In The Supernatural

Chapter 18

Note from Nicki:

So this wasn't how I was planning on making this chapter. The beginning is the same, yes, but I wasn't really expecting a lot of this stuff to happen. I rewrote it like ten thousand times because I just wasn't satisfied with the way it was turning out. Please don't give me any hatred over this chapter because this is how it turned out, and I can't change it. I personally don't think it's that bad, but I know that some people will. I'm sticking with it, because I this is what will be the best. Thank you to all of those who are understanding to why it took so long to update. I really do appreciate it.

By the time that I almost forgot about archer, almost a week had passed. I hadn't fared well after killing Alyssa, but after a few more kills, I started to get used to the feeling of regret, as awful as that sounded.

Still, I would get random shocks of pain in my chest that would suck all the air out of my lungs, squish my heart, and send it racing a the same time. Usually Sam and Dean were with me and I would have to excuse myself to a different area, which usually consisted of being a bathroom. During those episodes, I wouldn't hyperventilate, as one would think. I wouldn't be able to breath at all, or so it felt like it. Even though my heart would race, my breath would slow and I would get light headed and woozy, and since I didn't know what to do, I would just have to wait it out in slight terror and grief until it subsided.

In one particular episode of this, I had been alone in the motel. Sam and Dean were both "going out," which I assumed meant them going out to a bar. This was one of the worst mental attacks. I had just been making some food from the cheap little motel microwave when it hit, and I spent the next two hours trying to calm my heart down and trying not to cry.

Luckily, after a nice warm bath and some tea, even though it was long and tedious time, it went away.

Neither Sam or Dean would let me go with them on any hunting trips for at least two weeks. Apparently, Dean got it out of Cas that my bone ended up sticking out of my leg, and they didn't think I was okay. How Dean even guessed anything, I didn't even know, but still. I knew I had quite a few bruises, and was quite sore still, but I felt like I could do whatever I could. But, just to appease the boys, I complied, and stayed wherever they wanted me to.

The hotel room we were staying in was a quaint little place in Coastal Wickford Village in Rhode Island. The walls were yellow and the floor was brown. To explain it would make it sound like a bumblebee, but it was rather pretty. The yellow was the colour of sunshine and the brown was the colour of rich tree branches. In a weird way, it made me think of a forest when the sunlight is lighted through the leaves in a way that looked like heaven was looking down upon you.

Across the two-lane road from the inn we were staying in, there was a park, and so far, everyday, for the past three days, I would go out and swing on the swings, all alone. It was peaceful, and once in a while a child would be there, playing with their mother or father, or both. Their screams of joy made it all the more peaceful in an odd way. It made me think of when I was a child and my parents would take me to the park. The children's smile's mirrored their parent's, and it was wonderful to hear them laugh.

The only sad part about it, to me and the child, was leaving. Most of the time the child would scream or cry or just pout, but I don't remember seeing a kid who was happy to say goodbye to their playground.

Except for one kid.

This kid was a little boy and he was the definition of adorable. About four or five, his rosy cheeks, black hair, and light brown eyes were precious. He was sitting alone on one of the benches. In his hands were crayons and set in front of him was a sketchpad which had obviously been owned for a long time, from the torn cover, scuff marks around the edges, and amount of drawings in there. I couldn't tell what he was drawing but I was growing curious as the minutes passed. His mothter came and asked him if he wanted to play with the other kids (which I only knew that from her gestures). He frowned and shook his head in an annoyed yet intelligent manner, then looked intently back at his drawing.