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routinely-unamoosed-blog · 6 years ago

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13x08 ~ Cravings: Part II

Summary: Maddie deals with the aftermath of Sam’s torture, while she and Dean encounter different sides of themselves while Sam recovers.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Maddie Rayner, Dr. Adam Dauer

Word Count: 9,126

Author’s Note: Aren’t I great at posting???

Masterlist

He hadn’t realized he’d lost consciousness. He felt woozy when his eyes pried themselves open. His head pounded, his muscles were sore. Despite the headache, he found it hard to move his body, let alone his head. A groan left his lips, eyes squeezing shut at the blinding lights that stared down at him.

A blush crept to his cheeks when he realized his shirt had been cut off. He wondered where his clothes were, but he felt a little better to feel his jeans were still intact.

Incoherent words slipped from his mouth. Everything was sore. His muscles seemed to groan whenever he moved, but he found his mobility was hindered by clamps. He glanced down at his bonds, moving his wrists around as best he could. He winced when the edge pierced his skin, sending a thin trail of blood to slip down his hand and to the floor.

“Oh!” a voice exclaimed with amusement. Sam heard footsteps shuffling towards him. He lifted his head to see who it was. A gloved hand slammed his head back on the table, while another shoved something into his mouth. His head was lifted painfully by the hair and felt something being tied behind his head. “You’re awake!”

Sam looked up at the man standing over him. He couldn’t see him very well due to the lights, but maybe that was the point. He caught the lab coat and the name sewn in blue thread: Dr. Adam Dauer.

He wrenched his hands up and down on the clamps with a muffled grunt.

A chuckle left the doctor. “I assume you’ve figured out who I am. Silly me, wearing this coat and all,” he grinned. He leaned in the light, finally bringing into view his face.

Sam never got this close of a look at the coroner, but the flecks of blue in his hazel eyes made the Hunter wary. The kindness displayed on Adam’s face must have made his victim pleased to meet. Now Sam understood why Maddie grew terrified at the morgue.

The gag was taken out his mouth, letting it rest on his collarbone. He licked his lips as he struggled, looking away from Adam and straining his arms to get at least a little bit of freedom. He winced when the cut on his hand was deepened by the clamps. He cursed softly under his breath, sending a little smile to grow on Adam’s face as a scalpel was dug into his arm.

His arm felt the pain before he could register it. A scream ripped from his throat, voice cracking when he felt the skin splitting. He felt rivers of blood ooze from the cut and flow down his arm. His fists clenched and tightened, while his back arched in a way to try and get away from the blade.

Adam smiled. The man sparked up conversation to try and make the Hunter feel better, but it only made curses fly from the Winchester’s mouth. “Torture has always been beautiful to me—use those words again, Sam, and I’ll put you in a body chamber.”

The doctor lifted the blade at Sam’s wrist. Sam was more than confused as to why he was doing this and also at how Adam knew his name. He remembered he didn’t have his ID badge on him before he lost consciousness . . . his mind slammed into Maddie. Maybe Adam knew more about her than Sam thought.

His heart skipped a beat when he thought of this bastard knowing Maddie. The way she froze when Adam walked in the morgue would forever be seared into his brain.

“So . . . why’d you kill Mr. Giammusso? For kicks?”

Another chuckle breezed past the doctor’s lips. “Trying to solve the case, are we?” He smiled. The smile was sinister, an emotion cloaked with darkness. A sense of fear jolted Sam’s body. Everything about this man, from the seemingly pleasant attitude towards him earlier, to the greed that plastered the man’s face, was haunting.

Blood spurted from the open wound, splashing across his skin and Adam’s lab coat. He prepared for another explosion of pain in his arm, but a small chuckle caught the air. Adam’s words made him freeze: “My little Pilot did this when she was ten.”

His lips opened to speak, but he found no words. The nickname the bastard spoke was of unimportance to him, but it was the pronoun that caught him off guard. He had no other choice but to listen to this man, to listen to the haunting words this man spoke. He struggled with all his might, his hands shaking in the metal clamps.

He felt metal groan.

Sam suddenly felt white-hot pain in his arm. He looked down at the wound, and looked with wide eyes and screams at the bone saw that was cutting his ulna and radius bones in half. Tears pricked his eyes as he slammed his head back on the table. He felt his mouth be filled again with his gag. His screams were muffled, however it didn’t stop him from spewing curses and damnations he learned from Maddie.

The pain stopped. The bone saw was lifted from his arm when the bones snapped, revealing more raw muscle, veins, and everything in between. Sam watched the man above him set the bone saw down with a smirk and pick up the scalpel.

A glimmer on the medical tray made his eyes flick behind Adam. It was a scalpel, as small and threatening as such a thing could get. He glanced back at the man above him, whose hand was lowering the scalpel he already held back toward the Hunter’s chest.

Sam hoped and prayed this would work.

He dug down deep. He dug passed that cage that shrouded his heart in a darkness that he hadn’t known existed. He passed that good part of him that was deeper than ever, the good part that made him feel worthy of living. That part smiled at him. It beamed up at him like there was nothing scary or downright terrifying in this doomed little world.

The darkness felt like it was slowly taking over everything in his body, though. Everything he and his brother had gone through kept chipping away at that good part. It made that darkened cloud inside of him to grow and grow until it was the only thing he had left.

