Lost Time Chapter 21/27

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 21/27
Wordcount: 6,225
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, Gabriel/OFC
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.

First part
Previous part


A/N: This one is all Ope's POV...It was kind of necessary.

When it gets really bad, when the darkness is almost overwhelming, Ophelia reminds herself that she knew what things looked like once. She focuses, and when she does she can see again, albeit only through memories. Her hands long to climb, to feel stone and the rush of ascent, to look down at the world from above and see things the way birds see them. She’ll probably never have that again, but she’s always had a good memory and an eye for detail.

There’s still sound, touch, taste, and smell. She can enjoy all of that without needing sight. More importantly there’s Sam, and the sound of Sam happy is better than a thousand sunrises or a million mountaintops. She hears Sam happy more these days than she did when she could see him, so there’s fewer memories of the look that goes with the voice. She touches his mouth sometimes, gives in to the urge and feels his lips pulling and the little lines forming at the corner of his mouth. It’s her new favorite sensation. Dean’s eyes crinkle when he smiles widely, and that’s a good feeling too. She doesn’t touch Dean as much though, it’s harder to reach for him, but she’ll do it when he’s laughing that big stomach-clenching guffaw of his.

There are days, few and far between, when she’s almost too scared to get out of the bed. They're at war with Hell, and now she’s stuck in it sightless. She assumed if anyone would see these moments coming it would be Sam, but it’s not. Sam’s belief in her strength is endearing but misplaced. It’s Dean who knows when these days come, and his voice is louder than normal, stays closer, and keeps bright and upbeat despite what’s happening around them. Real spring has come, and Dean often sits with her outside in the warm sun and talks about nothing for hours. He likes daytime programming, a thing she has yet to tell Sam, and he narrates what’s happening when the talking stops.

She hasn’t had many bad episodes since the day she met Jimmy, and she’s glad because they’re the thing that scare her the most. It’s one thing to be blind, another entirely to be gripped by that horrible smell, that panic. The helpless feeling of her mouth moving without her, her eyes crying without her permission, and all of it is simply the foreplay to the big blowout most times. Coming back to herself, soiled and on the ground, weak and with her mind screaming is probably the hardest part of the transition. Still, she knows what she paid for, and it’s worth it.

Bobby can lecture her all he wants, although she only hears from him sporadically, but at the end of the day she’d do it again if she was asked to. She understands Dean better than she can explain. From the moment she landed on Brady’s shoulders, or maybe the moment she heard Sam’s scream, she’s been responsible for him. It’s not something she asked for, but it’s not something she’d give up if she had the choice. Sam is hers the same way she is Sam’s, and that’s just the way it is.

Dean and Sam have gone on their second and third hunts since the Trickster at UMaine at Farmington, and each one has gone a little better than the last. Sam strains against Dean’s protectiveness sometimes, complains that Dean is too reckless with his own health in favor of Sam’s, but she can only shake her head and smile at that. Sam is too important for both of them, and they know it, but Sam doesn’t. He’s becoming different, she can feel it and hear it. His muscle mass grows by the month, his voice is deeper and more assured, but most importantly his smell has changed. Has become a combination of the one she’s so long associated with him and that of Dean’s. She likes it.

The only hiccup at the moment is Gabriel. She doesn't want him to know about the blindness, so she's making sure she only talks to him on the phone or through instant messages. He keep suggesting he should visit, and she keeps refusing him. She can't tell if he's getting annoyed or exhausted with her, and honestly she doesn't want to find out.

They leave her with old customers, ones that Sam knows he can trust, and she finds herself in endless arguments about sports and politics. They avoid any potential discussion about her being unable to continue her work. Disability isn’t her idea of living. The cane Sam got her is helpful, but she still doesn’t go out alone. Eventually the two of them are going to have to leave her alone, trust in the protections they’ve laid down, but until that happens she’s just going to grin and bear it.

She gets plastered the night she reads her first three Braille sentences, and then she and Dean spend the night loudly singing seventies rock songs at Sam until he laughingly shouts at them to shut up.

