Being Alive ( D.W)

Prisoners

At the bunker. 

I shook my head "i am not calling Mary "

Cass nodded "we have to"

 I shook my head "no, we don't"

Cass "she's their mother"

Me "i don't care, Cass, we are not calling Mary! end of discussion"

Cass "Elena-"

Me "no!"

He sighed "why?"

Me "To save Sam and Dean we all are going to have to give everything. and i can't give everything when she's around"

Cass "she doesn't know you are a half demon, does she?"

I shook my head "no, she doesn't"

Cass nodded "now everything makes sense. "

I looked down. 

Cass nodded "i fully understand you, Elena. But .."

Suddenly the front door of the bunker opened. 

I clenched my jaw "but you already called her, didn't you?"

Cass nodded, sighing "yes"

I glared at him when Mary walked down the stairs. 

--

Mary "You left them."

I shook my head "Dean told me to go. The woman-"

Mary " The one you lost?"

Cass  shook his head " we didn't. I... I thought that she--"

Mary yelled "Stop making excuses."

I raised an eyebrow at her. 

Cas looked down. 

Mary sighed " Why... if they needed help, why didn't they call me?"

Me "Because you weren't here, Mary "

She sighed "How did we let this happen, Elena?"

At a restaurant. 

I groaned annoyed " Come on, Crowley. The police took them. You have people in the government. You have spies."

He nodded " I do. But whatever's happened to Moose and Squirrel, apparently, it's above their pay grade."

I asked confused " Do you even care that they're gone?"

he shook his head " No. Do you know how many all-powerful beings have tried to kill them?"

I nodded "Roughly, yes. Because they went after me too"

Crowley "As do I. I was bloody one of them. "

I sighed "Crowley, i am Alastair's daughter, is there nothing i could do?"

Crowley shook his head. 

I looked down. 

Crowley "But let me tell you this. Sam and Dean? They're like herpes. Just when you think they're gone... Hello! The boys are back, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. So wherever they are, whoever has Sam and Dean, well... In the immortal words of Lawrence Tureaud..  "I pity the fool.""

He stood up and patted my shoulder before walking away. 

Six weeks later. at a bar.