Moving his focus to the scalpel, his face scrunched up softly. Adam didn’t seem to notice. He felt the demon blood pumping faster now, faster than he’s ever felt it before. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt this way; this powerful and kingly. He lifted his shaking hand and turned it toward the scalpel as best he could. He felt ridiculous for doing so, but he figured it would work if he concentrated hard enough.

The medical instrument lifted from the tray and shot into Adam’s back. A shout left the doctor’s lips as his body was arched over Sam’s feet.

Adam looked at Sam from his position, eyes wide with rage. A snarl bared his teeth as he lunged toward the Winchester, bloodied scalpel gripped tightly in hand. The weapon was flying toward Sam’s throat. Surely this was the end.

“STOP!”

The doctor stopped. He turned on his heel, his upper body blocking Sam’s view of the voice’s owner. A wave of relief filled him when he recognized the tone, but only a sliver of skepticism remained. The voice had cracked with tears and fear, mixed with a fiery rage that he hadn’t witnessed before.

“Oh, my little Pilot,” Adam cooed in a gentle tone. Sam couldn’t believe it. In the blink of an eye, Adam had turned from a sadistic psychopath to a warm and gentle man. This is how he reeled the Hunter in: kindness, persuasion, a gentleman someone would invite out to drinks at the local dive bar.

Silence filled the room. Then, the same voice came. “Don’t . . . call me that. I’m not—”

“Mine anymore? Well, you’ll always be mine, Pilot.”

“Maddie, you twisted waste of space. It’s Maddie,” the voice spat. Sam heard the cock of a gun.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him. The sound of Maddie’s voice numbed the fiery pain in his arm, but it did little to ease the pounding in his chest. The demon blood in his system made everything go into hyperdrive, sending adrenaline running through his veins. He wasn’t going to lie, it felt amazing to have this exhilarating feeling. The chemical ride he got off from was—

Adam moved closer to Mads. She seemed to shrink in his presence, with a look of cowardice plastered to her face. She looked terrified: her skin was white as a sheet, her eyes were wide and she trembled in her position. If everything went silent, he could have sworn he heard near-silent sobs. Of course, he knew she wasn’t trying to look weak. But when Adam moved, the look on her face was . . . horror. It was pure horror as she stared down this man with tears in her eyes. Despite the authority she had over pretty much everyone, she looked completely powerless.

Sam didn’t lose faith, though. He still prayed for her when he had the chance. To find solace in one person was a hard decision to make in this way of life, but all his money was on the woman he loved.

Still, the doctor took another step toward her. Maddie didn’t move. She stood frozen in her position in the laboratory. Sam couldn’t connect the dots: what does she have to do with a coroner? And how does Adam know about her? Curious as to what Pilot meant, Sam was more concerned about what Adam meant by how “she’ll always be his.”

“Let him go,” Maddie finally said. Her voice shook and cracked. She was terrified.

Adam let out a chuckle. He turned in Sam’s direction and finished the distance between him and Maddie, his hand lifting a hand and cradling her head.

The sob that left her made Sam forget the pain in his arm. His fists clenched as he pulled on the clamps with all his might. The metal dug into his wrists more. He ignored the pain in his arms, from the exposure of his bones to the deep cuts in his wrists. He ignored all of it, for the fear on Maddie’s face was all that drove him to unleash that darkness. The cage he kept under lock and key shattered within him.

The clamps flew from his limbs. They fell to the floor in four piercing clatters that drowned out all sound. Adam turned from gazing into Maddie’s eyes, only to have a look of shock on his face when Sam grabbed a scalpel and slashed the coroner’s throat.

A scream burst from Mads’ throat. The trance she was in seemed to be broken, for hands lifted to cover her mouth as Adam fell to the floor in a pool of his blood. She stared at the body only to look up at Sam, his chest heaving and fists clenched. Blood still dripped from his arm, the separated skin hanging uselessly.

It wasn’t until Dean ran in with a gun in his hand did Sam feel the pain.

He collapsed to his knees next to Adam’s body. Maddie looked even more terrified than before, with tears slipping down her face and sobs filling the room.

A heart-wrenching thud made Sam look up from writhing in pain. His hand held his open arm, blood slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he squeezed to stop the bleeding. He stared at Dean holding his gun to Maddie’s head and screaming obscenities.

Sam managed to get one foot up before falling to his side. His head bounced off the floor, with the screaming subsiding and the room flashing to darkness.

Dean didn’t seem to understand. The way he sped to the nearest hospital with an unconscious Sam in the back was haunting to the Rayner. The man was pissed, yes, she understood that. But at her? The entire trip to the hospital was a screaming match.

“You don’t stand there and watch! You see my brother in danger, what do you do? You kill the freakin’ thing and help him!” He was handsome when he was angry.

She scoffed with a clenched fist. She rested her elbow on the door’s handle, trying with all her might to smother her rising anger. She wanted nothing more than to smash Dean’s face in with a hammer. She’d torture him. A slow and painful torture that would last hours, maybe even five weeks to get back at him for her torture. She hasn’t forgiven him for it, and she sure as hell wasn’t planning on doing so for a while.

She stared ahead, hair covering half her face. Her jaw was set as she controlled her breathing. In a second she could crash this damned car and make sure the police never found Dean’s body. His screaming was getting on her nerves, and it was a thought that hadn’t crossed her mind before. She had plans of killing him when all of this was over with; when everybody she cared about was dead and it was just her and Dean Winchester.