Jimmy has taken her on six dates, each one more formal and sincere than the last, and each one chaperoned by Sam or Dean. He’s a nice guy, awkward but sweet, and she doubts they’ll ever be anything more than friends. He touches her strangely, as if he’s unfamiliar with the concept, and they’ve never gotten past fingers brushing elbows or backs. His voice is nice, the strong lines of his face under her fingers feel attractive, but there’s no spark there. She doesn’t hunger for him.

What she does want she knows she can never have. It's too dangerous, too tricky, and she's worked so damn hard not to get attached to Gabriel. Good sex and sense of humor aside the guy is a wild card, and she can't handle wild cards right now. She needs to focus on what's right in front of her. There's always the possibility that the end is coming soon, and what's the point in making it more than it is?

Time doesn’t heal wounds, but it blunts the edges enough that you can slip past them. Sam has set up a rope on a treadmill so she can run, one hand holding the knot to center herself, and it’s not perfect but it works. He’s been reading up on tricks to let her run outside with a guide, and they’re going to experiment with it when he gets the chance.

Summer, what Maine has of it, is right around the corner. She can feel the change in the light, the way it’s harder on the skin of her face. Dean’s car is finally fixed, and she finds herself sitting on her uncle's old workbench smoking while Dean polishes the new paint job. She’s not sure if he knows that he murmurs to his girl, promises her he’ll be more careful, love her forever. It’s endearing and amusing all at the same time, and Ophelia never speaks during it. Soaks it in the way she soaks in the feeling of sunlight.

Dean loves Sam, loves him more than living, and Ophelia’s glad for it. So fiercely glad she can’t speak sometimes when she hears them talking, kissing, the rasp of their fingers brushing against each other when they think she’s not listening. There’s no sound on earth she likes more. At least she thinks that way, until she hears Gabe's voice from the doorway, bright and joyful.

“Hey Dean. Hey Opey.”

She swallows hard, takes a drag and composes her face. “Hey Gabe. What’s up?” Flippant. Be flippant. Wait for him to ask and then say something, but in the meantime give no other indication whatsoever. “You staying long? Sam’s making Chicken Parmesan tonight.”

She hears Dean's confusion, hears him cross the dirt floor and slap his hand into Gabe's in a friendly gesture. They've come a long way.

"Yeah I was gonna stay a couple nights. There a reason you're-"

“That's great. It's fucking grand to see you.” She pushes herself off the workbench and counts the fourteen steps to the doorway before holding out a hand to him. He takes it, squeezes it once with his soft hands and then stops her forward momentum.

"Opey what the hell happened to your eyes?"

"Well-uh-" Lie. Fucking lie Ophelia. "Accident. Damnedest thing right? Hey I bet we got Moose Tracks." She pulls free before he can speak again.

The trek up the hill and into the house is the hardest, open space is disconcerting these days, but she makes it alone and when she reaches the door of the house she’s not sure if she’s shedding tears of joy or misery.

----





Sam’s angry. She can almost smell it rolling off of him. “Why wouldn't you tell him the truth? You like him. You need to give him a chance.”

She nods, fingers trailing over Braille dots and trying to translate this new language into one of the ones she knows. It’s a hard skill to pick up. "Yes I can see that now. 'It's so good to see you. Hey, by the way, I summoned an Etruscan goddess and sold my sight, so now's obviously the time to take this past the casual hook-up stage. You know 'cause I'm crippled and all.'"

“Ope. What about Jimmy?”

That surprises her. Sam’s never expressed anything other than grudging thankfulness or distrust of Jimmy. “What about him?”

“You gonna tell him Gabe's here? Or tell Gabe about him? Don’t you guys have a date tomorrow?” Sam’s voice edges between accusation and concern.

