Star Fall / Book One (SPN Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kyiah steadies herself, paces her breathing, and fires seven rounds perfectly through the bullseye of another target. Her engulfing mint eyes simmer towards Dean's judgmental expression. A cocky side smirk sweeping across her saintly face. Raising her slit brow. The health fully returned to her bitch of an attitude. Dressed back in her usual ensemble: dark jeans an eyelet buckle belt, combat boots, a maroon crop tank, and leather bomber jacket. A thin black choker around her neck in substitution for her obsidian necklace. Her skin was still an odd pale shade, emphasizing her enclaved, rounded nose, dark framed brows, and slender cheek structure. Especially in combination to the winter white streaks of her medium, a-line, bob cut. The ends of her hair curling remarkably a few inches above her shoulders. She was recovering supremely, too supremely. Other than Ocula's bite mark, which was finally tinting green, and some deep cuts and bites. Her all around health was immaculate. Unsettlingly so. And Dean couldn't shake off the speculation that something else was presently unraveling. After her psychosis episode during the vampire venom, he's been extra attentive to her mental status. Whether her experience was just a vision from the affects of the vampire blood, Ocula's, or something more. Dean was fixated on keeping her under an observant eye. His eye.

"Do it again." He mentors. She breaks her tolerable form, setting down the remaining twin Glock 21. Turning on her heels.

"You know we don't need to be doing this, right? Marksmanship is one of my things, dude." Kai snarks, showing off her crisp eyeliner and black tunnel gauges.

"Again." He drills.

"Dean-"

"Don't 'Dean' me." Her shoulders fall. "Again." He repeats, throwing his head to the next target in the line up. She releases the mag, reloading it.

"I've hit every target, you know. I haven't missed one yet." She bitches.

"You hit the line on your third bullet in the tenth round."

"Maybe because it was my TENTH target in TWELVE rounds, Dean." Kyiah chuckles dismissively, facing him. Dean uncrosses his arms and approaches. Brushing aside her hair and physically redirecting her to the range. Adjusting himself into her back. "Pick up the glock." She gives a dramatic huff, grabbing the forearm to smack in the magazine, aiming her weapon. "Dean." He leans himself near her, his hands over her grip as she steadies. Landing another seven rounds into the bullseye.

"Good girl." He grins, letting her arms fall as she sets down her firearm.

"Great. Are we done here?" She asks, putting a hand to his chest. Despite the hesitation over her remedial redemption, he couldn't fight the fact that her conviction speaks clairvoyantly through him. Dean raises his chin, unsure of his next answer, causing Kyiah to groan. Glumly pummeling her head to him.

"Alright, alright," He caves, watching her step away to pack up the Glock. "Don't be such a princess."

"Well I AM royalty after all." She said curtsying playfully, walking past him and up the stairs to the bunkers study. "When are you going to let me out of here?" She asks over her shoulder. "I'm getting cabin fever."

"It's been four days?"

"Exactly, that's what I'm saying." She sits herself in a chair.

"You're just being impatient. You're not going out there until you're 100%" He determines, walking around her to pour a drink. Lost in a futile war between his continued repressed emotion and the unraveling loss of control over her. Now that she was back to her, stubborn, catty, character again. It wouldn't be long until she was throwing caution to herself once more.

"I am, 100%, Dean." She assures remotely.

"Than 110%." He persists, filling the glass. She slumps off the chair, walking to lean on the end of the table directly behind him. The angst rising through her as she crosses her ankles, lapping her arms under her chest.