The Hunter dared to let the conversation end by turning the radio on. She glanced at the stereo, it’s red needle practically mocking her. The classic rock that filled the car was taunting, as if saying that Dean had won the argument. She shook her head and let out a chuckle. This conversation was long from being over.

Smashing the power button, she stripped the cassette tape from its place. She threw it to the car floor, with her huffed breathing drawing Dean’s attention back to her. He inhaled to complain about his piece of shit music, but she interrupted him with poison: “You think I wanted this to happen? You think I wanted Sam to get kidnapped by A—that coroner?”

The Impala sped up the slightest when they passed a sign with a large white H on it.

“Humor me, sweetheart,” Dean spat.

Another scoff left her mouth. She smiled and shook her head, bringing one foot up and putting it on the seat. She rested her elbow on her knee, fist still clenched. She thought about slamming his head on the steering wheel if he kept that attitude.

She decided to not be that guy. She enjoyed being that guy that escalated an argument to the point of throwing punches, but it wasn’t the right time. Not with Sam on her mind.

“I wanted to leave. I wanted to burn this town to the ground, but look around. People live here and that would be a big no-no on my part. Look, I told Sam to leave, I told him to turn his back on this godforsaken town and . . .” She looked back at him with tears in her eyes. “Look what happened.”

Dean went silent. He glanced at her, clearly hesitating when he saw her tears. It was pathetic, really. A Rayner crying over a Winchester almost bleeding out? She sniffed, wiping her tears and staring at the road again.

It was to her shock when Dean’s tone completely changed. He sighed, turning the radio back on and turning the volume down. He sighed and said, “He’ll be okay. He’s a fighter.”

A soft smile brushed past her lips. Her brow furrowed slightly, a look that would cause Dean to be more concerned about his brother. He didn’t seem to notice, though, to her relief. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“What do you mean?”

Maddie looked back at Sam. He looked peaceful laying there, appearing as though he was sleeping. She tried to imagine that he was, and that he didn’t have her flannel tied around his arm to help stop the bleeding. Her heart clenched when she saw the hesitant rising and falling of his chest. She wanted to crawl back there and hold him, to run her hands through his hair to calm herself down. It pained her to see him like this: a broken man who was just trying to solve a stupid case, but got the worst form of torture she knew.

She clenched her jaw again and looked back at the windshield. She loosed a sigh and tried to avoid eye contact with Dean. Despite his overall attractiveness, she still had to keep up her walls. They weren’t friends whatsoever—in her book, at least—and it didn’t matter if they shared a common concern for his younger brother.

The Rayner shook her head. “He’s constantly trying to prove himself, y’know? Prove to me, to you, especially, that he’s good. I just wanna tell him he doesn’t have to do that, he-he shouldn’t have to do that to begin with. He’s always trying to make himself be the hero, the knight in shining armor, even if it puts him in danger. I just . . .

“He’s the most good man I know, Dean, and I come from a long-ass road of bad. I want him to see himself as good, not a . . . not a monster he thinks he is.”

This time she was really crying. She had found herself glancing back at Sam, at his expressionless face and pale skin. She stared at him for another second before stabbing her arm at Dean’s. He glanced at her in concern, only to curse at her as she climbed over him into the driver’s seat.

He slid himself in the passenger’s seat with a bewildered look on his face. His mouth was parted in shock, only to grip the seat when she spat, “Hold on to something.” Her hand flew to the gearshift, shifting to third gear and stepping on the accelerator. She felt the car hop up on its rear wheels for a fraction of a second.

Her street racing record came in handy.

She made it to the hospital in two minutes. She screeched the Impala to a stop, her body tumbling out of the car and around to Sam’s door. She opened it and scooped him up in her arms, her forearm cradling his head. His skin was white as a sheet, and the stillness of his chest made her sob into his hair.

The emergency room doors opened and she was blasted with the same smells of the morgue. She saw doctors in lab coats milling about the foyer, while the PA system requested the presence of doctors and nurses. She felt woozy the second she stopped in front of the desk. The teller, a blonde woman with dark eyes, looked up at her with confusion.

“What the hell—”

“He isn’t breathing.” Her chest heaved as she felt lightheaded.

“I need a crash cart over here, stat!” The woman jumped from her chair and walked around the desk, grabbing a gurney an intern pushed at her. Maddie set Sam on it, a blush creeping up her face. Of course, he was shirtless in a room full of rather attractive-looking women. Dean seemed to be in heaven, given his subtle nods at potential suitors for a one night stand. It was a classic move on the Hunter’s part.

The nurse glanced at her. “He your boyfriend?”

She inhaled to answer, but Dean squeezed his way through to stand in front of the nurse. “Brother,” he replied with a glare Maddie’s way, “He’s our brother.”

The Rayner cast a glare back at him, rolling her eyes internally. She wanted to punch him, drive his head through a wall and throw him in a pit of flames. The satisfaction she’d feel would be overwhelming, yes, and she looked forward to doing so. It was only a matter of time.

Another nurse approached the Hunters with a chart. Maddie’s blood boiled but it wasn’t from adrenaline. The fear that ran through her was numbing and paralyzing; she stood there and stared with wide eyes.

“Can I get a name for him?” the nurse asked.

