Chapter 39 : Wild Guess

by

      It felt like we stood there staring at each other forever. Neither of us spoke, and I wasn't sure I could if I wanted to. Seeing Dean standing there with a bloody mop and bagged up body at his feet was the last thing I had expected to encounter tonight, but what was another surprise. 

      "Do you think you can put the gun away?" He finally asked, his head tilting to the side as he admired the grip I had on my pistol. 

      My eyes fluttered, and my hands dropped to my sides. I hadn't even realized I was still aiming at his heart and quickly disarmed it before setting it on the small table next to me. "What are you doing here?" I finally asked him. 

     His olive eyes narrowed at me, but slowly his gaze fell behind me, no doubt noticing the limp legs just visible through the doorway. "I can ask you the same thing?" I followed his gaze and watched the leather boots twitch against the old wooden boards. "It's still alive?" 

     "Not for long," I muttered, grabbing my gun and stepping out on the porch. Despite the horrifying look on Dean's face, I unloaded a clip into its chest, knowing it would do nothing but keep him incapacitated for only a short while longer.

     I bent down next to what once used to be a handsome scraggly-haired man and cupped his cheek as he fought to keep his eyes open. "I gotta take care of something, but you and are I gonna have a long chat real soon. Okay?" 

      A smile spread across my face, and I left him there, slamming the door shut behind me, so the sudden snowfall didn't waft into the house.

     Dean dropped the mop handle and set the bleach on the ground as I set my gun and empty cartridge back on the table, doing my best to ignore the look on his face. I'm sure he was confused. Up until a few months ago, he didn't even know vampires existed, and now he was standing inside of my cabin with a dead one tied to my chair and a dying one on the porch. 

       "You're not going to say anything?" 

      I grabbed the ammo box from my bag and sat down at the table, reloading the clip as he walked towards me. 

     I had no idea what to say to him. 

     "I already asked you what you were doing here?" 

     "Take a wild guess," he snapped at me. 

     "I don't have time for this shit, Dean," I told him. I didn't want to be this way to him, but it was the only way. He needed to leave. He couldn't be a part of this. I promised myself, and I promised John that he would survive this, and regardless of my hatred for the patriarch of the Winchester family, I intended to keep that promise. 

     As far as Dean Winchester was concerned - whatever happened between us was nothing but a mistake in a dingy motel. 

      "You need to leave," I told him as the tension began to grow. All I wanted to do at that moment was replace the body in the chair, wrap my neck in a cold cloth and get some rest while I waited for John. "You can't be here." 

     He didn't move. 

     "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on?" He said, his voice flat and agitated. I glanced up and watched him as he picked up the jar of dead man's blood and jumped from my seat, taking it from him. "What is that?" 

     "Dead man's blood." 

     "Dead man's blood? What the hell is that for? Where did you even get it?" 

     I thought about telling him how I broke into the funeral home but thought better of it and slid it far back into the top shelf of the cupboard. 

      "Jesus Christ, talk to me!" 

       I spun on my heel. "We have nothing to talk about, okay! So, just go. Please." 

     "Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

      "Why? A few months ago, you couldn't wait to go." 

      I tried to push past him, but his fingers gripped my wrist, and he stopped me in my tracks. I wasn't sure why, but anger burned through my body. I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath before slowly looking over at him.

      "You're joking, right? You know exactly what the hell I want."

      I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Begging him again to leave. 

      "I'm not going anywhere until you at least tell me what happened in Chicago."

      I pulled from his grip, but he stepped forward, almost as if he was threatening to do it again if I tried to back away. He wasn't going to let it go, and I quickly realized that the only way to get him to leave me alone and go back to wherever it was that he came from, as if I told him the truth. 

     "A lot happened in Chicago," I threw at him. 

     "Well, why don't you just start with why the hell you held a gun to my brother's head?"

     "I wasn't going to shoot Sammy," I told him.

      "Are you sure about that?" He snapped, "because the look in your eye when you told that bitch what you were going to do looked pretty damn convincing." 

      Because it was. As much as I hated to admit it, there had been a very small part of me that would have done it. Maybe not then, at that moment, but there was no telling if it would happen eventually. Sam was like the rest of them, and just because he didn't believe he could do harm to someone, eventually, it would happen. It always happened, just like the timid, blue-eyed assistant in Mississippi who had used her abilities to make her boss jump out a seven-story window. The bartender at a Wisconsin strip club used his to take advantage of the girls he swore to protect. And that douchebag in Detroit who thought he was some kind of big city vigilante, even though he had a bad habit at pointing the hammer at the wrong culprit. 

      I couldn't tell Dean that, though. I didn't have it in me to tell him that his little brother was heading into darkness. The same darkness that took my sister. That Chloe had been the first choice, and it was because I killed her that he made more. That he made Sam, and somehow, that seemed worse than telling him that I made a deal that left his father dead.