending him?!" He replied, voice heightened from the self-loathing that reigned down onto his shoulders from a fake fucking God. "Marshall is DEAD, Allie. An innocent man is dead!" He paused, nearly biting his fist in reckless anger. "You approve of this?!"
Suddenly on the defensive, Allie stepped forward quickly to meet his position. "Did I say that I approve?" Her tongue clicked against frustrated teeth. Not the best scenario. "That's what THEY do. They mold people - even without using… something supernatural. Sam didn't want you to die ! You would do the same thing, it's called desperation!" Organized religions preyed on the downtrodden. The pained, the abused, the longing. Back in her youth… Allie simply told herself that everyone had to hope for something. People needed hope to continue on, whatever form that took. Now though…
In time he settled until they found themselves at the unassuming table in their motel room, joined in research and understanding of what was to come. Reapers. John's journal gave tidbits of information. That, combined with other texts, gave them at least a starting line.
Closing their texts, they moved out of the room and traveled to their targeted destination. Baby's travel proved tense and as they approached, Roy's welcome sign appeared to transition to a warning of death and the decay of morals.
The hounding and desperate moved across Le Grange's land, greeting one another and offering pleasantries. From the corner of her eye Allie watched while Dean approached a petite blonde, tendrils pulled back behind her ears. Layla. They'd met her briefly upon entering the tent during Dean's healing, but now… he approached her with care. His bow legs took on a softer stance. It was different from his taking towards general women. Bar girls simply got the surface level version
of him, a falsity. His walk to Layla though… compassionate, maybe even disappointed.
Allie pulled herself away from the sight and instead focused her attention on Sam.
"Please tell me you have a plan," From the look on his face as he turned, she prepared herself for an assumed truth - lips falling into a theatrical frown of concern. "...And that's it not splitting up."
Sam shook his head, turning his face downward to look at her. "I thought you liked it when people were honest with you?" A little bit of sass formed on the tease. "We're not splitting up." He spoke a clear and dramatic lie before adding some spice on the end. "For long." Normally breaking apart wasn't optimal but they needed to cover a lot of ground in a very short period of time. Roy would start soon and that meant their window to stop the Reaper was shrinking by the second.
She groaned out, eyes trailing across the muck and discrete patches of grass before landing on the law enforcement that hung around, potentially to avoid any rioting. "I'll take the Five-O," Already understanding her placement in their unit, she sighed in defeat and walked off.
"Let's split up! Allie's pretty, she'll seduce The Fuzz while we deal with ACTUAL FUCKING DEATH. She's got it!" Hands were thrown up in exasperation before falling to slap against her outer thighs, speaking low to herself in short-term irritation.
Sam slinked off to Roy and his wife Sue-Anne's home, prepared to look for clues while Dean took stand amongst Roy's followers.
"Hi," Allie slid up to the 'Boys in Blue', brilliant smile present while she focused with fake intent on them. "You know, I saw you guys here the other day. Are you… devout?" Large eyes took on an innocent expression while her hands clasped in front of her.
She was greeted with large grins, male chests rising in repositioning to appear tall and powerful. "Well, we come every Sunday." One of them spoke with a deepened voice. "I'd say we're devoted, wouldn't you, Jack?" He nudged his partner with a smirk.
Jack took the inclusion in cheek, nodding alongside his partner at the effortless blonde before him. "Definitely devoted." Christian chicks, about as traditional as they came. Long legs for how short she was… nice thighs…
His eyes met her face. "To protect and serve, Dwayne." His hands moved to his belt. "Two is better than one."
Dwayne matched Jack's stance, keeping them toe in toe. "What he said. You testin' us…?" He inquired, hoping the silence would be filled with her name without him needing to ask.
"Gwendolyn," The offering was combined with a step closer to them, a manufactured box to breed privacy between them that didn't truly exist. "But my friend's call me Gwen." Being a distraction came easily. The manipulation sat just below the surface. Her every word gave provocative undertones, practiced just enough to contain their interest, but keep them from seeing the truth of her feigned interest. "Or Gwenny." Her tongue swiped out, rubbing slowly between parted lips. "You passed."
"Well, we're friends, ain't we - Gwen? The three of us." Jack piped up, hips moving ever so slightly forward as his thighs radiated in anticipation. Intrigue. She was small, the type of woman that a guy could pick up and fuck against a shower wall - not that he couldn't do that with all women. His bench check was 280 easy.
"I —" Her response was cut short as attendees fled from the main tent, shouting of a fire and the damage that would soon ensue. No matter their prior interest, Jack and Dwayne leapt to action and passed around her, completing their disappearing act with a "Later, little lady. Duty calls."
"Shit!" Allie's body turned swiftly to watch after them, shrinking into the crowd and navigating through it only to find Dean being caught by the cops. "Fuck!"
Found red-handed, she forced her way through the crowd and stopped in the middle of the group that had formed around him. Layla stood, dejected. "Jack, Dwayne…" She spoke, voice soft as sugar - sweet as a southern peach. "I'm sorry for him." A delicate hand slid out, not quite touching the men, instead giving the idea of to be touched by polite, god-fearing hands. "He's going through some personal things right now, I can take him home."
"Gwen! You… family? " Dwayne drawled out with a sly grin, arm loosening a bit across the degenerates tricep. "Guy caused a real panic, I should take him in."