“U-uh, Sam. Sam, uh, Ledger. I’m Maddie, t-this is my brother, Dean,” she answered. The Hunter next to her glowered at her nervousness. Who could blame him? “H-how is he?”

The nurse looked at her with a dumbfounded look. “Well, he just came in with massive cuts on his arm and he wasn’t breathing. He’s in the operating room. I’ll update you when I can.” He turned and strode away with a slight shake of his head.

Maddie stood in the foyer of the emergency room, limbs numb. She didn't know what was worse: Sam being on an operating table in a hospital or her being in a hospital.

Her chest heaved as she finally turned toward the waiting area. Her hands clenched and unclenched into fists, nails digging into her palms if she squeezed hard enough. She didn’t feel the pinprick of pain, or the ringing in her ears when the PA system blared unintelligible words. Her chest hurt for Sam. It wasn’t because of the numbing feeling of guilt, but it was the sorrow that overtook her body as she slowly made her way toward emergency room doors.

Dean called after her. She didn’t hear what he said, but she knew he was going to try to get her to stay. She ignored him and stumbled out of the hospital, standing beneath the roof with a dazed expression. Patrons glanced her way with the concern of a stranger. Maddie pushed her way toward a break in the hospital and an alleyway.

Squeezing herself in the cover of darkness, she let the tears break free. Sobs filled the air, piercing through the static of cars droning up and down the road. Her eyes shut tight as she shook her wings free. The feathers blended well into the shade, but the sight of a woman in a dark red flannel and jeans scaling a hospital would be too noticeable. She might as well do it. Everything in her life was a living hell, so why give that up? It was the only thing she had left, anyway.

Her fingertips reached up and grabbed the brick. Her knuckles turned white as she lodged a foot on a crevice, lifting her body up effortlessly. She spread her wings slightly for support and balance, lifting one or the other if she felt herself tilting too far. It wasn’t until she vaulted herself up with a flap of her wings did she finally land on the roof of the hospital.

The helicopter pad was supported by strong metal beams above her. She felt puny next to the thing, but she let it be as she made her way across the rooftop laden with pebbles. The space was at least half a story below her once she reached the edge. She dropped down and landed on her feet, the tears threatening to spill again.

She turned on her heel and was greeted with a blank concrete wall. She stared at for what felt like forever, a time she never really kept track of. She felt the anger rising within, passed that breaking point and into the unknown. She wanted to tear the head off of something, preferably an angel or, Hell, even Dean Winchester; anything that breathed was her target.

Her hand clenched at her side, she slammed her fist into the wall.

A small crater shrouded the cement. She felt her wrist shudder in its place, with her knuckles almost shattering beneath her skin.

Blood dripped from her hand when she took it out of the wall. A rather large chunk of cement stuck between her fingers and a fair share of dust coated her hand a dull white color.Her hand when shook the pain washed over, her wings expanding as she let out a sob.

Sam Winchester was in the operating room. Sam Winchester, sweet and selfless Sam Winchester, was bleeding out because of a doctor she failed to warn him about. He wasn’t breathing in the back of the Impala because of her. He died because of her.

“I bet it’s hard seeing me here, huh?”

Maddie’s head lifted to see him leaning against the wall, one leg bent up as an armrest. The arm he was cut in was covered in bandages. The bags beneath his eyes were deep, a splash of deep purple and neutral gray. His hair was, well, brushing against his shoulders like it always did. He looked tired, most of all. Tired of fighting to stay alive.

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Y-you’re—”

“On a metal slab with my arm cut open? Yeah, I had no idea,” he said with a soft smile.

A hand ran through her hair. Her hand stung more than ever, with a small puddle of blood forming on the pebbles beneath her. She backed up a bit, wings spreading as she stared at him. This isn't real. He wasn’t sitting up here. It’s impossible for him to be sitting up here, mostly because he doesn’t have fucking wings.

Sam let out a soft chuckle. His chest caved once as he lifted his gaze to look at beyond her. “Don’t blame yourself, Mads,” he muttered, “It wasn’t you that got me—”

She couldn’t stop her feet from taking her to him, from making her lift up on her toes and kiss him. She didn’t want to hear the words he was going to say next. She didn’t even want to think about it. Her mind cast that moment out of her head. In an instant it was gone, away from her mind that seemed to enjoy torturing her. Projecting the man she was in love with as a living, breathing hallucination was simply horrendous.

His hand reached up and cradled her jawline. His thumb brushed against her cheek as she let more tears flow. It felt like he was actually touching her, as if he was sitting with her on that rooftop. A weight settled on her chest. She put her hands around his neck to keep her in this moment. Her breath shuddered between his lips as she kissed him harder, fingers clawing at him to stay still. She wanted nothing more than to be trapped in this moment, this brief chapter in this hellhole of a story God decided to write. She wanted the words to stop, the series of unfortunate events to just come to an abrupt halt and just disappear.

He pulled his head away. His image flickered like an interrupted television signal as he straightened, turning away with a sadness in his step. She followed him out of remorse and sorrow; her heart ached for this part of him. Hallucination or not, she longed for him. She longed for his presence no matter what was happening in this godforsaken world she called home.

She wanted him. She hated to admit it. She always believed Tyler would be her first and her last love. He was the only one who understood her, who understood her more than anybody else.