“What am I supposed to tell either of them? ‘Jimmy my friend Gabe is here, ignore the fact he's been balls deep in me a few times. Gabe I’m sort of pretend dating this guy who won’t even kiss me, but I really want you to say I'm more than a good fuck.’ Let them take what they want from it Sam. I’m not interested in fighting anymore.” It’s only half true. A silly part of her wants Gabriel to be jealous, to storm and rage and throw things. She stomps on that part until it’s quiet.

Sam stays silent for a long time, and then he’s right there with his big arms enfolding her. “You’re my first concern Ope. I just want you happy.”

She reaches up to feel his face, the familiar lines of cheekbone and jaw, muscle and skin stretched tight over bone. Dean’s handsome, she can admit that easily, but no one’s ever been as stunning as her Sam. It’s the light in him, the undying, enduring light that she can still feel even if she can’t see it. She rubs a thumb over his cheek and speaks softly. “I’m fine Sam. Stop mothering.”

He accepts that, takes it, and goes with her into the kitchen where he’s supposed to be finishing dinner. She takes her spot at the table and feels to make sure everything is in its place. She’s getting better at hearing Dean’s approach, but Gabe's still takes her by surprise. It’s not that he’s quieter than Dean, just that she’s listening for the wrong thing. They're discussing some obscure plot point from Dr. Sexy MD, and she listens raptly to the way Gabriel's voice moves warm and smooth through the room.

Sam serves and they all take their seats. She monitors the sounds of dinner and then decides Sam’s sort of right. “So I have that thing tomorrow with Jimmy. What are you boys going to do without me?”

There’s a heavy feeling, a creak of a chair that she thinks is Gabe, and then his voice shatters the silence, easy and amused. “Who’s Jimmy?”

Dean’s response is relaxed and calm. “Ope met a doctor. Nice guy but a little straight-laced. I think he’s a virgin.”

She hears a choking sound, Sam, and almost laughs at the noise of Dean pounding his back. When Sam has his breath back he manages to sound scandalized. “We don’t know that. Why would you assume that?”

“He’s got that look about him. Me, I prefer experience, but I guess Ope is cherry-picking.” He manages to make it sound like the dirtiest thing that’s ever been said. It’s a skill Dean has that never fails to amuse her.

Gabe on the other hand, doesn’t sound amused. “Who is this guy?”

Dean takes over, and she knows instinctively that he gets what she's going for. "Oh, some strange guy that brought her home. Ope's a knockout after all."

She pictures Dean's face then, pictures it smirking and brightly lit.

Dinner finishes on a higher note, Dean telling Gabe about the Trickster. The story of the slow-dancing alien has everyone laughing by the time Dean’s done. Gabriel praises the thing's sense of humor. Afterwards she ends up on the porch with Dean, feet swinging over the cement and cigarette in hand as Dean tells her about the fireflies.

“Just as good as you described it sweetheart.” Warmth, familiarity, comfort. His raspy voice makes her relax back into the wood slats.

“Does Gabe look ok?” It’s not what she planned on asking, just what comes out.

“He looks fine. Totally relaxed like always. You worried?”

She’s always worried. Worried about Sam blaming himself, worried about Dean self-destructing, and worried about Gabriel being too flippant in a world full of danger and death. Worried about him getting tired of her after she's gotten attached. It may be too late for that though.

“Nope. Tell me again about Sam’s haircut. More editorializing this time.”

Dean’s laugh is thick with emotion. “It looks ridiculous. Longer and floppier, and he has to push it out of his face all the time. He’s one step away from slicking it back with grease and rolling a pack of cigarettes in his sleeve.”

She smiles at that, and feels Dean’s hand brush her elbow once to tell her he’s glad she’s smiling. Dean is surprisingly adept at speaking silently without her missing the nuances.





-----

Ope has to physically remove Gabriel's hand from her arm to let her leave, and he practically barks at Jimmy when Jimmy asks if they've met before. She's never heard the placid doctor sound so confused.

Jimmy’s voice, ever factual and calm tells her what’s ahead as she walks along the trail with him. “So Gabe has been your friend a long time?”

