May 2nd, 2013

Death.

It was a fact of life. In this world, death was a constant. But some deaths were shocking - unexpected goodbyes that left the mourners vulnerable in ways they could not possibly have imagined.

Becky stood at the graveside with her sister, Leah, and her grandfather, Ephraim, gripping their hands as she fought not to dissolve into floods of tears once again. Though their family was no longer Jewish, they had kept a few of the traditions from that religion. The death had taken place only two days before; torn black ribbons adorned the clothes of the nearest relations to the deceased. The service had been short; a simple celebration of the life that had been lived, and an acknowledgement of the family left behind to mourn.

As the prayers were said over the grave, Becky's mind wandered unwillingly to the moment that would haunt her for the rest of her life. An argument with her father - one of many - and her back turning as she marched toward the front door. The door bursting open to reveal something she had hoped never to see ....one of the black and red tattooed hybrids of Hades; a Alpha, all alone, its dead flesh pungent with the stink of decomposition, its eyes mad with the will of its master. Hearing herself scream, feeling her father's hands pushing her aside. Looking up to see the hybrid wrench her father's head back and rip out his throat with one clawed hand. Feeling her father's blood spray her face as she caught his body in her arms. Barely noticing as Sam thundered into the house and decapitated the creature that had stolen her father from her for no reason.

Sam had saved her life, but it was her father to whom she owed everything. She had become a target in the Olympian war, and only her father's intervention had prevented her from becoming a casualty of that war. He had died to save her life, without thinking; he had put himself in mortal danger to save his youngest daughter, despite the harsh words they had shared only moments before. He had died in agony, listening to his daughter's tears as she promised him that she loved him.

Grief is a terrible thing. It numbs you and hurts you; it opens you to influences you would never entertain were it not for that aching chasm left behind by your loss. Becky had made it onto Hades' hit list, and now she was vulnerable. Some things could not be guarded against.

After the mourners had gone, when the men were filling the grave, she stood there still, Sam's arm wrapped about her shoulders, sobbing out her fear and pain and grief in the quiet of the sun-filled cemetery. She should have been with her family - with her grandfather and her sister, with the people who needed her - but she could not yet pull herself away from the last resting place of the father she had loved so well. They had not particularly liked each other these last few years, but there was no denying that there had been deep love there. And now it was gone.

And in the silence of her mind, a stray thought made itself known, a thought she might never have considered at any other time.

"None of this would have happened if not for Jo Winchester."

May 13th, 2013

Sleep.

She just needed a decent night's rest, that was all. If she could just get a full eight hours without being woken by nightmares, that would be great. The voices would stop, and she'd be able to get back to her studies without distractions. But the nightmares weren't stopping. Worse, they were beginning to morph into fear-fueled horrors that made her afraid to try and go back to sleep when she woke.

She knew she was worrying Sam. The last three mornings, he had woken up alone in the bed, seeking her out only to discover that she had been awake and alone with her thoughts since the very small hours of the night, unwilling to wake him to share in her night terrors. Several hours, every night, spent arguing with the voices in her head. Voices that insisted only one person was to blame for all the pain and loss she was experiencing.

No matter what she did, where she went, who she was with, the voices were there. She thought she must be going mad, and yet ....she couldn't bring herself to tell anyone about them. Surely, the rational part of her mind argued, if she could just tell someone that she was hearing voices, she would be able to get help. But what if there was no help to be found" What if this was how the rest of her life was going to play out, haunted by voices that fueled an irrational sense of injustice and growing fear" What could anyone do to help her?

"No one can help you. Jo Winchester must die."

May 29th, 2013

Pain.

Not the normal aches and pains, those she could have coped with. Not even the near constant headache that plagued her, making it harder to argue with the voices that promised all of it would go away if she did what they suggested.

No, this was real pain. Blood bloomed from her hand where she'd cut it, clumsiness brought on by tremors she couldn't seem to control having sent a glass flying into the wall for no apparent reason. Becky swore as she picked up the pieces, dumping them into the bathroom sink before leaning on the porcelain as though it might give her some respite.

"Just one act, and it all goes away."

"No," she whispered, looking into the sunken, haunted eyes of her own reflection. She was a shadow of the person she'd been just a few weeks ago. Lack of sleep was taking its toll on her all too visibly; dark circles under her eyes; those same eyes red-rimmed and burning with the need to rest; her collarbone prominent as she lost weight as well as sleep. And all the while, those voices, never letting up, never allowing her to tell anyone what she heard.

"Without her, none of this would be happening. Without her, your life would be normal."

Becky shook her head, trembling hands reaching to turn on the taps, to wash her cut hand and reach for a towel to wrap about the little wound. She welcomed that pain, strangely. It was sharp and immediate, a vital reminder that, despite everything, she was still alive, she was still functioning. The throbbing in her head refused to let up, the legacy of three weeks without decent sleep.

Pills didn't work. Remedies didn't work. Sam had suggested asking an Olympian, but her reaction had been so viscerally against even the thought of it that he had not brought it up again. He was worried about her, she knew. She was worried about her. But it couldn't last forever. Could it?