But she never told him about the hunting side of her. God forbid, she never planned on doing so. She was tempted so many times, but she knew the second those words came out he would leave her. He’d leave her with this crazy tale of monsters and demons existing in this plane. Of course he’d call her crazy, he’d probably call her all these crazy names and slurs she’d never heard before.

Maddie looked up when she felt Sam behind her. He had slipped behind her as she stared off into space, trying to come up with a reason for him to stay. He got close to her. Yes, he got flush against her and wrapped his hands around her stomach. The smell of his cologne infused with the musk of old books and worn leather wafted around them, so much so he even smelled like he was there.

Her head rolled back to rest just below his shoulder. He nuzzled his lips in the crook of her neck. His teeth nipped at the skin gently and softly, beckoning her to lift a hand to trace his face. Her fingers wrapped in his hair, pulling down softly until her chest heaved with sobs. Eyes closing, she didn’t want to stray from this moment. Standing on a rooftop with the apparent love of her life—four words she’d never known she would use again—was all she ever wanted.

She forced herself to focus. It was hard to do so, with this closeness and ridiculousness that overwhelmed her. Look at yourself, Maddie. Sobbing on a rooftop at a damn hallucination of a man you’re falling in love with . . . what would Dante say about this, or Adam?

Don’t talk about them, don’t think about them. They’re gone, they can’t do anything to you anymore.

A snarl left her lips when she tore herself away from him. She felt his eyes bore into the back of her head, filled with confusion and utmost sadness. She didn’t turn, she didn’t want to turn to face him. If she did, she’d break down again. Those walls she put up since she started hunting again would crumble to dust if she looked at him one more time.

Maddie thought about leaving. It felt like a punch to the gut when the thought rolled through her mind. It was tempting, yes. She could drop everything and just disappear off this rooftop, going where the wind takes her (in a literal sense). She could forget about Sam and Dean, she could forget the kind of danger all of them were in because of her reputation.

The thought of his face if—when—he woke up crossed her mind. He’d be alone and in pain with his brother, who was no doubt still furious with her. He’d probably ask where she was. Of course he would, he cares about her more than she did about him. Since the beginning he’s cared about her. It was shocking that he was still breathing at this point in their nightmare of a story. He was a Winchester, nobody would dare touch him.

It was when a gust of wind hit her did she turn.

Sam still stood there, frozen in his place. His eyes were brimming with tears as he stared at her, arms spread from his sides slightly. She stood there again and just watched. Dean’s voice was screaming at her to move her legs. She wanted to run back to him and hug him, bury her face in his chest and just scream at him to wake up.

Still, she stood. She stood and gazed at him with tears in her eyes. Her heart shattered in her chest, leaving her paralyzed in her place. No matter how hard she wanted to run towards him, she knew she couldn’t. He wasn’t really standing there on the rooftop, he wasn’t staring at her with tears in his eyes, no, he wasn’t there.

“Listen to me, you bastard,” she sobbed, “you fight for me. You hear me? Fight for me! Take that suicidal bitch and shove it down. Shove it down so I can see you again, so you can see me again. You—”

“Maddie?”

Tears sprang to her eyes again when his older brother’s voice made its way to the rooftop. Her vision was clouded as she closed her eyes, dropping to a squat and shoving her fists over her face. Her injured hand was tingling now, with more blood oozing from the split skin on her knuckles. She didn’t care about the pain, she didn’t even pay attention to it. All she wanted was Sam.

The second she turned around to look at him did she see him disappear in a plume of smoke, however it looked more like fog to her. She fought another sob, this time crying into her jacket before calming herself down.

She turned and wandered to the edge of the roof. She could see Dean’s wandering figure below, his body looking bigger than usual. Perhaps it was the perspective, but she couldn’t be sure. His back was to the roof, thankfully, when she felt another tear slip from her eye. Wiping it off her face, she stalked to the wall and leaned against it.

Dean turned around and glanced up at the rooftop, his body stopping mid-step. A confused expression split his face in two, replacing the anger and sadness in a flash. Maddie glowered down at him, taking a pack of Camels out, along with a lighter, and popped a cigarette between her lips.

It took her a few tries to light the thing, but she was satisfied by the look Dean shot her when he saw the cancer stick. “You smoke?” he questioned.

“Free country, asshat,” she muttered as she took a drag of cigarette, inhaling the burning ash that filled her throat. The pain didn’t necessarily distract her from Sam’s absence; it merely served as a yet another reason to drown her lungs in smoke. The breath of fresh air she felt when Sam was with her was replaced by the toxicity the cigarette possessed.

She took the cigarette from her lips after taking a few more puffs. The pain in her broken hand still reverberated up and down her skin, but she didn’t mind. She kept it hidden from Dean, however, who paced below. He grew to be annoying the longer he remained beneath her, his steps almost taunting her with the idea everything was fine and dandy.

Maddie tossed her cigarette down towards him. It almost landed in his hair if he hadn't turned at the right time. With a rather rude tone, she asked, “What do you want?”

Dean glanced up at her with squinted eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at his boots before replying, “I’m, uh, gonna get some grub, wanna come with me?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she swung her legs over the edge. A soft wind blew up to brush her hair over her shoulder. She closed her eyes when she felt Sam appear behind her, his hand reaching down and touching her shoulder. Soft words made it to her ears before he disappeared again in gentle wisps of fog: “I’ll be okay.”

