****WARNING**** this chapter depicts a panic attack. It's not a long scene, but it's still there. And without giving anything away, towards the end of this chapter there is what can be considered, animal cruelty.

Hey hey!
This chapter is short as shit because I didn't want to drag this out in a huge chapter, but it also felt weird tagging it on the end of the last chapter or the beginning of the next. We're about to get into the thick of it now. I'm so excited. The next chapter is going to have a bunch of clues to Wendy's heritage and if you've visited the Pinterest page I have for this story, you may have already figured it out.
After the next chapter it will be the end of Act 1.

I hope you enjoy this tiny chapter before I post the massive one.
xxxx

Chapter Fourteen

"Little dove, little dove! There you are, you silly little bird, why were you hiding from why were you hiding from me?"

Chapter Quote: "We're not friends. This isn't 'My Little Pony."

Since the encounter with the siren, Dean could admit to himself that he had started to become a little resentful towards Sam. Where did he get off saying that kind of shit? 'You're holding me back'.

And then back tracking, saying it wasn't him—just the influence of the siren.

Uh-huh, sure.

Holding him back . . . If anything, Dean had been propelling Sam forward. He was the one who looked after him his whole goddamn life. He was the one that made sure Sam stayed fed during the times John decided to fuck off to hunt whatever the fuck. He was the one that took the blame John dished out for every little thing that happened to go wrong. Dean made sure Sam was bruise-free—untouchable—and in turn had John putting his youngest son on a pedestal.

And Dean was okay with that.

Had been okay with that.

Until Sam said those four words to him.

So, it had been tense.

And now Blondie had been acting fucking weird.

Well, weirder.

Ever since the fiasco with Anna, the witch had started to become out of touch with reality. Almost like she wore a mask of normalcy when required, but as soon as the trio were alone, Blondie turned into the strangest fucking person he ever encountered. She had a whole uncanny valley vibe going on one minute before switching and talking happily about how you could scream anywhere you wanted, because it 'isn't illegal or nothin'.

With Sam keeping secrets and Blondie being incoherent at the best of times—well, it was all starting to grate on Dean. Which caused him to snap. And really, it should've been Sam that coped it. But instead, he lashed out at the only available person around and the witch wasn't even doing anything to deserve the harsh words.

"Listen Blondie," Dean cut into the witch's tirade about the fae which then somehow led to her telling him that the regular predator of the moose was the orca whale. "I don't care. We're not friends. This isn't 'My Little Pony'. You've helped us and we're helping you. As soon as we get rid of the psycho witch, we'll be gone, and you'll be back with grammy—waiting tables."

He knew his words cut like knives, and Blondie tried so fucking hard to keep her reaction to the scathing words on a tight grip. But he saw her flinch; it was so slight he probably would've missed it if he weren't already looking at her.

The guilt was instant, and he swallowed heavily with his eyes lowered. Fuck, he shouldn't have said that. Should've just let her blab away—sometimes the nonsensical chatter was funny (not that he would tell her that). God, he felt like a dick—he was a fucking dick.

Immediately, Alistair's rasp of a voice came slinking through his mind; hissing to him quietly: "You're just like your daddy, Dean."

He pushed the memory away. He wasn't, he wasn't. Fuck, he wasn't! Was he? Christ, he couldn't deal with that on top of everything else.

Dean opened his mouth, an apology on the tip of his tongue. It wasn't Blondie's fault he was pissy. And no matter how much she freaked him out, she didn't deserve him being an outright asshole to her.

But Dean choked on the words. What did Sam call him?

Emotionally constipated.

Fuck him for being right all the time.

"Oh . . ." Blondie paused in the packing of her bag for a moment, before she seemed to boot back up again, and continue. "Yeah . . . yes. Sure thang, Dean."

The witch cleared her throat and abruptly turned away to hide herself away in the bathroom.

Dean sighed heavily, running his hands down his face before he heaved himself off the lumpy sofa and left the motel room. It was best to leave her to her own devices, less he said something else entirely offensive because he decided to lash out at the wrong person.

Besides, he didn't think he could ever look her in the eye after speaking to her like that. Because he knew that Blondie would smile and continue on like he didn't just verbally bitch slap her.

Wendy was used to rejection.

She had lived with it her entire life. She waited for it, because it always came. The blonde thought she would be better at dealing with it, but unfortunately, she wasn't. It never got any easier, and she never got any smarter about who she chose to try and become close to.

And while Danny was her childhood friend, she could still feel him recoil from her when her thoughts floated away, or she revealed a secret from a neighbour. And though she loved Danny, would do anything for him—Wendy knew his friendship was conditional.

You can be weird, but not too weird—only enough for him to handle.

It seemed that Grams was the only exception, because even Wendy's fathers love was conditional.

Her father wanted her perfect, wanted her quiet—wanted her to be normal; seen, but never heard.

You scare people.

Why can't you be like your sister?

Would her mother have treated her the same?

She hoped not. Wendy had made up an ideal image of her mother. One that was kind, caring, understanding. One that spoke softly and encouraging, not a parental figure that stood over her, shouting so loudly it rattled the windows.

Why can't you just be fucking normal?

What was considered normal?

And perhaps it was silly of her to believe that a friendship could blossom between herself and the two hunters.

A naive and juvenile wish.

After her performance when they encountered Anna, Wendy should've known—known that was the last straw for the brothers.

There were signs of the distance between the three of them, and sometimes she could see it very clearly. But recently Wendy's mind was fogged over with thoughts and emotions of nameless people that wondered around her, disregarding everything around themselves unless it directly affected them. Her walls broken and chipped—too exhausting to push back into place, so she left them down frequently; feeling like she were standing in a puddle.

