❝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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"Has she woken up yet?" I hear Dean's distant voice coming from across the room.
There's some rustling beside me and the shifting of weight. It feels like I'm on a bed, but my eyes are still shut, body unable to move. Jo sighs. "No. It's starting to worry me."
She springs off the bed, landing abruptly on her feet, and starts pacing. "I wish that angel would fly his feathery ass back down here, so I could—" The weight of one of her guns slides across the tabletop as if being picked up.
"Woah, hey. Easy." Dean's voice is suddenly closer in reference to Jo. I can hear him carefully edge the weapon out of her grasp and set it down on something. "She's not bleeding anymore. He stabilized her."
The frustrated hunter sighs, releasing some tension from her thin frame. "I don't want there to be a reason to like him."
"Didn't say we had to like him. Look, the angels are douchebags—we know that—but they're not the enemy right now. Well, not yet."
"So, we trust them until we don't trust them?" Jo asks skeptically.
But before Dean can answer, there's a knock at the door. The two pause for a moment and someone heads toward it. "It's Sam," Dean announces.
"Doesn't he have a key to your room?" Jo snidely remarks.
"What does it matter? They're connected."
"Coincidence that there just so happened to be two available right next to one another," she mumbles under her breath.
"Yeah, well, we care about her, too."
The room grows quiet again, but this time a cool chill rolls through, presumably from the cold stares being thrown between the two opposing hunters.
"Hey, uh, guys? Can you just open the door?" Sam's muffled voice carries into the room.
Within a few moments, the lock is unlatched, letting the young Winchester inside. He clears his throat as he maneuvers awkwardly around them and sets a couple bags down. There's some more shuffling but it's not as blatant as before. A chair is gently pulled out. The springs of another mattress creak. It's all still relatively silent, waiting for me to relieve the anxiety building up in everyone's bones. But I still can't move as if I'm in a dream, even though I know this is all real.
The warm, comforting scent of fast food fills my nose. I can already tell Dean is making a dent in his meal, hungrily chewing away, but the other two are still on opposite ends of the room. My senses begin to fade to black to the sounds of uncomfortable tension as they continue to sit and wait.
--☽||☾--
I don't dream, which honestly relieves me. Since the witches had planted those nightmares in my head, I'm glad to have this moment of peace. The darkness isn't all that alarming—well, now that it's not accompanied with murderous screams and a river of blood. It seems as though whatever malevolent entities had been poking around before are now gone, but it would be stupid to blindly jump on that train. When do things ever run that smoothly for people like us?
