"Is anything that comes out of your mouth the truth?"
"You wouldn't believe me, even if I answered that honestly."
•
As soon as you learn that the things that go bump in the night are real, the line between truth and fiction begins to blur.
That's t...
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Chapter 13
Sam swallowed thickly as he stood behind the screen door leading to Bobby's porch, watching through the hole-riddled mesh as Ali's shoulders shook with heart-wrenching sobs just a few metres away. He had been in two minds about following her, but after sharing a silent glance with Bobby and pointedly ignoring Dean's bristling, he knew he had to.
Her clearly unintentional reveal back in the living room had almost stopped his heart – for the second time in too few days, apparently. She had a deal, that much was clear. What was also evident was that she had very little time left, if any. She said she had been searching for a way out for ten years. It was unlikely that a demon would grant anyone longer than that.
Despite the crushing revelation – the added weight of not only Dean's impending loss, but Ali's too – it was like a piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place. Certain mysteries about the girl that had been in the forefront of his mind for over a year had finally become clear, though others had become foggier in the process.
They needed to talk. There were some things he needed to work though, things that he couldn't talk about with Dean or Bobby without getting heated and defensive. He needed someone outside that circle of family to help him process everything that had happened in the last... Week? Two weeks? He wasn't sure. Time had become such a meaningless blur since this whole saga had started. Everything had been so urgent. Everything had been hell-bent on stopping the yellow-eyed demon, and now it was all over, but that feeling of having no time still hung over him. A ticking clock counting down to the day he would lose Dean – and Ali too, apparently.
His shoulders rose as he pulled in a steadying breath, before laying his hand to the screen door and pushing it open. Instantly, he saw Ali straighten, pressing the back of one hand to her mouth to quieten her sobs as the other caught the cuff of her shirtsleeve, frantically trying to sweep away her tears before anyone could see.
"Ali..."
"Don't Sam, I'm alright, just don't." She breathed unsteadily; her gaze fixed on the salvage yard before them as he moved to her side.
"Don't what?"
"Don't you dare look at me the way I know you are." She whispered, bracing one hand against the rail of the porch once more, as if she were afraid she'd fall without it. "I don't need pity."
"Ali... Christ, I don't even know if what I'm feeling is pity." Sam breathed, almost reaching to lay a hand on her shoulder, but curling his fingers back at the last moment; "This week... I can hardly wrap my head around it, but I know I'm not processing it particularly well." Scrubbing one hand over his face, he looked down at her trembling shoulders; "If I'm honest, I think I'm angry, I'm just too tired to feel it."
Sniffing in a breath, Ali at last managed to make herself lift her head to look at him, aware her face was undoubtably red and puffy from crying, her eyes probably bloodshot. "I get that." She whispered, reminding herself that she was far from the only one going through hell. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she self-consciously rubbed the cuff of her shirt over her cheeks, trying to catch the tears that were still resolutely rolling over them. He looked about as exhausted as she felt, she noted, looking up into his weary hazel eyes – there was no defensive wall built there, as there had been inside the house. They were softer now, open, gentle. It was a look he had given her before, in easier times.
