Heaven's Child ≫ SPN

28. Sunshine Kids Kamp

He was in my every thought. No matter how hard I tried—retelling complicated stories in my head, naming every kind of lamia in taxonomical order, counting the laps the motel ceiling fan took—nothing could replace his bloodshot eyes glaring at me, unspoken words in them.

There was something about him, something that made me stir. It was that feeling that stayed with me, that wouldn't stop tugging at my mind. Something that was begging me to discover it, but I didn't know what. I didn't know what Alec wanted. He was just...strange.

He was everything I thought he wouldn't be, but he was still so terrible. I couldn't shake the horror still ever since I witnessed Max's death. The smell of his burning flesh, the deadness in Alec's eyes like melting a man alive was nothing to him.

It terrified me.

It terrified me that I had no way of telling where Alec's threshold began or ended. He was truly unique in that way; he was feral and wild and experienced and I was expected to protect the world from his wake.

It was impossible. I turned in my bed and checked the time.

The small digital clock read three. I threw the pillow on the floor and turned my body the opposite direction, groaning for no reason. It was four when I got up and reclaimed my pillow, five when I gave up on sleep. Six when I realized that Sullivan was still out there in the world, terrorizing god knows who and that my control over him was just an illusion. Seven when there was a knock at the door.

"You decent?" Dean grumbled.

"It's open." I turned my body to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for my shirt and pulled it over my bra.

"Brought you some—"

"Not hungry," I cut him off before I even got a look at him.

"What—okay first of all, you haven't eaten anything since....I don't even know—"

"I said I'm not hungry. Sam up yet?" I dragged my legs to the bathroom.

I could feel him fighting himself before he gave a reluctant reply. "Yeah. We're heading out in a few. Look, I didn't even bring you breakfast."

"No?" I stepped out of the bathroom, finally facing him.

"I brought you some cleaning supply for the Martha Stewart project on your arm." He hesitated a little before asking, "You sure you okay? You look terrible."

"Never said I was okay." I looked through the stuff he got me. Alcohol wipes, band aids, antibiotic. It was exhausting. "Hey...don't you have a special connection with Cas or something? Can't you call him down here and tell him to heal me? Because this is just too much work."

"Uh, I don't," he gave me a pointed look. "And I tried. He's just not answering." Dean looked worried. I felt worried. But neither of us could bring ourselves to say it. Because how would that conversation go anyway? Hey, do you think Alec killed your best friend because you harbored me? If he did, I'm sorry.

No thank you.

I shrugged. "Typical." I was struggling with trying to open the alcohol wipes with one hand but then Dean took it from me and opened it himself.

"Yeah. Just like Cas." No it wasn't. But no one said it. It was an awkward silence while Dean squatted beside me and cleaned my arm and shoulder for me. I winced a few times, but he didn't stop.

"Son of a bitch really got you," he mumbled when he tossed the wipe out and reached for the gauze.

"You should see how he looks like," I muttered back, but I got a sinking feeling. Truth was, I had no idea where Thomas was or if he was alive. Was it my fault that he's dead? I decided not to answer that.