Leila drew in a shaking breath as she looked at Dean Winchester.
"Hunters?" she asked. Her head felt like it was spinning. No longer swimming in static but she still felt like she was in the black nothingness of her nightmare. That's what it was, really. She wished she could stop calling them dreams. "Like..." Leila looked back at the pile of black dust. "That wasn't an animal, are you nuts?" She held a hand out. "That thing looked... I don't know..." She still felt like she wanted to vomit. "I don't want to say human..."
But it was exactly what she meant.
"Can I see your arm?" Sam asked as he walked back into the room.
Leila eyed him for a moment before realizing the throbbing was beginning to make her feel numb. She held her arm out toward him as he walked to where she was seated in her bed.
"This isn't going to feel good," Sam said. He pressed the towel to her arm, putting pressure on the wound. Leila drew in a sharp breath that sounded too much like the creature hissing than she would've liked to admit. Goosebumps prickled her skin remembering the void of it's eyes.
Dean looked around the room. He narrowed his eyes at Leila. "Where's your mom? Sammy said you were staying here with her."
"Um..." Leila's brain was fried. Lies usually slipped off her tongue easily. It was how she made it through home life. "Out? Buying snacks."
"At four o'clock in the morning?" Dean asked. He quirked an eyebrow.
Leila hated that she knew he was reading right through her. She was usually better at this. But she had to see the lie through at that point. "She usually works early. Gets hungry." Sam pushed harder on her arm after checking the towel. Leila stopped herself from screaming. "Ow."
"Sorry," Sam mumbled. The expression on his face seemed like he meant it.
"You sharing a bed with your mom?" Dean asked. He pushed the door closed only to have it creak open again. Leila could see the glint of the doorknob hanging from the door.
She would not be paying for damages that Dean Winchester inflicted on her motel door. That was for certain.
Leila's eyes darted to Dean. "That's really none of your business. Is it?"
"Are you okay to walk?" Sam asked. "We should wash this."
"Sure..." Leila slowly made her way to her feet, Sam still putting pressure on the wound on her arm. She hated that the creature had been close enough while she was asleep to scratch her. And she hated more that she hadn't noticed until Sam had pointed it out.
Sam and Leila walked to the bathroom, where he stuck her arm under the faucet and began attempting to clean it. Leila fought the urge to exclaim in pain. While it was better than any disinfectant, water on an open wound did not feel good.
Leila could see Dean walk around her bed, examining the scratches on the wall. "You know, kid," he said, running his hand along the marks. "If you tell us the truth, we can help. Makes it easier for everyone."
"I don't talk to strangers I just met," Leila said. Wondering where she was finding the courage to sass a man that could probably break her arm by flicking it.
"We're talking right now. It's a great conversation." Dean lay on her bed, putting his hands behind his head. Comfortable—like it was his own bed and not one from a dingy motel. Leila didn't know how he could be comfortable when the comforter was balled up underneath him. It also felt like a prison cot. So there was that, too.
Leila raised an eyebrow at him—chiding him from the bathroom as she tried to ignore the sting of the water. "That's my bed."
"This is a motel bed," Dean said. "Just because you and your probably imaginary mother are staying here doesn't make it yours."
Leila narrowed her eyes. If she could've, she would've crossed her arms. "I don't like you."
"Fine by me, sweetheart," Dean said. "I'm here to do my job and then I'll move to the next place. You don't have to like me, but you do have to give me something to help."
"Dean, lay off," Sam chided. He looked at Leila. "I'm not sure this is going to stop bleeding without stitches."
"Fantastic," Leila said, throwing her other hand in the air. "Exactly what I needed. A hospital bill."
"I—" Sam started. "We've got a sewing kit. In our room. One of us could stitch it if you'd like."
"Maybe she has to ask mom for permission," Dean said. Staring at the ceiling above him. Looking far too proud of himself for Leila to not want to smack the smirk off his face.
"Dean, will you shut up for, like, ten minutes?" Sam asked. Exasperated. Leila could see why if he'd been dealing with Dean for most of his life. Dean had said they were brothers, after all.
"What's in it for me?" Dean asked.