She keeps one hand on his forearm and avoids the dips he warns her about. “Not exactly. Hey I should tell you-”

“And Dean is fond of him?” It’s the first time Jimmy has ever asked a direct question about Dean. Usually he focuses on Sam, as if it’s a safer topic. She wonders about that, but there’s a lot to focus on right now. The ground is slightly rocky, unfamiliar under her feet, and she has to step lightly.

“Yeah. They get along ok. Hey Jimmy, can we head home?” She feels something, something strange, and then it’s gone.

“In a moment. What does Dean do for a living?” Jimmy’s voice never crosses over a certain octave, but there’s an undertone here that makes her stop on the path so she can focus.

“He works as a consultant with law enforcement agencies. It requires a good deal of travel. Why do you ask?” It’s after that, the last word, that she feels his forearm flex and then she smells it. Sulfur. Her mouth is already starting to move, tears forming in her eyes even as she fights the panic to hold onto his arm and stay upright. “Jimmy-shit-we-they’re-“

His forearm leaves her grasp, and then his hands are lowering her even as the full blown spasms begin, as consciousness abandons her. The last thing she understands is that rough voice telling her to relax. That he’ll keep her safe.




-----





When she comes back to herself she’s clean already, which is a new feeling because she’s always regained consciousness before anyone can get her to a shower. She’s dressed in her own clothes, her sunglasses in place. There’s an unfamiliar upholstery texture under her, and a room that smells vaguely of mildew and dust. Every sense is on high alert, which doesn’t help the exhaustion or the fear. She stands and loses her balance immediately, falling backwards and knocking her head against the top of the couch. She barks a curse word in annoyance before pushing her way back up.

This is bad. Four alarm fire bad. Her cell phone isn’t in her pocket, and there’s a weight around her ankle that she’s just noticing. She leans down to touch it and finds a cold metal circle that can only be a cuff. It’s solid, hard, and she yanks once and then follows the chain attached to it until she reaches the metal pipe at the end. It’s attached to a radiator, and she pulls several times before giving up. “Jimmy? Hello?”

The room echoes oddly, suggesting that the couch may be the only furniture in it. There’s no response, and she has to bite back panic before it overtakes her. She reaches out and finds the wall, then edges along it counting steps until she runs out of chain. Fifteen and there’s no door or window to break the smooth texture of the wall. She walks in the other direction, same number of steps and her fingers find the indent and smooth glass, but she feels no sunlight through it. When she cries out again it’s more panicked than she’d like, control slipping rapidly under the pressure of the darkness and the silence. “Jimmy? Somebody? Please?”

She hears a rustling, like feathers, and then Jimmy’s voice comes to her from across the distance of the room. “It is alright Ophelia. I will not harm you.”

Fuck. That’s the kind of statement someone makes when they know it’s not true, when they’re preparing for a lie. No reason otherwise to insist. She licks dry lips and tries to stand a little straighter. “Ok. That’s good. Now take off the chain and take me home ok?”

“I cannot do that. The demon forced my hand tonight. It is time I introduced myself properly to Dean Winchester. I need you to do that.” His voice is almost apologetic, but it’s off. The way his touches always have been, as if he doesn’t know what apologies are supposed to really sound like.

She swallows down copper flavored panic. “Jimmy, you’ve met Dean remember? A lot of times. You need to take me the fuck home before this gets ugly.”

“I have been ordered to keep you here. To see how long it takes Dean to find you. Once he does I am allowed to finally show him my true nature. Are you hungry? I can bring you food after you make a phone call.”

Now the panic is bright, lights in the darkness of her lost vision, and she remembers that first seizure when she met Jimmy. How it was odorless and different. The sound of feathers rustling. “What-what are-“ But she can’t finish because she can’t breathe. This is a panic attack. Her brain isn’t being helpful so much as scientific. It’s fucking disconcerting to realize it speaks in her third grade teacher's stringent voice. You are associating this with the Shifter. Your blood pressure is spiking, your heart rate has at least doubled, and your shortness of breath will only get worse. It’s like listening to an instructional video as the world goes muted and off around her, her fingers numb and her hands shaking. She fights for breath, and then Jimmy’s blunt fingers are touching her forehead.