Allie's cheeks were blanketed by a gracious, manipulative smile. "No. He's my EX - boyfriend," Blue eyes curved to meet tentatively with Dean's. "A bit of a troublemaker. Sometimes I'm… too devoted." A throwback to their conversation only minutes prior. Her head tilted to the side and she pursed painted lips. "Friends do friends favors, right, Dwayne ?"
Jack gave a nod to him and they released. "That they do. We'll see you next Sunday, Gwen. Leave your dog at home this time."
Dean shrugged his shoulders, fixing the leather jacket in a swift movement. "Yeah, I'll be sure she puts the collar on, fellas." The statement came out in a harsh bite. Idiots. Go lick each other's shit stained boots .
As the group dispersed away Allie walked him back to Baby. "That was close. You know, sometimes it's like you ask to get strong-armed by the law." On some level it did piss her off to be a mechanism in their team for seduction and manipulation, though that was the way of the life and someone had to do it. Men were men. They all wanted one thing and that concept was easy to mold into a desired reaction.
"What would you do without me?" She grinned, catching him before he could get into the driver's seat while they waited for Sam.
"Practice not dropping the soap." Dean retorted, agitated by his capture and the way they acted so laissez faire with her in comparison, the banter was fun though. "You know I don't kiss ass. Not my style." His mouth transitioned to a shit-eating smirk to play with her, folding himself to lean against the car, now watching her while Sam approached.
"No, you don't kiss BLUE ass. I'm sure you make exceptions for others. You seem like the type." Allie crossed the front of Baby with a wide smile, weaving her way around Sam while he went for the passenger side door and she climbed into the backseat.
"Hey! What does that mean?" Dean gave a look of shock before climbing into the front seat. "Get your mind out of the gutter." He teased and glanced up into the rearview mirror at her, those blonde waves catching him for an elongated second. The second thing he witnessed on that stage before worried palms cupped his face and he got to look up into passionate blue eyes.
"They're still going to heal Layla tonight. We need to come back." Sam interrupted, knee-deep in thought rather than pervy to their bantering. Their window was closing. If Layla was healed, someone else would die - an innocent life. They had no way of knowing when Layla would be accepted by Roy, at least not the exact moment. That meant needing to be on the move proactively.
The night cloaked the Impala as they re-entered, moving gently forward over the gravel to avoid making a disturbance. The trio was quick to exit Baby and crouch into pre-discussed placements. Sam took the house, Dean took the parking area, Allie took the tent.
The entrance billowed from evening winds. Crickets spoke in a love-language to the night, guiding uncharacteristic calm. Normally Roy's place was bustling with people, comers moved about to WITNESS THE MIRACLE, as per his ecstatic signage. The sounds of a quiet, still night shocked in comparison.
A petite silhouette barely registered under the sky before slipping through the flaps, surveying the tight area with an innocuous flashlight. The chairs remained there. Empty rows lined up to a stage. She moved closer, noting how the stone artifact that they'd witnessed in their research sat idly on stage. If not for the stone, how was the control over the Reaper being maintained? Dean spoke briefly of how Sue-Anne wore a necklace with the save sigil… Would they not also protect the stone?
Her legs gracefully moved upon the stage, taking each step with caution until the podium stood before her. A bible was propped up, not of her own familiarity.
The English Standard.
Not her upbringing, but a simplified version of the King James. That would be why the PSALM he spoke of sounded… different. Her fingers traced at the icon. "You got me again." Allie spoke, vindication in her tone. The truth filled her with guilt. For a mere travel of time, she may have believed that HE did exist there - and HE gave back, granted a true miracle to a former believer. "Guess we're both delusional, huh?" Maybe her and Roy had a sliver of something in common. He was just a fountain, whereas she had been buried in the dirt.
The sound of scratching gravel brought her out the tracing, head jolting up.
"Dean?!"
No answer.
Allie leapt off of the stage and raced out of God's prison, moving between parked cars to witness him on his knees. "DEAN!" his gasping erupted shudders from her while he collapsed to his knees, skin taking on a sickly pale tone as the whites in his eyes became more prominent.
"Where is it?!" Death walked among them, though unseen. "I can't see him!" She reached out, about to take hold before he took in a sharp breath and fell back, choking and spitting up.
Dean gripped her, hand fully wrapped around her forearm in a vice while he struggled to fill his lungs with air. "Gone," he managed out, her hair falling around him in a curtain as she sank down to the ground with him, hovering over his body with the moon hitting her head to create a halo of light. Soft vanilla waves caressed at his cheeks and Dean stared up. "He's gone." His other hand reached up to press against her cheek, calloused fingers lacing into honey locks.
He looked at her… and it felt… different. "I'm going to get you up, okay?" Her voice was exchanged for a tepid squeak, eyes unable to be torn from green depths that looked up from beneath. The outer ridge of his irises had flakes of light brown; freckles dotted the glorious shade.
Allie's arm slid underneath his shoulder. "Let's go find Sam." She raised him off of the ground with her and as they stood Sam's figure appeared from the side of the house before he guided them to the Impala, rambling about breaking Sue-Anne's necklace and how the Reaper had come for her.
Sam's words fell on deaf ears.
All Allie could think about was the way Dean gazed up at her while she helped him to the car.