Wendy had scared them, Dean more so. Not that she could blame him. Wendy knew he found her unnatural. She felt the moment his view of her changed when she had Alistair pinned, pushing all the pain she recalled Dean experiencing from his own memories onto the demon.

And while the demon didn't make a noise, he screamed painfully on the inside.

The day after Dean's scolding of Wendy, was the day Bobby called.

Which was a little odd, because more likely than not, it was Dean or Samuel calling Bobby. Normally about the seals. Mostly because of a case the trio were stumped with.

The witch was curious, but the call was quick. It was barely three minutes long before Samuel hung up and turned to Wendy with a soft reassuring smile.

A smile Wendy immediately took as a concerning sign. A sign that something was wrong. Why was he looking at her like that? Like something bad had happened, like someone had died. Wendy was at the cusp of dropping her walls and diving through Samuel's skull to find the source of that smile.

"So, Bobby got a call from Elenor." Samuel sat down at the dinning table opposite Wendy. The witch felt the tension leave her body at the news. "She ended up finding the Valtushard—"

The world seemed to tilt as breath escaped the witch.

"Is she—" Wendy immediately cut in, only to break off her question as tears threatened to spill. Her throat closed, making it difficult to drawn in a full breath of air. The breath dragged through the closing windpipe, she could feel it scrap the walls—the coughing began as tears streaked her cheeks and gasps stuttered from her mouth. She reinforced her shield, keeping them locked in place, not wanting her own emotions to effect Samuel and cause any annoyance.

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay." Samuel reached across the small table to grab her hand, giving a gentle squeeze. "She's okay. Bobby said that she's a little beat up, but she made it out."

"An' tha' Valtushard?"

"Dead." Samuel confirmed with a small nod.

A shaky sigh left Wendy in a rush. And she tried ever so hard to keep the tears at bay, but they broke when Samuel appeared beside her and wrapped her arms around her trembling form. Wendy appreciated the comfort even if Samuel only did it out of reflex.

"When do you want to go home?" Samuel asked softly, patting her back like one would console a child over a stubbed toe.

The question had Wendy pausing in her answer.

Did she want to go home?

She had been gone for so long now. Could she even consider the farmhouse home anymore? Could she even see herself back at the dinner, waiting on people who smiled so sweetly and held nasty thoughts whenever they realised she was the one to take their order?

But where else would she go if not there?

She couldn't stay with Bobby, he was gone so often the loneliness drove her half mad, and Samuel and Dean had no desire to have her around. And Gigi . . . well, she didn't even know where he was.

No, she wouldn't leave her grandmother in that big house by herself.

That would be cruel.

Wendy had been gone long enough.

"I want t' go home."

The drive didn't take long, but it felt like they had been driving for days.

In reality, it was a sixteen hour drive.

Wendy stood in front of the farmhouse as Samuel popped open the trunk and hauled out her duffle bag for her. She shooed him away as she heaved the bag over her shoulder.

The house was just as she left it, it was quiet, and there was no trace that her Grams had encountered the Valtushard in their little neck of the woods. The wards were still firmly in place. It stood still and silent when Wendy dropped her walls to see if her Grams was currently home.

The only thing that was just a tad bit off putting was the fact that Nancy was silent. It wasn't odd that he ventured off the property from time to time, hunting the little field mice. But he very rarely travelled far from where she could feel him.

Wendy shrugged it off, knowing her grandmother; Eleanor probably sent him to the vet for some made up reason because Nancy had upset her.

"You got everything?" Samuel asked, he edged up next to her as he glanced back at his brother who didn't budge from the driver's seat of the Impala.

Samuel had noticed Dean's strange behaviour for the last three days, but whenever he broached the subject, Dean deflected like it was his profession. And right now, Dean refused to look in the pair's direction, instead he kept his eyes locked on the steering wheel that his hands held in a white-knuckle grip.

And that was okay, Wendy didn't want to force him to endure her presence any longer when he was so close to being rid of her.

Wendy hummed and gave a nod in response. "Don't be a' stranger, 'kay?"

Samuel nodded along, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans; looking as if he just tasted something sour. Wendy knew she could peak but decided not to. The witch didn't want to leave Samuel feeling cross with her because she decided to slip into his mind.

"An' if y' ever need anythin', jus' ask." Wendy added solemnly. She always hated goodbyes and Samuel had started to grow on the witch. If someone were to ask her, she would tell them with confidence that Samuel Winchester was her friend. And she hoped that Samuel viewed her as such.

Wendy knew Dean wouldn't say goodbye and she wouldn't put him through the stilted conversation of a farewell.

Samuel gave the witch a final nod before he turned away and climbed his tall frame back into the Impala. Immediately, the engine kicked over, and she watched as Samuel gave her a single wave before the car turned back down the dirt driveway.

Wendy knew she'd never see them again unless under horrifying circumstances.

With a heavy sigh that puffed out the witch's cheeks, Wendt turned towards the steps that led to the farmhouse's front door. Her body went into autopilot as she trudged up the stairs and onto the front porch.

And felt a veil envelop her entire body.

It caressed her skin like the skeletal hands of a cruel lover, a mask of mocking affection designed to lure you in with false niceties and pre-broken promises.

Hidden cleverly behind the original wards of the home and giving the illusion that all was well within the abode. But that all fell away when she reached the top of the stairs.

A gasp lodged in her throat as she stumbled forward. Invisible hands seemed to squeeze at her throat as she reached out. Tears clouded her eyes as her walls came crashing down, searching for life—only to be whipped with stale anguish.

Because hanging from the rafters of the porch, directly in front of the old door like a morbid gift; was Nancy.

Lifeless.