“You must take deep breaths and relax now. Not all the way, I need you to sound frightened, but enough to be able to speak.”

His voice, his touch, something eases the panic enough that it’s not overwhelming anymore. She can breathe but it’s laborious. “What the fuck are you?”

“An angel of the Lord. My real name is Castiel. Jimmy Novak is my vessel. I am dialing Dean’s phone number now, and then I will place the device to your face so you can speak to him. Ask him to save you.”

It’s so clinical and calm that Ophelia is fairly certain he’s a sociopath or a psychopath. But the seizure, fuck the seizure, suggests that he’s telling the truth. Jana really didn’t help her much in that respect. She hears the ringing, and then Dean answers, voice bordering on concern.

“Ope? What’s wrong sweetheart?”

“Dean. Dean I need-“ She takes a breath and then another, trying to let her mind work ahead of her voice. “I need you to pack up Sam and run. Run as fast as-“

Jimmy, Castiel, whatever he is grabs her hair in a forceful grip and shakes her once even as Dean’s cutting in.

“Where are you sweetheart? What’s got you? We’ll come get you, so just take a deep breath and tell me what you know.”

“Don't.” She’s not talking to Dean, she’s talking to Jimmy. His loosened grip suggests he knows. “Don't fucking do this. Can’t you leave them alone?” She honestly liked him, the bastard.

He takes the phone from her face, and then his voice is calm and rough like it always is. “Dean. Ophelia is not cooperating. I suggest you convince her to do so before I am forced to hurt her. I would not like to do that.” The plastic of the phone touches her face again and Dean is mid-sentence.

“-son of a bitch, I’ll kill you. You hear me?” She can hear Sam in the background, the bright fear in his voice.

“Dean, you’ve got to run. Run fast and take Sam. This isn’t-“

“Ophelia you play along. Say what he wants you to so I can come find you. Stop being a hero sweetheart. There’re people here that won’t live without you.”

She takes a breath against that, hard and deep, and then she gives in. They won’t listen to her. Their best bet is to be as prepared as she can make them.

“Jimmy says he’s an angel. That his real name is Castiel. We were attacked by a demon, I seized, when I woke up I was here. It’s a house, abandoned by the smell, mildew and dust, only a couch in the room I’m in. One window on this wall that I can find and a radiator. He says you have to find me, and then he’ll introduce himself to you properly. “

“Has he hurt you Ope? That you can tell?”  There’s fury now, barely contained and burning bright with every word. She hears Gabe curse somewhere in the distance.

“No. He’s made it obvious he can though. Do me a favor and back off Winchester. Don’t play this fucking game with him.” She wants to beg more, to scream her fear and rage about the whole situation, but she tries for control instead. She doesn’t hear Dean’s response, the phone is gone again and Castiel’s voice is back just as soothing as it was before.

“I am very sorry about this Dean. I did not want our first real introduction to be done this way. Please believe that. I have left clues on the trail, and I will be destroying this phone now.”

She hears him hit the button, hears the phone crack and shatter, and then his hand is on her shoulder and she’s pulling away from him as best she can.

“You should rest now. Your body has been overly stressed. I will feed you when you wake again. I am sorry about this Ophelia; I am honestly fond of you.”

His fingers touch her forehead, and then there’s nothing.





-----





She wakes to the smell of a hamburger and the gentle blunt fingers of Castiel. She pulls back so quickly that her head slams against the wall and she curses again. She can't afford to keep visiting doctors. His hands rub the spot until she moves away. “You must be more careful. Eat now.”

There’s silence for a while as she grudgingly accepts the burger and bites into it. She knows better than to starve herself, if she has any chance of making it out here she’ll need strength. “What do you want with Dean?”

