Death's Daughter | Supernatural, D.W.

Talking

"They knew what they were doing," Cas sighs. "The sigils they put on you keep you from contacting anyone telepathically, they prevent you from receiving healing power and they block all your personal power. This is a ritual I haven't seen take place in a long time."

"So can you get rid of them?" I ask. "I can't just stay like this."

"The only way to truly disable these marks is to, well, deface them."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the only way to discontinue the effects of these marks is to break them. Cut through them." Cas thinks for a second. "Kind of like when you break the seal of a devil's trap to set the demon free."

I let out a groan and bury my face in my pillow. The only way to fix myself is to endure more pain.

"Don't worry," Cas says. "We can make it much more endurable. I know that the procedure they put you through was painful, and likely traumatizing. Sam and Dean have a lot of supplies around here and I'll be able to put you to sleep so you don't have to feel it."

I roll my eyes to myself. That doesn't mean I want to do it this way. "Thanks."

"I'll make sure we have everything and return tomorrow." Cas leaves. I sit up and start to put my clothes back on. Dean enters the room unannounced, startling me.

"Sorry, my bad," he holds his hands up. "Just checking on you. Did Cas figure anything out?"

"The only way to make the marks stop is to cut through them, so they're deformed. Like breaking a devil's trap to make it stop working."

Dean makes a face. "So basically just carve yourself some more?"

"If that's how you want to refer to it, sure," I nod.

"Well, at least the dude knows what he's doing," Dean shrugs. "Whoever cut you up the first time probably didn't know what they were doing."

I squint at him. "They definitely knew what they were doing. At least, they knew enough to make it hurt."

Dean absorbs my statement. "Sorry."

He leaves the room; I feel guilty for my coldness. Acclimating to the bunker again has been harder this time around, mostly because I'm still in pain from the torture, but also because I'm scared to be found again. I can't relax. So far, it's been three days of constantly watching my back. I've avoided sleep since I've come back. I don't need it, or the nightmares that will inevitably come with it.

Some time passes. I leave my room only a few times to stretch my legs and get the medicine that Sam gives to me every night. It takes my nerves away and helps me sleep. He says he has a prescription for it, but not to tell Dean.

Falling asleep is still somewhat difficult though; the discomfort of lying down keeps me awake. But tonight I have company. Dean comes back into my room, despite my having the lights off and door shut.

He turns on my bedside lamp. "Can we talk?"

"Can it wait?" I cringe as the light invades my eyes.

"We should do this now," he insists. So much talking.

I make room for him beside me. Something in me is already feeling weak. Like my emotional barrier could break if the conversation is heavy enough.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask.

"You know you're not in prison anymore, right?" Dean asks.

"Obviously, I'm back home," I joke.

"Are you?"

I give Dean a weird look. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you aren't yourself," Dean clarifies. "I'm worried that your scars might be a little more than physical."

I meet Dean's gaze across the pillow in the warm, yellow light. As his eyes search mine, I feel the first cracks of my barrier. Maybe Dean is right, maybe I'm not myself.

Dean moves closer and carefully puts his arms around me, avoiding the tender places on my back. He strokes my hair with one of his hands. "It's okay."

That's all it takes. I bury my face in his chest and let myself decompress in the form of unbridled sobs. Weirdly, despite the embarrassment of crying, I feel deeply comforted.

After a minute or two, I catch my breath. "Sorry."

"For what?" Dean asks.

"A lot," I reply honestly. "Crying on your shirt, making you worry. This whole situation. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he consoles me. "I've gotten messed up by a djinn, too."

"What happened?"

"Tried to go take it on myself, got poisoned. I thought it had granted some wish or something and put me in a perfect world. But I knew it was too good to be true. When I came back to the real world, I realized what happened. It sucks."

"What was your perfect world?" I ask.

Dean smiles faintly. "My mom was alive and I wasn't a hunter."

"I'm sure she's proud of you, you know," I tell him. "You're a good person."

"Yeah..." he trails off. "What about you? Tell me about your first djinn trip."

"I don't remember it," I lie. I don't want to tell Dean about it. "I'm sure I was probably here at the bunker, spending time with my favorite people."

"I've never heard of someone forgetting their hallucination," Dean catches me.

"Fine. We all came back to the bunker and just relaxed. You and Sam were both happy and carefree. I didn't feel so scared of the world outside of the bunker."

"That's your perfect world?" Dean laughs. "Hanging out with the two most wanted hunters?"

I roll my eyes. "Regardless of what it is, you'll always be a part of it, Dean. I consider the bunker home now, and I consider you a part of that home."

Dean grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little bit, and kisses me softly. I move closer to him and lay my head on his chest. Before I know it, I'm falling asleep, comfortable and happy.