Beast in my Bones || Sam Winchester ||

|| Chapter 35 ||

My lips curl into a coquettish smirk as I lift my face into the light. "Your wilting soul." As the room grows quiet with the witch's enraged silence, I look around to find them all boiling in the same pot. "You're Borrowers, all of you. Talk about heartbreaking."

At the mockery of his own choice of words, the lid atop of Dean's clone's head almost blows completely off. "You insufferable..."

"Out of all of us in this room," I cut him off, shifting to a much more comfortable position in my chair, "who willingly sold their grimy, little soul to get their hands on some ruby slippers? Hmm? And I'm the one in the chair."

He slams his hands around my forearms, squeezing tightly, and jerks the chair forward. "You don't know my story." The heat and fury bubbling in his eyes leaves traces of Dean, lingering in the pools of green, but it's nowhere near as frightening as the hunter himself.

"Nor do I have the time or patience to care," I whisper back, fearlessly leaning forward to shrink the already dwindling gap between our faces.

A long, strenuous breath seeps out of his flared nostrils as his grip strengthens. Then he abruptly pulls away. "Lena." Another witch that had been hiding off to the side dumps the duffels that Jo and Sam had snuck in onto a table, the weapons that had been tucked inside now haphazardly strewn about. 'Dean' then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pair of bewitched gloves.

"Ooh...are you gonna hit me?"

He ignores me and straps the gloves over his hands, flexing out his fingers for the correct fit. Once he's done, he straightens out his shoulders and rolls his neck. And then his eyes flash up at mine.

A swift blow streaks across my face, the skin along my cheekbone effortlessly splitting apart. Another hits me again in the same spot but even harder. The next with the ridge of his knuckles. I lift my aching head with ease, unwilling to give him any satisfaction towards the pain he's inflicting. A snarl curls his lips under, forcing him to grab the back of my chair and pummel his fist into my stomach.

"You worthless," another punch, "ungrateful," and another, "little bitch."

I groan over the side of the chair, feeling my organs collapse against the back of my spine. Lena, donning an identical pair of gloves, hands 'Dean' a blade from the bag, replacing the regular one that he had dropped upon his fistful fury. An arduous cough rattles my chest, causing a dribble of blood to splatter onto the ground.

"And what makes you any different?" I manage to force out, despite the thick red coating my teeth.

"Me?" he points to himself with the blade, careful not to touch even the fabric covering his chest, "Oh, where to begin..."

The weapon suddenly hovers over my skin, ghosting along my forearm. He takes the cuff of my denim jacket, along with the sweatshirt underneath, and slices through, exposing my forearm to the frigid air. I tense up, quickly turning my arm over, and then he smiles, because he knows exactly what I'm hiding.

"You were born with this destiny." He flips back the sleeve and tucks it underneath my arm, the blade held close by.

"Just like Sammy." The other witch, disguised as Sam, whispers into my ear, startling me half to death. He snickers at my apprehensive reaction, letting his fingers trace down the side of my face. They trail under my jaw, curving over my neck and down to my exposed collarbones. An uncontrollable wave of shivers rolls over my skin from the repulsive sensation, but I remain still, despite my brewing defensive instincts.

Aggressive shuffling suddenly fills the room, or more so comes to my attention, since I had been a little preoccupied to pay any mind. My eyes shift straight ahead to see the real Sam seething with anger, yanking at the restraints around his wrists with such vigor that the storage shelves might even collapse from the brute force. He doesn't look back at me, though – only at his own reflection.