A Demon's Daughter

What's My Destiny???

"Let me go! Please!" the man pleaded for the umpteenth time, his once bright green eyes dim, and bloodied limbs limp in defeat. His eyes lowered to the floor that was about a foot beneath him, realization making itself present: he was going to die here; he was going to die in the middle of nowhere, bound to a wooden cross, in some long forgotten farmhouse's basement.

A devilish laugh bounced off the concrete walls, causing the man's head to snap up and his body to tense, the many lesions he possessed burning. Squinting, he tried to focus on the dark figure submerged in the shadows in front of him. He leaned forward, trying to get a better look, and winced as the rope bindings rubbed against his raw wrists.

Out of the darkness strode a woman. Her red eyes shone in the yellow light being emitted from the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. the corners of her eyes crinkles as she smiled, showing off a row of pearly whites. "Oh, sweetheart," the woman started in mock sympathy. "You know I have to finish what I started."

With that, she advanced on her helpless prisoner, pulling out a dagger from behind her back. She placed to cold metal against the man's neck, settling her free hand on his bicep and digging her fingernails into his already bloody arm. The man turned his head away, trying to get away from the blade.

The woman leaned in so her lips barely grazed his ear and whispered, "I'm through playing games." The man turned his chiseled, bloodied face causing desperate green to meet vicious crimson.

Suddenly, the cruelty drained from her eyes and was replaced with guilt and sorrow. "I'm sorry." she choked back a sob, her voice wavering. She quickly pulled back the dagger and plunged it into the man's side.

Hazel eyes snapped open. Body sticky in a cold sweat, Sarah turned her head to the left, glancing at the alarm clock. 3:42 AM. almost four in the morning. Letting out a sigh, she turned her eyes back to the ceiling, allowing them to adjust to the darkness.

Once her eyes adjusted, she lifted her hands to her face, rubbing at it. She stopped, though, feeling a warm, sticky liquid smearing on her cheeks. Slowly pulling her hands back, she let out a surprised gasp. Her hands were coated in a black goo. Raising her shaky hands up into the moonlight revealed a dark crimson color.

Sarah scrambled to her bathroom. Flipping in the light, she stared at herself in the mirror. What's wrong with me? In the mirror was a perfectly clean, albeit sweaty, woman in her mid-twenties. She sighed and got ready to take a shower.

While waiting for the water to heat up, she heard a bump from her living room. Wrapping a towel around herself, she headed out to investigate.

She tiptoed her way down the dark hallway and peeked around the corner to see a tall figure. The figure was standing in front of her mantel, examining a picture. "You must miss her." The man placed the photo back on the mantel and turned to Sarah. "Your girlfriend, I mean." He had a low, gruff voice that seemed to shake her entire apartment.

Sarah wanted to run. Scream. Call the police. Anything. However she was glued to the spot, glancing around the corner at the man, eyes wide with horror. "Why are you afraid? Don't you remember me?" he asked in mock hurt.

"Well, I suppose you were but an infant the last time we met." he advanced slowly, extending his right hand out, keeping the other formerly tucked behind his back. "Balaam, at your service."

Hesitantly, Sarah outstretched her own hand. Balaam took it in his and lowered his head, grazing his lips across the back of her hand. He then straightened up, dropping her's and his own on the way.

There was a pause. Sarah took this time to observe the man in front of her: he looked to be about six foot, not much taller than herself; his blonde hair was slicked back to match the professional look of his three-piece suit; his blue eyes were dark, like the ocean in the moonlight. On any given day, she would've thought him attractive, however, now wasn't the time for her to flirt.

Sarah cleared her throat and adjusted the towel around her. "So, what'd you want? How did you-." she cut herself off, remembering the water running in the bathroom. "Shit," she muttered.

"I've got it," Balaam chuckled. Just like that, the water stopped running.

Sarah looked at him, dumbfounded. "How did you..." she trailed off and glanced over her shoulder towards the bathroom. "What are you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as her eyes focused back on Balaam.

Balaam's eyes suddenly turned black, causing Sarah's eyes to widen. "A demon, sweetheart," he answered as black turned back to blue.

Sarah shook her head; she couldn't believe it. Monsters weren't real - they couldn't be. "I've come to deliver a massage," Balaam started. "It's time."

Eyebrows furrowed, Sophia tilted her head. "Time for what?"

"Time to put that soul of yours to work." Balaam smirked and poked Sarah's bare sternum.

She shifted out of his reach, placing a hand on her chest. "What'd you mean?"

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" Balaam raised a teasing eyebrow, holding his smirk.

Sarah crossed her arms and pouted, glaring at him. "Alright, darling." Balaam moved towards the couch. "I'll explain, but you may want to take a seat." 

With that, Balaam sat, crossing one leg over the other. He then patted the spot next to him. Sarah hesitantly moved towards the couch, sitting a cushion away and mirrored Balaam's posture. 

"Your mother - your biological mother - was a risky woman. She got pregnant with you - the offspring of a demon and human. " Sarah gave him a look of confusion. 

"Didn't she know he was a demon?"

"She did. But, like I said," Balaam shrugged, "she loved taking risks." He stopped to observe Sarah and when he saw he had her undivided attention, he continued:

"She was suppose to die giving birth to you. That didn't happen, though." Balaam paused and put a hand on Sarah's knee. "Your mother was on her way to Hell and she knew it, so she put you up for adoption, hoping to get you away from your inevitable destiny."

Sarah looked up into Balaam's eyes. "And what, pray tell, is that?" 

She shifted out of his grasp, swiping his hand off her knee. He chuckled. "You've been having dreams, yes? Or, I suppose you would call them nightmares." Sarah nodded cautiously. 

"Dean Winchester," Balaam stated simply, standing.

"Excuse me?" Sarah didn't understand.

"The man in your dreams. His name is Dean Winchester," Balaam explained.

"What does he have to do with my destiny?" Sarah stood up to face Balaam.

"Those dreams are going to become your reality, dear."

Sarah knit her eyebrows together. "But. But I could never kill, let alone torture, anyone." Her soft features hardened. "And no one can make me. Not even Lucifer himself."

Balaam chuckled at this. "You naive little girl." He brushed a stray hair out of Sarah's face, tucking it behind her ear. "This isn't something you can control." 

Sarah swatted his hand away and glared. "Watch me." She then turned and walked to the front door. 

Opening the door, she pointed into the hallway. "Now, get out." 

Balaam sighed and strode to the door. "Alright, sweetheart." He fished into a pocket inside his jacket. "If you need me, just call," he informed, handing Sarah an emerald green rose. 

Sarah took the rose, allowing Balaam to lean down near her ear. "I'll see you around," he whispered, sending shivers down Sarah's spine. 

She closed her eyes when he gave her a peck on the cheek, and when she opened them, he was gone. 

Sarah looked down at the soft, green pedals in her hand as she closed the door. "As if I'll ever need to see you again," she scoffed and tossed the rose on the coffee table. 

"Now," she started, adjusting her towel. "Time to take that shower." 

A/N: well. this took me about a week to write. i'm not entirely sure where this is going to go, but it's just an idea that popped into my head. we'll see where this goes, if you're willing to follow :). comments and reviews are always appreciated; let me know if this is a stupid idea or not ;). hope you enjoyed reading! ♥ bryce