TINTED ▷ Sam Winchester [1]

15 | WERE-SHIFTER

   Sleep is impossible for the few weeks following the fight with Lucifer. My eyes are irritated and dry as I scroll down one meaningless website after another. The sad fact about our failed experiment with Lucifer is that we are back to square one. Jack squat on how to stop the Darkness.

    Dean complimented me on my fighting skills, saying I got a few good hits at Lucifer. I was just thankful that they did not hear what the Devil and I said to each other in the prop-cage.

    Yes, I knew Lucifer some years ago. It was exactly five and a half years ago, actually, right after he was busted out of the cage. He asked me for help and in return, he got me out of a sticky situation. Not my proudest moment, but it needed to be done.

    Anyways, since we've been back from the prop-cage, we already went on a hunt, involving a banshee. We also met a girl— a hunter— named Eileen Lahey. Her parents had been killed when she was a baby, by the very same banshee that we were hunting. She had tracked it down. When she was a baby, the banshee's screams rendered her deaf for the rest of her life. But she is amazing at reading lips. It was fun getting to know her. It gave me a chance to practice my sign language.

    During the banshee case, there was an incident where Dean had fallen victim to the banshee's screams, and he ended up hitting his head into a wall repeatedly. It's something the banshee does to it's victims: drives them crazy. Hitting his head into the wall was an attempt to stop the screams.

    When we arrived back to the Bunker, I felt bad about Dean's head— even though it wasn't really my fault— so I made him an apple pie. He was surprised by this.

    "What's this for?" He had said, suspicious that I had made food for the first time since I'd been in the Bunker.

    "I feel bad about your head," I had replied. He only moved his head to the side, still confused. "It's pie."

    This was enough for him to sit down and cautiously pick up a fork, reaching for the food with the utensil. He scraped off a forkful and put it in his mouth.

    "Oh, wow," he grumbled, despite his mouth being full of food. "You made this?" He lowered his eyebrows, gesturing to the food.

    I nodded. "Yeah."

    He only hummed in response, obviously pleased with my cooking. I smiled.

    "Yeah, he's not gonna let you leave anytime soon," Sam had told me as he came in moments later, wondering what Dean's moaning was about. I only shrugged.

    "That's okay," I told him. "I like it here." We made eye contact an extra few seconds before I had slipped out of the room, wondering if he could figure out what was written between those lines.

    My bed was uncomfortable, again. I tossed and turned, and repositioned myself dozens of times, but nothing worked. Nothing. What the actual hell is the matter with my bed?