"Until she's dead, you will suffer. Jo Winchester must die."

June 10th, 2013

Becky yawned, rubbing her eyes blearily.

She'd been sitting in the car for a good couple of hours by now, something that had concerned Sam when she'd insisted on it. But then, she'd been avoiding spending any time at all with his parents for more than a month now, so her refusal to come in while he visited with them wasn't exactly unexpected. Ellen had come out to try and convince her to come inside, but Becky had been resolute. If she was honest with herself, she had also been more than a little rude about it, too. Nearly two months of little to no sleep had done nothing for her social skills, and her ability to be rational was giving up the ghost.

"He's been in there a long time."

Absently, she murmured an agreement to that thought. A few weeks ago, just feeling herself agreeing would have been horrifying to her, but it didn't seem so bad now. After all, the voice was just stating the obvious; where was the harm in agreeing with that' Looking over toward the Singers' house, she considered it for a long moment. There was no movement inside; normally, she could see the family moving back and forth as they talked. None of them were very good at sitting still. But no one was moving, that she could see.

"What if it's too late?"

A faint frown touched her brows as she considered that thought. Too late for what? Too late to ....save them' Had something happened in there, and she had been sitting out here, unaware of it this whole time" The thought of Sam in danger, Sam hurt, brought a gasp to her throat, her chest constricting with terror at the prospect of losing him, too, and she fumbled for the door handle, pushing herself out of the car on shaking legs. Despite her weakness from weeks of sleep deprivation, she forced herself onward, creeping up over the porch as quietly as she could.

There was no sound from inside. Her hand gently brushed the front door, and it swung open at her touch, not even closed properly, much less locked up tight the way it usually was.

"Hello?" she called out softly, uncertain whether she really wanted anyone to answer her. "Sam?"

But there was no answer. Just a heavy silence that enveloped her weary mind and body as she stepped further inside. There was nothing to see right here - just the doors to the closet and bathroom standing slightly ajar, the basement entrance closed up tight. The stairs leading upward to her right, opposite the open archway that led into the main room. Her eyes turned automatically to that room, half-expecting to see the whole family gathered there, staring at her for the idiot that she was. What she did see made her reel back in shock.

Blood.

Splattered on the desk and wall, pooled on the rug beneath the body of Bobby Singer, his throat sliced so wide she could see his severed vocal chords. Sightless eyes stared at the doorway in silent accusation, one hand stretched toward the couch, toward ....

Becky felt herself sob, leaning heavily against the blood-spattered wall as she found herself looking down at Ellen's lifeless body. There was no way the woman could have survived whatever had attacked her - not only was her throat cut open, but her shirt was holed in many places, her chest stabbed too many times to make sense of the injuries inflicted upon her.

"Oh, my God ..."

Horrified, knowing she should leave, call the police, do something, Becky turned toward the kitchen doors that stood half open. Little Robert's basket was on its side ....she didn't dare investigate further. Anything that could do that to the Singers would have no compunction in ending the youngest Winchester before he reached his first year. Stepping around it carefully, she peered into the kitchen ....and there was Dean, fingers scraping with lost strength against the floor as the blood bubbled up from his mouth, drowning in that blood before her eyes. His gaze was turned toward the door from the kitchen toward the stairs, and to her horror, Becky realized that there was a trail of blood leading upward.

Too shocked to think clearly, she followed the trail, creeping up the stairs, needing to see all there was to see. Sam was still in here somewhere; she needed him to be all right. But those prayers were not to be answered.

Scarcely had she reached the next level than her eyes fell on her worst nightmare. Sam ....her darling, perfect Sam, the only reason she had held herself together at all during these last hateful weeks ....lay on the floor before the door into the master bedroom, sprawled in an attitude that suggested he might almost have managed to escape with a little more luck. His throat, too, was open; there was cuts littering his hands and arms. He'd put up a fight, it seemed, but not even he could save himself.

She fell onto her knees beside his body, feeling his blood on her skin as she wrapped her arms about the lifeless form of her lover, kissing his face, pleading with him not to be dead. Who had done this? The Singers' place was supposed to be safe from the Olympians; not even the friendlies could find it without being summoned by blood or familiarity with the locations, and yet there was all this carnage, and -

Some unknown instinct made her look around, diving out of the way as a bloody knife slashed past her face. Sprawled on the floor, dizzied by the sudden movement, she looked up in time to see Jo looming over her, covered in blood, her mouth twisted in a fearful grimace. Jo leaning down to plunge the knife into her heart ...

A knock on the window beside her made Becky jump, startled out of her nightmare only to find Jo Winchester bending down beside the car, a friendly smile on her face as she offered her son's girlfriend a cup of coffee. She didn't even try to persuade Becky to come inside, just handing over the caffeine with a promise that Sam would be out soon. Becky managed a weak smile and a thank you, watching the woman's retreat back into the house over the rim of the cup.

"Jo Winchester must die."

Yes, she thought to herself, tipping the coffee out of the window the moment Jo was out of sight. Jo was evil. She had to die.