He doesn't respond at first, and then she hears his weight settle fully on the floor in front of her. “A war is beginning and Dean is Heaven’s best hope of fighting it. This is the first test to see just how well suited he is for the job.”

She finishes the burger and then wipes her hand on her jeans. Feels along the carpet for the edge of the wall and then pushes herself gently against it. Heaven vying for Dean, Hell for Sam. A variety of things fly through her head, myths and legends that may not be myths and legends. Each one is attached to something Jana showed her, puts images that made no sense into context. The sheer weight of the implication is too much to consider here. Then again she may never have the chance to consider it after this.

“What about Sam?”

The pause is more telling than Castiel probably wants it to be. “Samuel has his own destiny. It is different from Dean’s. They should never have been separated for so long. Now their attachment is more intense than it was supposed to be. If you hadn't have been activated then destiny may have never righted itself.”

There’s Jana again, voice a cool cloth in the center of the fire that took her brain that night, the one that burned her vision away and left her in the dark. The bond cannot be severed, must not be severed, if both are to survive what is coming. She hadn’t understood it at the time, it or the visions that came with it, but now she’s putting it all together. Activated?

“Why did you have to pretend to date me to get close to Dean? What the hell does activated mean?”

“I needed a way into your home. I needed a way to observe Dean without being exposed. The wards you put up were very good. Even Heaven’s view was obscured by them.” It’s strange how praise is the first emotion he gets right.

“Well if I had known I was getting fucked so regularly I would have smoked more. This isn't gonna work you know. It’s just going to piss-“ Which is when the feeling comes over her again, and she’s never had more than one in a day. Castiel takes her arm immediately as her hands begin to clench and her jaw moves. Fuck.

“It is alright. It is my associate. When you come back I will be here and you will still be safe.”

Then there’s nothing again for a long time, until she comes back and she's nauseous and shaky. Castiel is still there, holding her carefully and his touch soothes the feeling away. She’s grateful even as rage courses through her veins.

“So this is the crippled mud-monkey that caused all the trouble? Just as fragile as promised isn't she?” The tone is cultured and openly aggressive. She doesn’t recognize it.

“Uriel, there is no reason to be rude. She is cooperating and doing her duty. I will have her contact Dean again and ensure that he is progressing with his investigation.”

She’s shaking her head before she can think of stopping herself. Brain too muddled, panic too heavy. “I won’t. I won’t lead him here. You can’t make me.” That's right Ope. Intimidate them by sounding five years old.

“We can make you do anything girl. You’d best be helpful or else a seizure will be the least of your woes.”

She hears the ringing, then the phone is against her ear and Castiel is gone from her but not too far. She can sense him still. When Dean answers he sounds tired and angry.

“Sweetheart? Still doing ok?”

“Tell him to come alone.” Castiel’s voice is almost a whisper, and the words send her to her feet. She’s wobbling, weak, but she feels the panes of the window behind her. Feels sunlight and knows time has been passing while she’s been in and out. Alone? Come alone? It’s worse than she thought.

“Dean. There’s another angel here now. They want something from you, and they want you to come alone. They’re insistent I tell you that.”

“Then I’ll come alone. I think I know where you are sweetheart. I’m closing in now so hold on and-“

“Do not fucking come here. Don’t fucking help them. Get Sam and run because what they want-” She can’t say it, there’s no time because she can already hear Uriel moving. The phone drops, and then she’s turning as fast as she can and plunging her hands forward to hit the glass. She feels heat, warm liquid and tearing flesh. If she’s dead she’s not bait. It’s the only thing she can think of.

Then she’s on the floor again and the warmth is gone, Castiel’s hands soothing over the places she’d cut and leaving smooth flesh and that’s when she starts to cry, really cry, because there’s no way out of this. No way to not participate in Dean’s downfall. She hears Uriel pick up the phone and the cultured voice is angrier now.

“Your friend does not follow instructions well Dean Winchester. Castiel has healed her self-inflicted wounds, but if you’re not here in four hours I’ll start inflicting wounds of my own. Work faster boy.”

