❝You're a demon.❞
❝And you're not entirely human.❞
❴ SEASON 1 - ONGOING ❵
All her life, Iona Hardy has been intrigued by the darkness and what it will do to a person. W...
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"Sam!" Dean's shout echoes around in my clouded mind, as I'm unable to look away from the transfixing sight hovering inches from my face.
Tracing over the delicate curve of his soft cheekbones to the subtle point of his nose and slight gruff along his sharp jawline, my mind says it's him—the one with the golden heart but misplaced judgement. Yet my eyes say otherwise, retreating to the soulless abyss that has replaced the comforting specs of brown amongst the brilliant green in his hazel orbs. The black, infernal horns, curled around the sides of his head, let out a hiss, sizzling from the heat that radiates from him, and the sky above forms into dark clouds.
I blink once, ridding my mind of the ridiculously absurd thought that enters it. But, like the haunting visage before me, it won't go away. It stays, pestering like a parasite, burrowing its way into the very depths of my nightmares.
Is this...Satan?
"Get her in the damn car!"
This beautiful, demonic beast jerks his head at the urgent order, allowing me to take in the elegance of his ungodly profile, illuminated by the fiery glow of the sun. From down below, a deep rumble vibrates every part of my body that he touches, as if they were the heavy guitar chords of Black Sabbath. His solid black eyes pass over the blood stains on my shirt and hands, quickly flitting up to my entranced face, and then scoops me up in his arms.
As soon as my body is frantically thrust into the back seat of the Impala, the red tinge covering my eyes fades away, reigniting the burning sensation from the bullet in its place. Someone closes the trunk in a hurry, jostling the car, and exchanges a few more hastened words with the other two hunters departing in Bobby's truck.
Sam tries to squeeze himself into the spot next to me, keeping his warm hand around the back of my neck. But once the opposing car door suddenly swings open, his head and eyes snap up. "Nice try, Winchester," Jo scolds, immediately replacing his hands on my crumbling body with hers.
Sam frowns, firing quite an intimidating glare, warning her to stand down. But she doesn't, matching the intensity with her defensive body language. Ever since our departure from the boys in Santa Cruz, Jo's developed a relatively questionable opinion of the younger one, supposedly in my defense. The fact that the two of them have never spent time together outside of a hunt—usually only being in proximity to one another because of me—pops into my mind, but I quickly tuck it away as I sense the strain between them escalating.
"Hey," Dean starts, turning in the driver's seat, "We need to get this bullet out, now."
"That's what I'm trying to do," Sam says through his clenched teeth, almost exclusively to Jo who snidely cocks her head in response. His fingers wrap around the edge of the leather seat in a death grip, one hand by his thigh while the other resides between my legs. The two of them never break eye contact, challenging one another to make the next move, as if battling over territory.