Sam looked out the door and shot a nasty gaze in Dean's direction. Words weren't needed. The glare was enough. Dean's face faltered for a moment—he'd read Sam's expression like a book. Leila thought she imagined the gulp she heard from the room. That didn't mean she didn't smile softly at the thought. Anything that made the cockiness of the man in her room crack was a win in her books.
Dean held his hands in the air in surrender. His charming façade covered whatever fear he may have felt from Sam's glare. "Didn't know someone put his big boy pants on today."
Sam rolled his eyes. Ignoring his brother, he looked back to Leila. "Any chance I can get your name? We can help. I promise. Whatever that thing was, it obviously wanted you."
"I'm sure she's going to sleep great at night knowing that, Sammy. Great work. You should be a kindergarten teacher. You're a freaking natural."
"I'm sixteen," Leila said.
"My bad," Dean said. "She won't tell us her name but she'll tell us how old she is."
Leila rolled her eyes. Not unlike Sam. She looked back to her arm. The bleeding had slowed down but not subsided. "I'm Leila. Connors."
"Like in Terminator?" Dean asked. "Sweet."
"Haven't heard that before," Leila said.
"Leila, cancel your room," Dean said. Swinging his feet off the bed, he stood up. "You're staying with us."
Leila made a face. "Yeah, no. I don't know you guys. Thanks for the first aid, but not happening."
"Fine," Dean said. "Let it come back. Scratch you until you bleed to death. Maybe it'll go for your throat first, make it painless."
Leila's eyes widened. "Excuse me—"
"Demons—or whatever the hell that thing was—don't skimp on second chances," Dean said, walking to where the door was. "That thing'll kill you if you don't come with us. I'm telling you that as a damn fact. Fool it once, fool it twice. It wasn't a question that you're coming with us, kid."
Dean had attempted to slam the door behind him as he left, but it had less of an effect when the door simply swung back open because the doorknob was broken. He didn't look back.
Sam let out a deep sigh through his nostrils. The muscles in his clenched hard enough that his cheeks flexed. "I'd really hate to say it," he said. "But Dean's right. It's not safe here."
"I don't know you," Leila said. "Like I said, that's no bueno. Sorry."
"That thing could come back," Sam said. "You know that, right? And it's not going to waste anytime. We don't even know what it was. We're just lucky the rock salt seemed to work."
"Rock salt? I thought you were hunters."
"We are. It's... Leila, it's complicated. There's a lot that you don't know."
"Tell me," Leila said. "I don't know many hunters who hunt creepy boney creatures. And your brother said... demon? Yeah, I'm going to need an explanation."
"Look," Sam said. His eyebrows knit together. "We don't know what it was. All we heard was your scream. It's not the best explanation, I know. But that's all we've got. We need to do some research to see what it might be. But leaving you here isn't going to help when you might be dead by morning if we do."
Leila swallowed hard. "You're not joking. Are you?"
Sam shook his head. "If we could leave you alone, we would. But camping out in front of your room's going to get us arrested. And leaving you here's going to get you killed."
"Do demon's... or... or whatever that was," Leila started. She stared at her arm, blood streamed down her forearm into her palm. "Is this normal? I'm not going to get possessed from this... or something. Am I?"
"You shouldn't," Sam said. "But it's going to hurt like a bitch while it's healing."
Leila looked up. "It's going to heal?"
"It should." Sam nodded. "But it might leave a scar. It's pretty deep."
Leila looked down at her arm again. Wishing her self-inflicted scars weren't so prominent even covered in crimson—she wasn't even sure how that was possible. She swallowed hard but gave Sam a sad smile. "As long as it heals, right?" Which was much more uplifting than the What's another scar? she was going to say.
Leila made a mental deal with herself: she would go with Sam and Dean. And whenever this was over, she would get the hell out. No hard feelings, no long goodbyes. She would just get out and carry on with her plan. The demon—whatever it was—was not part of the plan. But life was filled with side quests, right?
That's where Leila was. Some shitty side quest that only made it sweeter when she got back to the main story. Her story. The one that Sam and Dean wouldn't rob her of the ending she desired. Leila would be sure of that. Side quest be damned, she was here for the ending of the story. That was that. Was it a happy ending?