Then his voice is gone, he’s gone, and it’s just her and Castiel. His touch is tender, thoughtful, and she grabs onto familiar forearms and loses all control over her own mouth. “Please, please don’t do this to them. Let me die. Don’t make me bait and don’t-oh god please don’t hurt them.”

When he speaks again the curiosity is back. “You would die to assure they are not broken apart? We did not anticipate the plan going so well.”

She thinks of Dean’s husky laughter, of the sound of Sam murmuring his love to Dean in the dark of the night when they’re both vulnerable and tender, of the wet slide of lips on lips and the dry rasp of skin on skin.

“I'd do anything." What plan? There’s nothing else to say. No more pleas and no more begging because it won’t get her anywhere. He won’t let her die, not while she’s bait, and she doesn’t want to live if it means ruining Sam and Dean.

“I will not let Dean Winchester be hurt. I promise you that.”

She can’t help the hopeless laughter, the wave of sadness as she grips painfully at his forearm. “You’re out of fucking touch then. If Sam gets hurt Dean gets hurt.”

She feels him thinking, feels his chewing that over, and then she’s alone and when she stands up and touches the wall it’s smooth. There are no more windows, no more chances of escape, and all that’s left is to sink into the floor and cry.





-------





She wakes to the sound of gunfire, disoriented and exhausted despite her short sleep. She’d been dreaming, dreaming of a wide and marble filled room and a woman that looked like the Priestess from a Tarot deck and spoke like water in a stream. Jana, she’d dreamed of the goddess talking but she couldn’t remember the words. Only the sound of it and now the air is thick with cordite and anger.

She’s up, stumbling and then pulling, and she can feel the way the cuff bites and eventually breaks her skin but she can’t stop herself. She’s screaming for Dean, for Sam, but mostly for Gabe even though she knows he won’t be there. It's official, she's fucking snapped. Whatever it is that Castiel has done to avoid setting off her seizure since that first time Uriel has apparently adopted the technique because the sound of wings is her only warning before she’s lifted from the ground and slammed into the wall.

“Be quiet.” No more cultured quality, just aggression.

She licks her lips and then musters up what courage she has left. “’The light of God’ right? That’s what your name means? Tell me, what part of beating up a blind girl is God’s light?”

"You're not a girl. You're a precautionary measure." He punctuates his answer by squeezing her throat once and rattling the back of her skull against the wall. Then the door is slamming open, she hears it bounce against the wall, and Dean’s speaking but his voice is so thick and angry she almost doesn’t recognize it.

“Put her the fuck down and step back. I don’t care what you are.” She can’t hear his boots on the carpet very well, the blood rushing in her ears doesn't help, but the volume of him grows as he gets closer.

“Alright Dean. I’ll do just that. Castiel your pet is here.” She feels the wall sliding along her back, and then the meaty hand is gone and she can breathe deeply. One presence leaves and the other approaches, and suddenly Dean’s scent is all around her and his back is pressed against her front. She takes a deep inhale, and leans her face against the tense muscles along his spine.

“Dean, you have fired that weapon at me several times and it has yet to work. You cannot hurt me or Uriel. Please put down the gun so that we may speak.” Castiel sounds calm still, but there’s an edge of pleading to it that she doesn’t miss.

Before Dean can answer, even as she feels his ribs expand with breath to use for speech, she’s realizing that she hasn’t heard Sam or Gabe. Dean came alone. Damn it. “Throw me the keys to the ankle cuff, let me get her out of here, and then you can talk all you want. Can’t say it’s gonna do you a lot of good though.”

“Not an option boy.” Suddenly Dean’s gone, and she’s back in those meaty fists without any transition or warning. She feels the fingers sinking into the flesh of her neck, and then beyond the barrier of her skin and there’s blood dripping down but no pain. Story of her fucking life. She hears Dean cry out, hears his refusal, and then the world goes silent and there’s nothing else.





