Demon Blood: A Supernatural Fanfiction

Chapter 15: An Apocalyptic Game of Tag

When Sam came back to check on Mallory, she had moved from 'fetus position' to just sitting up against the wall, legs splayed out on the dirty concrete littered with trash. Her fingers were tapping rythms in the mud between her legs as she sniffed occasionally, but otherwise she seemed mostly calmed down. Torrents of rain still pounded down around her, but the thunder and lightning had receded into the distance.

Every surface in that alley was wet, including Mallory. Mud and grit covered her jeans from the bottoms up to mid-shin and her thin button-down was doing nothing to keep her warm. Strings of wet raven-black hair fell across her face, but she didn't seem to care. With her eyes closed, she looked homeless or dead.

Sam approached carefully, navigating around the piles of wet trash that had accumulated on the concrete. Crouching, he put a hand on Mallory's shoulder and recieved an immediate punch in the nose.

"Sorry!" she gasped after opening her eyes. "Defensive reflex!"

Sam nodded and touched his nose gingerly, which was starting to bleed. "It's okay. Nice hit, though. Are you okay?"

Mallory half-smiled, tilting the right side of her mouth up a little bit. "I'm all right. I just needed to get it out." she showed him her scraped and bleeding fists and the pieces of a broken glass bottle. "I'll be fine now."

"Let's get you inside and dry." Sam offered his hand and helped her scramble to her feet, her jeans sticking uncomfortably to her legs. They shuffled over to the open motel room door, where Dean was going over the contents of his bag and checking the bullets in his gun. He turned and glared angrily at the entering pair. Mallory stumbled into the bathroom to get herself dried off, and once she was out of sight, Sam smacked him on the back of his head.

"What was that for?" he protested grumpily, rubbing the spot. "I didn't do anything!"

"Cut her some crap! She's just been sitting in the rain for the past half hour beating herself up! You have no right to make her feel worse than what she must be already feeling!" Sam hissed. He sat down on the bed opposite Dean. "Have you seen her fists?"

Their conversation was cut short when Mallory emerged from the bathroom, looking dejected and still very wet. She crossed the threshold without saying anything or even glancing at them and threw open the front door, stepping back out into the rain. Coming back a moment later with her bag, she escaped back into the bathroom saying nothing. The shower switched on moments later.

"Jerk." Sam stood crossly and moved his belongings onto the couch. Mallory deserved a bed tonight.

He heard a whispered "Bitch." coming from Dean's general area and smiled grudgingly.

The bathroom door flew open a few minutes later, kicked open by Mallory, who was in the process of pulling on a slim purple t-shirt. Her palms were wrapped in gauze so her torn-up fists wouldn't bleed any more. She sent a glare at Dean, who was staring at her tummy, and grabbed her bags from the bed.

"I can take the couch," she offered to Sam, who grasped her shoulders, turned her back in the direction of the bed, and gave her a little push. "Oh. Okay then." She gave him a weak smile and flopped down tiredly. Almost instantly she fell asleep.

It wasn't until that night that Sam and Dean actually discovered Mallory's nightmares. She would thrash around, mumble fearfully, and sometimes even fall off the bed. They were both woken in the middle of the night by a small yell and the thunk of her hand hitting the bedside table.

"Please, no. She's my friend. Don't kill her. Don't kill me. Please." she muttered, terror evident both in her voice and on her face. With a small groan, Dean rolled off his bed and moved to her side, prodding her and whispering softly.