Bound

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Soul

     I climbed off the table and made my way to the bathroom, the weight of the recent events still heavy on my mind. Closing the door behind me, I got to work cleaning myself up, wiping away the sticky substance that was still warm. After I was done, I stared up at the mirror. My cheeks flushed with the heat still lingering, my hair dishevelled from the intensity of our performance. The fight we engaged in left no visible marks, my powers had already begun the healing process.

With my steady hands, I reached for the buttons of my jeans, methodically fastening them one by one. As I adjusted them to make them snug. Gaining some composure, I took a final deep breath and turned the doorknob, ready to step back into the motel room. Stepping out of the bathroom, I cast my gaze upon Sam, who was in the process of putting on his checked shirt. His hands moved deliberately, securing each button. My eyes quickly scanned the floor, searching for my own shirt and leather jacket. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence thick. Neither of us dared to break the silence with words.

I reached out to retrieve my shirt, placing it on myself, and then finding my leather jacket, scattered further away from my shirt. Just as I straightened my jacket out, the motel room door swung open, causing my body to tense and my gaze to shift to the door. There stood Dean, his eyes immediately darting between Sam and me. Dean held a perplexed gaze, on why I was currently here.

"Dean!" I exclaimed, a quick smile spreading across my face as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. He had a takeaway bag in his hands, likely filled with a greasy burger.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by my presence after what I had previously told him. His gaze shifted to Sam's face, noticing the forming bruise. "And why does he look like shit?" He went on, flicking his eyes back to me.

"Because I knocked the shit out of him," I said proudly, revealing a partial truth. While it was true, there was more to this that should remain secret. "I came here wanting answers, but he had nothing worthwhile to offer," I added, shooting a brief glance in his direction, the bitterness still evident in my voice. Sam chuckled for a moment as if my comment was false. And I indeed in fact got something worthwhile.

"What happened? What did he do?" Dean's expression softened, concerned replacing his confusion, dismissing his chuckle, knowing that he was soulless and lacked basic emotions now.

"In latent terms, that helping and doing good won't erase who - what I am," I clarified, interrupting myself halfway through. "And that if I step even slightly out of line, you'll hunt me down, et cetera, et cetera," I rolled my wrist, indicating that I would become just another case. Dean shook his head, disagreeing evident on his face, as his gaze shifted to Sam.

"What?" Sam responded, puzzled by his brother's disapproving look. "It's the truth," he shrugged as if stating mere facts and assuming his brother shared the same perspective.

"Sam," Dean's voice grew rough, slightly higher than his usual tone, urging him to keep his mouth shut.

"What, I'm just stating facts, Dean," Sam retorted, treating our shared moment as insignificant. To him, it meant nothing. "You know that if she crosses a line we can't accept if she goes too far. Then, we'll hunt her down like any other monster. We can't give special treatment just because she's helped or because she supposedly has a soul," he continued, his words cutting deep, but I refused to let it show.

"At least I have a soul," I retorted, a smug expression tugging at the corner of my lips as I directed my gaze towards him. Raising my hand, I effortlessly flicked my middle finger at him. Sam was forcefully flung across the room by an unknown force, landing harshly on the farthest bed. I shifted my gaze back to Dean, who simply rolled his eyes at my action. Unable to contain myself, I burst into laughter, finding humour in the situation. Sam quickly rose to his feet, the landing not affecting him much.

"We are getting Sam's soul back," Dean instructed, steering the conversation in a different direction.

"You truly must be deluded if you think Crowley will do jack-shit for you," I shot back Dean, convinced he was living in a fantasy if he believed Crowley would willingly return Sam's soul. "He'll play you like a fiddle, and Sam's soul will be nowhere in sight,"

"Then you do something!" Dean raises his voice at me, urging me to take action.

"Please enlighten me, Dean, on what exactly I should do?!" I matched his volume, dripping sarcasm in my tone. "Should I rub a lamp and ask the genie that pops out for your brother's soul to return?" I shot at him, as he didn't understand the true strength it would take for me to pull that feat off. "Or perhaps use my 'voodoo' to summon it back into his body? Because I've tried!" I practically yelled, frustration boiling within me, perplexing Dean with my statement.

"You've tried?" Sam's voice echoed in my ear, causing me to shift my gaze towards him, puzzled by the idea of me attempting such a feat.

"Until I was blue in the face," I added, the gig was up. "I exhausted everything in my arsenal. Countless hours of research. Delved into more witchcraft than I have ever practised since my mother's death," Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "So go ahead, call me a monster, call me all the names under the bloody sun. Because like it or not, I care for you boys," my eyes flicked between the both of them, as their expressions softened. "You two are the only ones who make my life worth living." I bared my soul to them, allowing myself to be vulnerable, a rarity for me.

"Abigael," Dean's voice was gentle, indicating that he had no inkling of my inner thoughts and emotions.

"You think you both have it worse than everyone else in the world because your parents are dead, and you're vessels for the two most powerful archangels. Plus, with the weight of the world on your shoulders. And you've spent your whole lives on the road, hunting, empty of a normal childhood, always looking out for Sam," I emphasised, my voice brimming with empathy as I flickered my unwavering gaze between both brothers. "I grew up in seclusion, my childhood consumed by learning the craft, never venturing too far for fear of being killed or kidnapped by demons or witches. Locked within the same four walls, year after year... I've been tricked my whole life. But you never stopped to consider my pain, my grief," I shifted my gaze between them as the room fell into silence, leaving them without a response to everything I had just revealed.

A trembling breath slipped past my lips, for in that moment, I embraced vulnerability like I hadn't since my childhood. But did they care, I wasn't going to invade their minds just for an answer.

"I'll be there when you take on Crowley," I shattered the silence, locking eyes with Dean. With a meaningful glance, I raised my hand and in a flourish, dark smoke emerged from the ground, enveloping my form and propelling me away from that motel room. The memories of my haunted past persist, forever etched in my mind, a wretched reminder that I can never fully escape the weight of my troubled history.

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