“He’ll be okay,” she muttered to herself. She cleared her throat and looked at Dean. A little alcohol in her system wouldn’t hurt. She stood on her feet now, a newfound energy in her step. Her heart rose just the slightest for Sam, despite his operation and the impending doom that could lead to his death. She shoved her emotions down and managed to step off the edge.

The road beneath her caved when she landed on her feet. Her knees almost buckled beneath her if she didn’t squat, straightening herself and brushing the dust from her pants. “I don’t know,” she continued with a glare at Dean, “depends if you wanna torture me again.”

A soft chuckle—no, the sound was more like a wheeze—left the eldest Hunter. She brushed past him as she made her way toward the Impala, its sleek figure still sitting beneath the emergency entrance. That’s quite unlawful, Dean, but you do you, she thought with a shudder. She could still see inside the hospital; doctors still rushed about, with nurses sprinting across her line of sight.

Don’t think about him. Pretend he’s doing research back home, and this is a case. Just a normal, everyday case. A vengeful spirit case, yes. A very vengeful spirit was pissed for having its shit fucked with. Don’t fuck with a spirit’s shit. Exactly. That’s a great saying.

The Impala’s keys jingled, sending her back to reality. She tried to convince herself to get in the passenger seat. Sit next to Dean Winchester, the same man who pointed a gun at her not an hour ago and screamed obscenities at her. She’d sit next to him for at least twenty minutes. Couldn’t hurt, right?

The door opened and Dean ducked into the driver’s seat. The car rumbled to life seconds later, its engine running and adding a timer on her decision.

“Coming?”

Shit.

“Y-yeah.”

The second she closed the door Dean sped off. The rear tires squealed on the concrete as it peeled from the roundabout and onto the road. Her body jostled in the seat as she gripped the door for stability. Dean’s driving would probably get her killed.

The bar Dean took her to was like one out of a crime movie. Rundown bricks met cracked cement at jagged angles, while wooden boards covered most of the windows from the ground floor to apartments above. It looked more like an old factory revamped to be a tavern, in her opinion. Ivy snaked up around the corners, trash bins strewn toward the back. It was hard to see inside, but she could tell it was packed by how the buzz of conversation came through walls. Fire escapes almost covered one of the entrances, but Dean seemed to know where he was going by how he parked the Impala in an alleyway three blocks down.

She climbed out of the car and shut the door. Again, it felt strange being alone with Dean. At any moment he could kill her. Shove her into the alleyway and stab her. Drug her beer and stuff her in the trunk.

Don’t be ridiculous, Maddie, she thought, Dean wouldn’t do that with Sam in the hospital.

He had the perfect opportunity. If Sam died, she’d be the problem. Revenge was a fucking bitch in this world, and boy was Dean hellbent on getting it if his brother died. A soft stab of pain pierced her heart. Sam’s a fighter. He’d survive this. She did; she survived the coroner, so why couldn’t he?

Dean had kept himself glued to her side with a tense look on his face as they walked up the sidewalk. Perhaps he had something prepared once they got inside. Of course he did, he was Dean Winchester for God’s sake. He was always shoot first, ask questions later at this point; it was ridiculous.

She expected to be bombarded by burly men keen on wrestling her to the ground. Her staff was in mid-transformation when a waitress looked at them and smiled, offering menus.

“Welcome!” she beamed. Maddie’s staff slithered back beneath her sleeve. She glanced toward the Winchester as she snagged the menu from the waitress. She followed him to a booth in the back, getting more than a few onceovers by greedy men. She flipped a few off, who, to her pleasure, burst to their feet in anger.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, sweetheart,” Dean snapped over his shoulder. She caught the hint of a smile that ghosted across his lips. She never once saw Dean smile since she came to in the Bunker. It was a nice smile, regardless of how fast it came and went. Wrinkles creased behind his eyes that set a youthful glow to his face. (Despite the flecks of gray she noticed in both his hair and stubble.)

It was a very nice smile for a man consumed in anger.

She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Who doesn’t love a little bit of conflict?”

Both Hunters took their seats across from each other. It was a wise choice from both parties, she guessed, considering how Dean immediately grabbed her silverware and tucked the sharp utensils in his pocket. She simple scoffed at him and peered at the menu. The steak looked appetizing.

Maddie glanced up at Dean, whose gaze was fixated on both the menu and various waitresses. She considered letting him go crazy with the women of the bar, but the thought of her returning to the hospital alone was what made her hesitate. If Sam were to be awake when she got back, he’d started throwing accusations the second she walked in. Of course she’d deny them. She may hate Dean with every fiber of her being, but she wouldn’t kill him for no reason.

Their food came ten minutes after they ordered. To her surprise, they got the same thing: New York strip done medium rare with a side of fries and a beer. The look on Dean’s face made her glance up at him between bites.

“What?”

He shook his head with a soft smile. “Took you for a health nut like Sammy,” he replied with a giant piece of steak on his fork.

She twitched her head to the side. She took a drink of her beer, easily chugging half of it. It was gonna be a hard night; she might as well get the process of forgetting started. “Ain’t crazy for all that . . . healthy shit. This? This is heaven.” She gestured to her meal with a soft grin.

“Amen, sister.” Dean actually laughed. It was light hearted, that laughter, and it was what made her stop chewing. A smile was still plastered to his face as he continued to eat, making damn sure that he looked as attractive as possible.