For her it would be. It would be exactly what she wanted. Life wasn't always a fairytale.
"Right," Sam said. Snapping her out of her thoughts. "We're just trying to make sure you make it out of this. Nothing else."
Leila nodded. "I'll go with you. Thanks."
"Okay," Sam said. "Grab whatever you brought. And your... um, mom... can come too."
"I think we both know she's not here with me."
Sam let out a small laugh. "Yeah. We do."
"I just have my bag," Leila said. Sam gave her a look. Leila shrugged. "I pack light."
"Here." Sam handed her the towel. "Put pressure on it. I'll carry the bag. You're sure you don't have anything else?"
Leila eyed the tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles. Before taking the towel from Sam, she grabbed both of them and stuffed them in her pocket. "I'm sure." Sam chided her with his eyes, Leila raised an eyebrow. "I paid for this hotel room."
"You're cancelling though."
"They don't know that I didn't shower before I cancelled my room," Leila said. "And it's not like I'm getting a refund. These are rightfully mine. Really."
"Sure," Sam said. Probably just to humour her. His eyes were still frantically questioning here, but she was going to ignore it. Pretend he was accepting of her taking the shampoo. Because it's not like she was going to put it back anyway.
Leila nodded. Like she was confirming that yes she was taking these hair products and yes they were hers and yes there was nothing that Sam Winchester could do about it. And that was that. Signed. Sealed. Delivered.
She took the towel from Sam's hands and pressed it against her arm. Leila didn't look like a lot of muscle, but the pressure she could muster was enough to make her wince. The wetness of the towel was something she did not enjoy. Not looking at her hands—which were surely stained crimson—was her new plan. Short term, she knew. But she might've given into her nausea if she saw it. And she was not prepared to let the man she just met have to hold her hair back.
Sam and Leila walked out of the bathroom and Sam grabbed her bag before they left the room. The coat was left on the chair. "We'll pay for damages," Sam said. "Well... Dean kicked the door so I'll make sure he pays for damages."
Leila let out a small laugh. "Thanks."
"Well, clearly it was our fault," Sam said. "And Dean's being a freakin' jerk so it's the least we can do."
"Is he usually like that?" Leila asked.
"Depends on the day," Sam said. "I think he's worried. It's been a while since we didn't know what we were dealing with."
"You actually believe that you're demon hunters?" Leila asked.
"I know it sounds crazy," Sam said. "But we are."
"I went to a hospital with a woman who thought she had killed off her old evil self and resurrected into a new woman who was full of peace," Leila said. They walked past the car that Leila had seen when she was checking in and up to a door. "I think I can deal with a little bit of not normal."
"That's..." Sam dug in his pocket for his room key when they made it to the door. "Huh."
"She was super nice," Leila said. "Just a little... not all there. And that's okay. You and Dean claim to hunt demons. So who's more abnormal?"
"That's a fair point," Sam said, unlocking the door. "Normal's not our... well, normal."
Dean had already made himself comfortable in the motel room. A beer beside what Leila assumed was his laptop while he typed. Slowly, precisely. Like each letter had to be perfect on the first try. A journalist on their final draft with two hours until deadline.
"Find anything?" Sam asked as he walked into the room. He made himself comfortable on the edge of one of the beds.
Leila followed Sam in, closing the door behind her. She leaned against a wall near the door, not wanting to intrude on the Winchesters' space.
"Did you get a good look?" Dean asked. "I didn't. Dad's freakin' shoot first kicked in."
"I—um—" Leila started. "I did."
"You did?" Sam asked.
"Well, yeah," Leila said. "It stared at me. And it was—"
"What did it look like?" Dean asked.
Sam leaned over and dug through a bag at the foot of the bed. Pulling out a needle, thread, and bandages. "Can I see your arm again?"
"Are those sterile?" Leila asked.
"If you think gas station needles are sterile," Dean said. He didn't even look up from his laptop as he took a sip from his beer bottle.
"Ew."
"Dean." Sam glared at his brother before he looked at Leila. "We got them from a morgue."
