Heaven's Child ≫ SPN

1. The Men Behind the Legends

The man holding the gun at me looked awful.
He was obviously very sick; he had  bags under his eyes that ate up half his cheeks,  pale skin that made him look extra yellow and cold sweats glistening on his forehead. He looked like he was going through severe weight loss, the kind that prisoners went through—not Jenny Craig junkies.
He was still scary though, considering he towered over me by about a foot and oh, yes, how could I forget—he was holding a gun inches from my face.
Still, somehow, he looked gentle. The way his brown eyes studied me told me he was just curious. He was definitely prepared to shoot me—but only if he had to.
"Hey look," I waved one hand at him in surrender, discretely taking something out of my pocket with the other. "There's no need for—" I tried to distract him, but he cut me off.
"What's in your pocket?" he asked sharply, eyes on my hand.
"Oh there's nothing in this pocket," I pulled my hand out of my pocket—but with the other, I swiftly pulled a little baggie of glitter from my jeans. "But there's a surprise in this one!" And in a second he was busy spitting, coughing, and rubbing glitter out of his eyes, giving me time to quickly run the other way.
That was the plan, at least.
Another gun clicked, this time right next to my face.
"Not so fast," the first man snarled.
"Forgot about you," I muttered, giving him an angry scowl.
"Sammy." He checked on his brother without removing his dead eyes from me. Sammy was still coughing.
"Fine," he choked.
This one, compared to his brother, looked much harsher, less gentler, and more careful. His eyes were a mesmerizing green with a hint of unhinged, like he'd seen horrors most people don't even know could exist. He too looked like he was pushed beyond his physical limits and could use more sleep. I also noticed  that he looked much more intent on shooting me than hearing me out.
"Want to defend yourself before I empty this into your head?" His nostrils were flared and his voice was guttural. But I had a feeling he would sound that way even if he liked me. "Who are you?" Dean Winchester  demanded coldly. He now aimed his gun for the kill shot.
"And how'd you find us?" Sam Winchester coughed, leaning on the table. He said the question incredulously like they were never found before. Like I was the first.
Ha, in your face everyone else.
"And who in god's name carries around spare glitter?" Dean asked, looking incredibly annoyed that I happen to be the one in god's name to carry around spare glitter.
My eyes widened and dragged to Sam, hands up in surrender. "Uhhh...that's...not  glitter..."
Dean's angry glare flicked from me to Sam, widening when he realized the boils on his brother's face. That did it.
He got murderously angry, like in a second. In the same movement, he closed the distance between my temple and the gun, pressing cold metal right into my hairline and grabbed me by the collar.
"What the hell did you do." It was a low, deadly command.
"Heh—" I breathed nervously. "H—it's—H—it's n-nothing. Just," I swallowed loudly. "Innocent witchcraft. The pimples will go away when he washes his face with water. I swear...puh—please."
I was scared, of course. But also, it took an idiot to deduce that Dean loved Sam and Sam just happened to be really sick. Once I managed a safe distance from Dean's gun, I knew how I would win the fight. I just hoped it wouldn't get that far. It was their library after all.
"Sam," Dean demanded, and Sam obliged. He picked up a bottle and poured some water on his hands and then sloppily wiped his face.
"'M fine," Sam nodded, looking disgruntled and eyeing me with a grumpy look.
Dean roughly shoved me a foot away from him, holding his gun with both hands again. "Explain."
I made an ugly face at him rolled my shoulders to fix my collar. "I don't even want to anymore," I muttered. Dean cocked his gun. "O-okay! Eliza, Eliza. The name's Eliza. I come in peace—I mean no harm. I'm not even carrying any weapons. My duffle bag is right there, check it of you'd like."
"Why are you here?" His angry expression was a favorite one of his, I was beginning to learn.
My shoulders sagged. "It's a long story, and I've been driving for like a day and a half, can I at least sit down?"
He relaxed and his face eased. I didn't trust it, though. He looked at his brother and shrugged. Sam just pursed his lips. "Sure," Dean said loudly, "Sure! Have a seat, let me get you some coffee. Do you take it with milk, sugar? Black?"
I was honestly confused. He didn't look angry, and he didn't sound that sarcastic although his voice was a little loud. "U-um yeah, coffee would be great—" I chuckled nervously, but he gave me a flat look and held up his gun again.
I swallowed loudly and nodded."...So no coffee?"  His lips twitched into the tiniest bitter smile and back to formidable frown.
Sam spoke up again. "Why are you here?" His trained eyes were studying mine, searching for uncertainty. They even flicked to my hands to check for nervous behavior—but my hands were steady as a rock. His eyes narrowed a bit as he concluded that I was dangerous. And he was probably right.
I wasn't afraid, even though to him and any other outsider, I seemed like I should be. I was a small woman who barely looked qualified enough to hold a gun much less to know how to use one, and I just confessed that I wasn't even carrying one, or any weapon. They were two strong men, in their own house, with two guns handy. The only way I could be so confident was if I had an upper hand and he couldn't see one—which made him nervous.
He was smart, I realized with a slight pang. That was to be expected, after all. He was supposed to be among the best hunters to ever be.
His scrutinizing eyes fixed on my face again.
My eyes wandered to the shelves again. "Well you guys  happen to have this sick library, and I was kind of hoping I could chill here for a bit. You know, increase my knowledge—become a Woman of Letters, perhaps?" I grinned at them.
"A Woman of Letters." Dean repeated humorlessly.
"Yeah, honest." I said innocently. "And not even for free!" I reached for my duffle bag, ignoring that Sam held up his gun at me again and Dean tensed. "It took me so long to find this," I chuckled nervously, "But I'm sure you're going to like it." I finally found the little box I slaved months for and held it up so that they could both see.
A quiet minute passed and they didn't flinch. Just continued glaring at me and pointing their guns.
I rolled my eyes and started to open the box, but Dean shouted, "Hey!"