That night I had a hard time sleeping. I lay on the floor of the motel room, Sam refused to let me sleep outside, but I refused to sleep on the bed. I figured once I fell asleep, they would be awake; they might as well be awake in a big comfy bed while I snored away. But I could not sleep.
I stood up and grabbed the spare keycard; I went outside into the cool crisp night. The card got me back inside, to where the lobby was. A diluted pitcher of lemonade sat on the counter, all of the ice melted. I poured myself a glass and stepped back outside.
I stood there leaning against the wall, sipping on lemonade in one hand and my keycard in the other, begging for some relief of pain and a good night’s sleep. That wasn’t going to happen here. I walked back to the room, got ready to open the door and then I heard rustling in the bushes. Don’t be a bear; please…don’t be a bear. I also thought of demons and angels, but the bear was just as frightening. The bear couldn’t be reasoned with.
A wolf stepped out of the trees, she had a soft looking brown coat and even in the night, I could see her glacier blue eyes. She stepped forward uneasily as I stood perfectly still. A wolf wasn’t much better than a bear. Then I noticed the blood swelling out of her left shoulder; she had been in a fight recently, as I had too. She was beautiful, her slender body walking towards me. I felt like we were in sync with each other. Could that even be possible? Days ago, I would have thought no, but these were different times and I was a different type of person. I was a killer now.
We were only a yard apart by this time.
I was thrown back into the wall, a cry of pain escaped my lips; the russet colored wolf yelped and ran. Demon was my first thought, but as I felt the cold creeping into my body—I knew it was not.
It was a ghost.
I began beating against the wall behind me, hoping to wake Sam or Dean.
“Dean! Sam!” I cried, but then my voice was cut off as the cold hand gripped my throat, pushing me tighter against the wall.
The figure was pale, dead. A teenager, he had blonde hair and a jocks jacket. Go Eagles was etched into the sleeve. I kept beating against the wall, pleadingly.
That was when he pushed against me harder, more aggressively as I felt the ice cold grab my hair and pull me tighter into the wall. It was then I understood he planned on doing more than killing me. The bast*rd.
Tears filled my eyes as I tried to fight back, but I wasn’t touching anything. I wouldn’t have felt him if it hadn’t been for the cold. Scratches began to trail from my ankles and began slowly working their way up. I cried in pain, and I heard an eerie howl in the night.
“HEY!” The monster turned towards the door. An iron bar was brought down onto it head. I fell onto the ground instantly.
Dean didn’t have to pick me back up; I was back on my feet, my eyes flashing. I took the gun which was filled with rock salt and I flipped the safety off. I was pissed, even if this gun would not kill the thing I still wanted to shoot it until I ran out of ammo.
It was gone though, and that infuriated me more.
“Do you think it’ll come back?” I growled.
Sam who was in the doorway shook his head. “Not tonight I think," He picked up the spare keycard off the ground.
Dean looked at it then immediately his eyes locked on mine. “Why did you go out?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the lobby and got a drink.”
“We have beer in the fridge,” Dean claimed, as if it solved all of my problems.
“I’m seventeen!” I hissed; I was hopeless. I’d kill someone yet I refused to drink when things got a little edgy. I considered it, but my mother’s side of the family had issues with drinking, so I didn’t want to carry on the family 'legacy.'
I let the gun fall to my side. Sam took it and flipped the safety back on. “Think you can sleep now?”
“Nope,” I admitted, and we walked back inside. I turned and looked back into the night, expecting to hear a howl from the wolf. I heard nothing more.
I stepped back into the room, the place with the diamond shaped carpet, and the bedding that looked like it belonged on Arabian Nights with an additional little mirrored ceiling. I sat on the bed, gripping the sheets trying not to look at my legs which looked like a train wreck. My body was so battered already, but the monsters seemed to think it wasn’t battered enough. I already had stitches on my shoulder, but at least I was passed out for those.
Grudgingly I looked at my legs, the claw marks trailed from my ankles to my knees. Had Dean waited a moment longer I would have had more than scratches to worry about. Of all the Interlopers Balthazar could pick, he picks a rapist! Was he just this stupid? He sure knew how to pick them, at any rate.
Sam had grabbed a towel and laid it at my feet. At first I was touched, until I saw the needle and thread in his hand.
Distressed I asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He raised his eyebrows, “What, do you want to do it instead?” Instantly I felt sick. I hadn’t examined my ankles closely but I bet they were very deep. Possibly to the bone.
I was supposed to learn how to do stitches in one of my classes, but I hadn’t learned yet—of course. “No,” I said bitterly, “You better do it, I might mess up.”
Dean looked at Sam as he began stitching away. “Sam’s better at this stuff than I am. Still I end up stitching myself up half the time.”
I nodded, feeling every poke and prod. No one had given me anything for the pain, or for my shoulder, my earliest injury. I felt like a human pin cushion.
Sam looked up, “Are you doing okay? We can go buy you something for the pain,”
I shook my head, “It won’t do me any good right at this moment. Maybe later,” The worst part was feeling the thread slide after the needle. It made me feel like the ghost was still there. It took all my restraint to not kick Sam. I watched him pull the thread through. Dean was right, he was good. I’ve heard of people who’ve done stitches and making mistakes and actually shredding the skin as they pulled the thread through and would have the seam too narrow. He didn’t do this, to my relief.
I tried to change the subject, “So…how are you feeling since yesterday? Still got a headache?”
He shook his head, replying casually, “No, for the most part I feel fine. I think you’re the one that’s gotten beaten up the most the past couple days.” I scoffed.
“Sure is starting to look that way, isn’t it?”
Dean had grabbed the Oreos and pulled open the package. “Well, at least you’re still alive. Some people train all their lives for this, but when reality hits they don’t make it as far as you would have.”
“Yeah, but that was a lot of dumb luck. Plus, I had help.”
“We all have.” Sam replied, “We wouldn’t be here if we got only half the help we get now.”
He continued stitching for a couple of minutes. Then he paused as if something came to his mind.
“Think you’ll ever miss it?”
“What?” I asked.
He continued casually, “A normal life.”
It dawned on me that they probably never really had one, now that I had my “normal” life taken away, would I try to get it back? “I don’t think my life was ever normal, but I know I’m gonna miss my family and friends.”
“Think you’ll ever go back?”
“I hope so; even if I do I don’t think I could live a normal life after knowing what’s out there.”
Dean looked at me and asked earnestly, “You’re at least gonna try though, right?”
“Yeah,” I gripped the bed as I felt the needle pulled through, “I’m gonna try.”