"You are not using dead guy needles on me!" Leila said as her eyes widened. "Who are you guys? What the hell?"
"They're not used," Sam said as Dean let out a chuckle and continued typing on the laptop. "Look, we need to stop it or it's... not going to be good."
"You mean I'm going to bleed out?" Leila asked. Monotone. She hated when adults tried to beat around the bush for her sake. Straight to the point was the way to go. It avoided the arguments that ensued after for avoiding the truth. Which Leila preferred immensely over the alternative.
"I—" Sam caught himself. "Something like that."
"Kid," Dean said, "whatever the hell it was gave you a warning. Something to remember it by if you managed to get help before it killed you. Let Sammy stitch it up because it's clear this thing wanted you to suffer."
"Oh, goody," Leila said. "Thanks for the bedtime story."
"Any time."
Leila, seeing no other choice even if they were potentially used needles, walked over to where Sam was and pulled the towel off her arm.
Sam looked up at her for a moment. "I wish I could stop saying this... but this—"
"Isn't going to feel good?" Leila finished, sighing softly. "Figures. Just do it."
"You heard her," Dean said. "Don't forget to bend over, bitch."
Leila let out a huff that wasn't supposed to be audible. Judging by the fact that Sam had looked up, she hadn't been silent in the slightest.
"Leila," Sam said, "can we do this in private?"
Leila saw that there was another bedroom separate from where the main room they were in. She nodded softly. A headache was beginning to pull at her brain from the blood loss. Anything that got that sealed was enough for her. The two started walking toward the other room.
"Sammy," Dean said. "You know she's sixteen and that's illegal, right?"
Leila stopped dead in her tracks and looked at Dean—who was smirking as he took another sip from his beer. "You're such a pig."
Dean tilted his head and clicked his tongue. "Sticks and stones, sweetheart."
Leila curled her lip in disgust, walking into the separate room. She could feel blood trickling into her palm and hoped that she hadn't gotten it on Sam and Dean's floor. That would be hard to explain away to the housekeeper. At least Leila could claim the marks on her bed were from her period. That wouldn't make it look like a crime scene. At least, not as much. Leila was certain it probably looked like something nasty had happened. If housekeeping had seen the creature, Leila was sure they would agree with her that it was very much nasty.
Walking into the separate room, they were met with one bed. A single. Simple sheets, like Leila's room had. The thought of her own room brought chills to her arms. The shotgun had better done the trick to whatever was in Leila's room. If it hadn't, Leila just hoped it didn't hurt anyone else.
Sam walked in behind Leila and pushed the door so it was almost closed. Probably so that Dean didn't get the wrong idea even when he already had it. Leila leaned against a vanity. Sam sat on the bed in a spot that he could reach her to sew her arm. He placed the medical supplies beside himself and threaded the needle expertly.
"Do you want a pillow... or something?" Sam asked. "I don't know how long this is going to take."
"I'm a big kid," Leila said. "Just get it over with."
"Can I ask..." Sam started as he stuck the needle in to make the first stitch. Leila flinched, her arm tensing. He pulled the needle. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Sorry."
"You keep saying sorry, this is going to last longer than it needs to," Leila said. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch her arm being sewn. "What are you wanting to ask about?"
"The scars on your arm," Sam said.
Leila's heart shot into her throat. She could feel every prick of the needle as Sam stitched—slowly and precisely. This sewing was going to take longer than the couple minutes Leila usually stalled for when asked about the cuts on her arms. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her Sam wasn't going to fall for her lies as easily as other people had. "There's this neighbourhood cat. Scratches me on the way home from school." She let out a weak laugh—not even enough to convince herself. "Son of a bitch always got me."
"A cat did this?" Sam asked.
Leila was glad she couldn't see the disbelief that she was sure dressed his face. She didn't need that. Especially from a man she'd just met. Who was he to judge whether she was telling the truth or not? Sam Winchester was practically no one to her, and she was going to be no one to him when all the demon business was over. And that was perfectly fine by her.
"Yeah," Leila said. "I mean, fool me once... fool me twice. Couldn't stop myself from petting the cat. It always..." She caught herself for a moment. "Just looked sad. Like it needed some love."
