Fighting Through It All [Dean Winchester fanfic] #Wattys2015

Chapter Five

For the next two weeks, I'm just healing up. I stay at the bunker, take pain relievers due to doctor's orders, and I've been trying to get my rest. Cas has been popping in every now and then, with updates on what's going on out in the world. I've missed working out and doing hands on work, yet the boys have been continually insisting that I get my rest. Of course, follow orders, never argue always comes to my head so I immediately obey.

I waltz into the kitchen, my body only having a faint ache left rather than it's past searing pain. I begin hauling out knives, plates, bowls, pans, and pots, as well as fruits; vegetables; meats; seasonings; oils; and other things used for cooking. Tired of feeling useless, and the boys being out of the bunker, I decide to make dinner for tonight.

I begin chopping and cutting up the different ingredients, tossing them into pots and pans, searing the meat and then tossing that into the pot as well. I also make bread dough and leave it to rise while I work on homemade salad dressing.

Three hours later, I have a meal of soup, homemade bread, vegetables, and pork all laid out. There isn't much for dishes for presentation, but I make do. The boys walk in soon after I get the table set.
"What did you do?" Dean demands when he walks in to see all the food. I give him a look, and usher him and his brother out to the library, where the tables are set. I sit them down, and begin serving the meal.

"Well," I begin to explain, "While you guys were out, I decided to make something to eat. We have been living off junk for a long time, and I figured it was time to eat a real meal," I explain, setting the pot of stew down, beginning to serve the vegetables and the meat. I get everything served, and I sit down, everyone resuming eating as soon as I do.

Unlike past days filled with stress, anger, physical pain, and other negative emotions, this dinner turns out nicely. Laughter and chatter is shared, and everyone is in a fairly good mood today. There's no more talk of monsters, of cases, me being hurt or any of the fights we had between each other. The room has a light and airy feel to it, no tension at all.

I see light in everyone's eyes as I look around. Dean looks happy as he knocks hi head back in laughter, as Sam tells a story from their childhood. I laugh as well, the story quite amusing to listen to. I love listening to their stories. I never got to have a normal childhood, I was raised by angels, so hearing about others is kind of comforting in a sense. I like hearing about kids prancing on one another, times they got in trouble, things they did they shouldn't ha e done, all stories that make you laugh and feel light and happy.

These stories also make me feel sad. As I said, I never got to have a normal childhood. I played with angels, played hide and go seek with them, and sat on their laps. I'm not sure how; the sight of an angel's true form normally blinds humans, but it didn't me for whatever reason.

I didn't have a bad childhood per se, but it wasn't exactly your cookie-cutter deal. By nine, I was reading Moby Dick with a full understanding on the storyline and plot. I could do my multiplication facts to twenty when I was seven, and I began the Iliad when I was eight. So although I did have a lot of playtime, I had just as much work time when I was younger. Even when I played, the angels were always giving instructions, giving me lessons on what I was supposed to do. It was just like when I was older, just with games, not fighting monsters.

"What about you, Myra?"

Sam's voice breaks through my thoughts like a piercing arrow. My head snaps up to him, and I raise my eyebrows, not fully catching the context of the question. "What?" I ask, and Sam repeats his question.
"What about you? Tell us a story from when you were a kid. We don't know hardly anything about you."

I sigh. What story could possibly be interesting enough to tell. Quickly in my head, I rifle through all of my memories until I pick one I remember liking the most. Remembering it makes a smile on my face, recalling the who ordeal in grave detail.
"When I was young, the angels were my best friends. They were who I played with, who I talked to, they were my family.
"My favorite thing to do when an angel came to visit me, was pet their feathers on their wings. They were softer than silk, but stronger than titanium. I would just run my hands over them over and over again, feeling them in between my fingers and stroking them. Onceangel would lay down with me in a field in heaven. Back then, I was never allowed on Earth.
"This one day, as we laid in the field, I was snuggled up against this angel. Ariel was her name. She looked over to me, smiled, and folded her wing over so that it was covering her and I. Having this entire, 20 foot span wing wrapped around isn't something you forget very easily."