Let's Keep My Brain From Exploding, Shall We?

Burning Bright

Sometimes, Dean really wished she couldn't see them. She also wished that she didn't have a problem with staying up this late, up at Witching Hour.

11:00 to 12:00, the things swarmed around her room, whispering to her, promising things, threatening her, or just rambling. No one else could see them. Or hear them. One would've thought she would have gone crazy by now.

And maybe, just maybe, she had. There certainty wasn't anyone in her life that cared enough to tell her otherwise. All that existed was the things, her apathetic parents, and the cruel people outside.

"There she is, she is so pretty, Master will be pleased, oh yes, hmmmm, so pretty..."

Dean gulped and squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. It was Witching Hour again, but something new had happened. Sure the usual swarm of things had shown up, and she had closed her eyes to fake sleep, but ten minutes ago, a large one had shown up. The smaller ones had backed off, and their whispering was very, very quiet. Then the big one had started cooing about how pretty she was and how it's master would be so happy.

Dean of course wondered what it's master was--or maybe who--and honestly, the possibilities terrified her. She found herself wishing she could stand pulling the sheets over her head, but it just got so stuffy so quickly, it wasn't worth it.

"He's coming soon, pretty one, do not fret, my Master will take care of you, it really was a mistake, on your parent's part, not to inform you of your fate, wasn't it pretty one, last time it was your great grandmother's turn and now it is yours, I did not like her, she was strange, pretty one, and not nice looking at all, and she ignored us all, including the Master, just sat in a room, crying, and muttering to herself, it made the Master quite angry, pretty one, I suggest you do not do that, it was a big mess to clean up, yes it was, ooohhh, and the Master was, well not depressed, he does not get depressed, more like mournful over his loss of the old one, and how we'd hate to loose you, pretty one, oh yes..."

The way the thing spoke reminded Dean of Golum from Lord of the Rings. It was creepy, to say the least. And that wasn't even taking the context of what it was saying into account. According to it, it's 'Master' was coming, and that didn't seem like an event she wanted to be present for.

But she couldn't move. She'd tried before, and had almost gotten her left foot bitten off. There was a nasty scar. So she was stuck in her bed until the Witching Hour was over, and she couldn't even see how much longer that was, because if she opened her eyes the things would start talking louder, and louder, and loude--

"Oh here he comes, good evening Master, how are you, the pretty one has been being watched over!"

"I see that."

Dean went stiff. Never, never, had there been a voice like this. It was deep and smooth, like chocolate or some other bad metaphor one would find in a romance story.

A quiet tap-tap-tap neared Dean's bed, and she felt presence leaning over her, and eyes studying her. It made her so uncomfortable. She wondered if she could get away with turning away from the larger thing, as if she was stuck in a nightmare. She certainly had the heart rate to support the act.

As her mind raced, the Master thing leaned down.

"I know you're awake... Dean." He breathed into her ear, lips brushing her dark brown hair. Dean shuddered, disturbed by the way it had said her name. It was almost like he'd purred it. "Open your eyes, my dear."

Knowing, somehow, that she couldn't fool the being that she was still asleep, Dean just shook her head, keeping her eyes clenched shut. The Master growled lowly.

"And why not?"

Dean slowly extracted her left hand from under the blankets and cautiously pointed and the horde of still whispering things. The Master's gaze transferred from her to the things, who immediately shut up.

"Leave." He hissed at them. There was a shrill squeak and Dean couldn't sense them anymore. The gaze rested on Dean once more, who had extracted her other hand. "Now open your eyes."

Dean tapped her wrist, and the thing seemed to understand. She felt his eyes flicker away for a moment before he spoke again.

"It's 12:02." He said. "The hour is over."

Dean slowly sat up. One might wonder why she was complying with the thing's orders, and the answer was quite simple. He gave off this aura. It was comforting in a way, but the sense that this thing was in charge, and if Dean didn't do what he said she'd find out what it was like to be the body in Bones, oozed off of him.

He was not someone she wanted to piss off.

"Now," He demanded. "Open your eyes."

She did so, and her green-brown eyes met it's glowing fuchsia ones, surrounded by darkness. He smirked at her expression and chuckled.

"Hmm, so it is you." He mused aloud. His eyes flared brighter, and her head began to feel fuzzy. "Now, my dear Deanna, sleep."

His arms wrapped around Dean as she went limp, and he picked her up.

"It's good to see you again, my dear." He whispered as they dissolved into shadows.

.....

In the morning, Dean's bedroom door freaked open and her sickly-looking mother peered in. She spotted a pentagram burned into Dean's pillowcase and nodded, closing the door, whispering one last thing to her daughter.

"Happy sweet 16, Dean..."