------





When she wakes up Dean is there, she can smell him and feel him, and the other two are gone. She’s fairly certain of that. Her neck feels wet, and there’s pressure there from Dean’s hand and the rough rasp of cloth. She has to clear her throat several times before her voice will work. “Did you get the number of that bus?”

There’s a pause and then Dean responds, “The one that hit yah?”

“Yeah. Big fucker. Think it had wings.” She coughs once and longs for a cigarette, but she’s afraid to ask and be denied. Afraid she’ll be told she can’t hold one or handle one. That she’ll never have one again.

“It wasn’t a bus it was a giant flying dick. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice is almost as rough as Castiel’s and he squeezes her once against him before lifting her up. The world is moving now, fast and strange at his loping pace.

“What did they say?” She coughs again, and then the air outside hits her and she takes deep lungfuls of it in an attempt to wash out the smells of mildew, angel, and blood.

“We’ll talk about it later. I need to get you to the motel. Sam’s going out of his mind and I thought Gabe might burst a blood vessel. Turns out he has more than two facial expressions. I know I’m sexy when I bust in all heroic and shit but you gotta stop getting grabbed sweetheart. It’s hell on a man’s sleep cycle.” The tone here is odd, and she reaches up to feel tears on his face.

“Did you know angels existed Dean?” He’s lowering her into the Impala, buckling her belt, and then the smooth feel of plastic and cardboard is in her hands and she gratefully opens the little box to pull out one cylinder and light it. Addictions are serious things.

“Nope. Never believed in them. Now I’m kinda glad.” Fierce and vicious anger, thick bitterness, sadness.

She struggles to keep her voice light around the cigarette clenched in her teeth. “Lucky for us you didn’t agree to help them.”

The only response is the roar of the engine turning over, the car pulling backwards and then sliding smoothly forwards. She fumbles for the window lever and then cranks it down. Finally Dean speaks.

“Didn’t have a choice sweetheart. Fucker hurt you, and then made a damn convincing argument. Apocalypse he said.”

Her mind races ahead, moving through her mouth in that bland and detached tone it has sometimes. Stereo instructions. “Un-covering or revelation.”

Dean snorts once and the car hugs turns and accelerates. “Yeah. Tonight’s revelation? Angels are douchebags.”

There’s no good way to respond to that.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

I really enjoyed Ope's POV. She's an awesome OC, very integrated to the story, instead of just appearing and then getting killed off or written out quickly.

So Dean has really worked his way into Ope's heart too, she really relies on him more in a way she ever did Sam. I can see Dean being her big brother, too.

Your descriptions of Jimmy make me believe it really is Cas. Very detached. And keeping the blindness from Gabe :(

OMG. It is Cas. And he kidnapped Ope! Wait - she has episodes with angels too. But not with Gabe. Hm.

Uriel. Bastard. Activation? Pre-cautionary measure? Of course Ope would die for Sam, and now for Dean. No doubt about that. What is the plan - same end game for angels as always? Does it have to do with being separated and kept apart? Did John know they needed to be apart and that's why he gave Sam up? (still not forgiving him)

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

She sort of...grew. In the original (I think I've mentioned this) she was an emotionally unavailable intellectual, and I just wanted her gone. Then I started re-working it and I made her someone else, and I kinda liked her. Then she became someone I really liked, and then she demanded she get face time and get to speak. So I'm *really* glad you like her because she's going to be talking more from this point on.

Ahh the plan. The plan is coming. Actually, at this point I think you've already read it, but yes, the plan is coming. *evil laugh*

[fourtenpm.livejournal.com]

wow, Uriel is an even bigger dick than the show one. So, I guess Gab is still the archangel turned trickster?

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

I'm never sure which questions I should answer and which I shouldn't. :) I'd say yes though. Uriel is certainly a big big dick.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Holy crap!!! Speechless! I can't believe you did that!! But wow, what a *great* change up! I am floored, I never expected this! *beams at you* Fantastic!

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

I am blushing a bit. Well a lot of bits. A bit of lots? I dunno, there's red-facedness.