A blush rose to her cheeks when she stole a steak knife from another table. She flipped the Winchester off when he saw her cut her steak.

This can’t be happening, she thought. She took a bite of her steak, almost moaning at how good it tasted. It’s been too long since she’d had a proper meal and not a hotdog nuked in a gas station or motel microwave. Her fast metabolism was what made it worse for her: she was always hungry, always itching to get something in her stomach no matter what time of day. And if it was during a case? She’d be off her guard just the slightest.

The Hunters took turns batting off stories of hunts gone wrong or funny moments that happened. One joke cracked by Dean almost sent her choking on her beer if it weren’t for the concern written on his face. Her smile faded when she stopped coughing. She slowly stood as tears pricked her eyes at what she was doing. This wasn’t a comfortable place to eat anymore; it filled her with hatred and resentment.

This was a date. And Dean was her date while the man she was in love with was in an operating room.

Maddie jumped to her feet. The table rattled as she slid out of the booth and stormed to the women’s bathroom. The door burst open when she pushed through. The room was set in a turquoise color, mixed with a neon pink from the lights. It seemed like a different place from the rest of the bar; grime covered the tiles and cracks cast veins in the floor and walls. Black stalls were to her left, while mirrors above sinks sat in front of her.

She went to the sink and leaned on it. The sink groaned beneath her weight as she stared at her fingers. Her hand, throbbing with pain, was still covered in blood, the skin turning yellow and blue. She was surprised Dean hadn’t commented on it while she ate.

When she looked up, Dean leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. She didn’t jump, but she let out a soft growl. “Jesus, Dean. This is the women’s bathroom.”

Dean pushed himself off the wall. His eyes were set in an irritation, his jaw pulled taut. “I know.”

She forced herself to turn and face him. He was walking toward her in strides shorter than Sam’s, but it was all the more attractive. She felt her leg pulled her toward him, but she stopped herself. What was she doing? What was he doing? She could see his gaze on her as he closed the distance. It was . . . almost predatory. Only Sam had that kind of aura about him when he wanted her. Needed her.

Maddie let him get close. She let him dip his head down to kiss her, but she managed to lean away. It caught the Hunter off guard by how his eyes lifted slightly beneath lashes meant for a woman. Not that she thought it wasn’t hot. Dean’s lashes were . . . pretty for a pretty man.

The tip of her staff rested against his chin. She looked up at him with a smile she deemed sexy enough to make him melt in his boots. And he did just that; he licked his lips and shifted on his feet to control himself. It was more like a superpower than a tactic, in her opinion. The things she could do to rile men up and get them to do her bidding was astonishing.

Her lips curled as she spoke. “What’s your endgame?” she asked. Dean took a step back with a defeated little scoff. She had him right where she wanted him, and he knew it. He knew she wouldn’t take silence as an answer, yet she continued:

“Hmm? Shoot me”—she turned the staff in her hand as it grew in length, the tip sharpening to a clean point—“kidnap and torture me for another five weeks, what? Oh, lemme guess: You wanted to take me on a date as a little ‘fuck you’ toward Sam. Is that it? You think getting in my pants is gonna get me to talk? News flash, Dean Winchester: that ain’t gonna happen.”

Turning to stalk to the door, she knew she was finished. She said what she wanted to say, and that had to be the last of it. The silence that resonated from the Hunter was all she needed as her hand reached out to open the door, but Dean’s words made her stop: “I saw your face. In that lab.”

Her head turned to look over her shoulder. Dean was moving back towards her while he carried on with what he was saying. “The horror on your face . . . priceless. As much as I wanted to do you in about it, I knew Sam wasn’t the one you were worried about. Hell, worry ain’t the right word. Terrified. You looked terrified, Maddie, and it wasn’t for Sam.”

His hand gripped her shoulder and whirled her around, lifting her from her feet and slamming her back against the wall. She cursed his height. She cursed the six inches he had on her, or the brute strength that would trump hers if she were human.

He looked at her square in the eye. “So who was it? The coroner?”

She almost spilled everything to him right there. Her past was sitting on her tongue, just waiting to be spoken. The words she hasn’t told anybody in her thirty-three years of life were just waiting to be thrown in to the world for none other than Dean to know. He wasn't the person she wanted tell, not even close.

“1985”—stop it—“was the year medical science had a breakthrough; some dude walked out of a hospital with the first artificial heart. But things were going on behind closed doors . . . doors people didn’t wanna open because they were scared, paranoid at what might come out.”

Dean let her go and took a step back. The anger on his face was gone, simply replaced with an expression of sorrow. “And that was you?”

Maddie looked up at him through her lashes. Tears stung her eyes and threatened to spill, but she kept herself together. She was falling apart at the seams in front of Dean Winchester. She couldn’t do that, not now. Not ever.

She looked at her shoes as she felt herself sinking to the floor. Her knees met her chest. A tear slipped from her eye to her defeat. She glanced up at Dean, shaking, and watched him stoop to lean against the wall with her. She could tell he pitied her. That wasn’t her plan; to make him feel sorry. She wanted to beat the living crap out of him for torturing her, for carving into her like a Thanksgiving turkey.

But she didn’t have the energy or heart to do so.

