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What if none of it existed? What if all of it did? As Nova peered over Lonnie's dead body, slain by something not of her kind, she contemplated this. What if she was crazy? It was possible, wasn't it? That she had lost her mind; struck by grief and gone insane. Maybe that's what it was, but then, why was Delilah in the same state?
Perhaps they'd both gone insane. It wasn't impossible. It could happen. Shared psychosis.
She'd heard about it before. In some extreme cases. Maybe this was an extreme case. After all, Lonnie's death was extremely brutal.
"Nova? Nova?" a voice echoed in her head. Maybe she'd gone insane. "Nova, we have to go!"
The person shook her, but she felt nothing. Not really. Her eyes were fixated on Lonnie's torn body. Hair missing, fingernails bloody like she'd fought, legs broke, skin shredded. She was barely together. It was an image that, come the following months, would haunt Nova's sleep.
She felt something then. Hands—arms—around her, pulling her away. Yet, her eyes stayed. Stayed until she physically couldn't see her. How tragically poetic was it; two lost lovers now torn by death, yet never apart by will.
A hand over her mouth, and that's when she realized she was screaming. Screaming and kicking and sobbing. Fighting her way back to her ex lover. Her dead ex lover. A figure in front of her. Liah. Hands on the sides of her face. Whispered words. "Stay with me."
Nova couldn't help regretting ever tagging along. Ever setting foot into the damn forest. She'd never have nightmares over her dead ex lover's mangled body. She'd never know that what killed Lonnie wasn't human. She'd never even utter the Winchester name.
But she was there, in the Wendigo's cave. Sam Winchester was trapping her against him, forcing her into silence as Lonnie Monroe's soulless body laid on the cold, dirty ground just out of sight. That's where it'd lay forever, long after any of them were dead, she'd be there, bones and dust and bugs.
She'd never get buried.
Nova wept at that, cracks of her voice slipping past Sam's strong hold. "She's gonna get us killed," she distantly heard a deep voice say. Dean. Dean Winchester. Another name she wished she never knew.
"Nov. Nov, you have to calm down," Liah soothed, blood-stained hands running through Nova's tangled hair.
Nova's eyes met Delilah's. Then, in that moment, Nova saw how terrified Liah was. How earth-shattering her fear was. Something changed in her. Her hysterics took the back burner as her protective instincts for Delilah kicked in. Even as the younger of the two, she was the hard one. The one who took the brunt of the trauma. The one who shielded the other.
That was her job. It was always her job.
Her tears silenced, yet still flowed. She relaxed in Sam's arms. Her eyes softened. Sam slowly let her go, and she forced her body to move, to engulf Delilah, to wrap her in a bubble. She kissed her hair, gripping her so tight Liah probably couldn't breathe.