Sam continued sewing for a couple silent moments. "You really wanted... this cat—" Sam said it like he didn't believe her. Leila didn't blame him. She wasn't doing her best work lying. "—to be... happier?"
"Something like that," Leila said. "Is that a problem?"
"Some of these look pretty deep."
"Cats have claws. Sharp ones."
"Not that sharp."
"Are you a cat expert as well as a hunter?" Leila asked. She peaked open an eye just to make sure Sam knew she was looking at him judgementally.
Sam seemed to get the message as he finished the stitching in Leila's arm. "I'm not. Sorry. How's that?"
Leila opened both eyes and ran her finger along the stitching. It was clearly not done by a licensed doctor but she was still impressed with how clean it was. The throbbing had subsided, which Leila was going to take as a win.
"Better," she said. "Thank you."
"No problem." Sam tucked the needle into the spool of thread. He sighed softly. "Look, I know it's not the best situation... right now. Here."
"You're telling me."
"But... we're going to find a way to help you," Sam said. "As best we can."
"Can I be in this room?" Leila asked. "No offense, but if I'm being forcibly removed from my room, I kind of want to lock my door while I sleep. I don't know you guys."
"Okay."
"I mean," Leila started, "you guys have shotguns, so I guess that's not really going to help... but something's gotta keep me sane if this is going to last a while, right?"
"Right."
"Is it?" Leila pushed herself up onto the vanity so she was sitting on it. Leaning had made her feel too casual. Too relaxed. She wasn't either of those—not in the slightest. She still had the overwhelming feeling she was going to throw up washing through her.
"Is it what?"
"Going to last a while."
"There's really not a way to know."
"I have plans. In a couple days. I wasn't supposed to be here for more than two days."
"It's probably going to take longer than that," Sam said. "Sorry."
"You say that a lot."
"What were your plans?"
"That's..." Leila swallowed hard. "Nothing important. Consider it rescheduled. T-B-D."
"Leila—"
"Are you done with..." Leila motioned to her arm. "...this?"
"Unless you want gauze." Sam held up the roll he'd brought with him. Just so Leila could see that it wouldn't be inconvenient.
"Nope. Thanks," Leila said before hopping off her makeshift vanity seat and walking out of the room.
She didn't want to answer anymore questions. Those answers were for the therapist she didn't go to again after one visit. The school counsellors she used to skip class to hang out with and talked to about nothing over everything. The bathroom walls knew more than anyone who could've helped. So did the people who wrote attention seeking whore over her words.
"Finished that early?" Dean asked. "Impressive."
"Shut up," Leila said. And despite herself, she sat in the chair opposite Dean. Because the last thing she needed was any jokes about her sitting on the bed. "Disgusting."
"'S a part of life, you know," Dean said.
"Doesn't mean it's not disgusting when you bring it up," Leila said, crossing her arms across her stomach. "Is it all you think about?"
"Good thoughts for bullshit times," Dean said, downing the last of his beer. "I'm getting more from the car. Should I grab you one?"
Leila wrinkled her nose. "Lukewarm beer at three o'clock in the morning? No thanks."
"Suit yourself," Dean said, pressing his palms against the table and standing up. "And it's about six, kid. Just so you know."
Leila rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
She poked at her arm where the new stitching was. A thumb ran over the bumps that protruded from her skin. Leila had never had stitches before, but she was already itching to scratch at them.
"You know," Dean said. "Leaving it alone is the only thing that's going to make it go away."
"Leave me alone and go get your beer."
Dean sighed and walked out of the room, boots stomping against the floorboards. Heard even with the carpet. He closed the door behind him quietly as Sam walked out of the separated bedroom.
"Where's Dean?" Sam asked from behind Leila.
"He wanted beer," Leila said. "Went to get some."
Shattering glass on concrete was heard outside. The sound of struggle—grunting, swearing. Crunching glass.
"What the hell?" Sam asked, starting to run toward the front door.
"Sammy!"
*
[ a.n. ] 2020 thalia here. hope you enjoyed this revamped chapter. more coming soon, give it some love in the comments and let me know what you thought.
lots of love,
thalia, aka jordin