“The . . . coroner isn’t a coroner. He doesn’t dissect the dead, he dissects the living. His wife and kid died in a car accident in 1984. His kid, a three-year-old, died instantly. Smashed her head against the front seat, crushing her skull and piercing her brain. The, uh, wife, Veronica, died eight hours later due to blunt force trauma to the head. He found out three days later when the hospital failed to contact him.”

The Hunter just stared at her as she continued. “He was a scientist for some lab in Colorado. One of the best in his field. And he was so overwhelmed with anger and grief that he turned to his work to make him a new kid . . . and that was me.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She looked at her shoes again. She didn’t have the courage to look at Dean, who was most likely feeling sorry for her the more she went on. He must not see her as a threat anymore. He probably saw her as an emotional asshole with a knack for pissing people off, let alone one who doesn’t get all touchy-feely when it comes to emotions.

She hated talking about her emotions. They were too . . . sappy to her. Emotions make her vulnerable, and being vulnerable gets people killed. Walls were a good way to keep things at bay. Yes. Walls. Walls were a beautiful thing.

Her walls were in shambles.

“He was gentle, and-and calm then. Maybe a blood sample here, and a little bit of skin from my back there. But, things got progressively worse when I got older,” she said with disgust in her voice.Her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw rew taut when flashbacks flooded back.

She closed her eyes. He was gone. He was dead, his throat was slit wide open by the man she loved. She remembered feeling his blood on her face. His blood, not Sam’s. The scientist’s blood, not Sam’s. Adam Dauer’s blood was once on her skin, was once slipping to the floor in a puddle of red. It felt good to see his blood spilled. Spilled blood meant he was dead.

Hopefully. He was hopefully dead and he’d stay that way.

Dean watched her put her head against the wall. Her eyes opened, lifting to watch the cracks in the ceiling. Her fists were clenched so tight she felt blood pooling in her hands. She hadn’t registered it until her fractured hand throbbed with even more pain.

His voice brought her back. “What happened to the hand?”

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She glanced at her knuckles, a semi-large mass with a mixture of blue, gray, and yellow bruises. “Punched a cement wall.”

“Oh, we’re punchin’ walls now, are we? I see, I see.” Her smile faded as she stared at the sinks. She could tell Dean wanted to say something, but she refused to hear it.

“I was six when he started clamping me to an autopsy table.” A pause to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Shoved a rag so far down my throat I didn’t know if I was breathing. He didn’t start cutting me open until I was seven. The first time, I, uh, passed out after two minutes. As I got older, I was losing consciousness less until it didn’t even happen. One time he kept me open for three days because I called him an asshole. I was nine.”

Dean stayed quiet. After a few moments, he asked the question she prayed he wouldn’t ask: “How long were you with him? With . . . Adam?”

Maddie let out a weak chuckle. She wiped her cheeks again, then her nose. Her arms crossed over her chest, a hand running up and down her biceps. Despite being dressed in a flannel and jeans, she felt cold.

She looked at Dean. Her jaw grew taut as a sigh slipped through her lips. “About fourteen years. I was twelve when I snapped.” She let out another chuckle. “Eight dozen other scientists came to see the world’s first genetically altered human being. Almost two-thirds of those scientists died in half an hour. I felt something be shot into my back and I passed out. Woke up strapped to an electric chair.”

It took her a few seconds to continue. Scenes of herself strapped to that damned chair with electrodes stuck to her skin. Adam stood before her, arms crossed and mouth moving. She heard no words, but she could still hear what he was saying: “You will not do that again.”

Each word he spoke sent electricity jolting through her. She’d scream bloody murder, doing nothing but smelling her skin frying and eyes stinging from the tears. Adam would simply smile down at her pain, at her struggles against the straps.

“I was, uh, electrocuted fifty-eight times. Each time he said the same six words. ‘You will not do that again.’ The electricity was equal to a stun gun taking down a rabid Yogi, I swear.” She cracked a smile, violently punching herself internally for becoming this open with Dean, the same man who wanted to put her in a grave.

She glanced at him, but she didn’t have time to protest as he leaned in and kissed her.

Vulgarity reeled through her mind. Her hand lifted to keep his head where it was as he deepened the kiss. Fireworks went off in her head, children laughed and rainbows opened up in the sky. She hadn’t expected that kissing Dean Winchester would feel this good. She hated to admit, the older Hunter was a better kisser than Sam.

Maddie pushed herself away. Sam. He’d tear her a new one if he found out about this. She shuddered when she opened her eyes and stared at Dean’s stunning verdant eyes. They were gorgeous, she had to give him that.

“Listen,” he said, “I-I’m sorry for, y’know, everything.”

A forced smile lifted her mouth. She kept glancing at him, wide-eyed as to why he just kissed her. She knew he had a crush on her, a massive one at best. But—

Did he just apologize to her?

“I, uh, th-thank you? It’s fine, really, I just . . . we don’t talk about what just went down, right?” She finally mustered the courage to actually look at him instead of staring at anything else. God, he was so gorgeous.

Dean smiled softly. She noticed his tongue was set between his teeth with his lips parted just the slightest, and that was pretty much how she wanted to fall over the edge with him.

#supernatural #spn fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #maddie rayner #sam x ofc #horrors and hunters #h&h #i'm sorryyyyyyyyyyyyyy #i listened to a 2-hour video of skyrim music to get this done

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