[MTM] TEN people you wish you'd never met.

[enjoythe_ride]

1. He comes into her room at night, and she drifts away to somewhere else. She’s tired of fighting or screaming—it doesn’t seem to do her any good, and sometimes it only seems to make things worse. So she disappears. It doesn’t matter where, or when, but she’s elsewhere. She’s not little Abby, the girl who knows this is wrong, and that it shouldn’t be happening (he’s her father), she’s someone else. Someone who’s watching, and helpless to do anything else. She’s far, far away, and this isn’t happening to her. It’s someone else. Anyone else.

She drifted away and indulged in a fantasy, pretending she had a different home, different family. She was some kind of heroine, fighting to save the world and she had family that loved her, took care of her. Didn’t treat her like this. She had a father who was a father and loved her. He didn’t hurt her, he took care of her. That was the world she wanted, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes and go there, and pretend that the sweaty mass on top of her was gone. That it never had been there, and never would be again. And every inch of her screams that she wishes she was someone else’s daughter.

2. She knows. Abby knows that she knows and she doesn’t do anything about it. All she does is just look away, pretending that she doesn’t and hanging her daughter out to dry. Every time her father came, she’d just look the other way, let him do what he did. Abby tried to talk to her, try to get her to do something, but she didn’t. She just sat there and let it happen, watched as her husband molested her daughter. And each time, Abby could never figure out why.

3. “I could take care of that for you. And it won’t cost you a thing for ten whole years.”

She was a fourteen year old girl, and this little child, this girl, was handing her everything she wanted on a silver platter. A way out, some kind of freedom. Her father would never touch her again. And in order to trust Lilith, that was all she really needed to know.

4. “Well, well, well,” a cold voice said from behind her. “Look at this young little thing with sticky fingers.”

She froze in her tracks, hesitant to turn around, but knowing that she just couldn’t stay still. This man had the biggest collection of occult objects that she had ever seen. She had been researching him for ages—five years post her parents death she had come to realize that ten years wasn’t quite as long as she thought it was and she needed to get out. Fast. So she started looking things up, digging into demons, finding out what she could about the deal and how to break it. She looked into everything she could find until she stumbled across Luke Haynes’ collection of antiquities, and realized that with everything he possessed, there was bound to be something that could help her. For a moment, she’d actually thought she’d found it.

Getting into the estate had taken ages. She needed to buy her way into a party get the right dress, fit in with the right atmosphere. Luckily for her, she’d been born into this society. Unfortunately for her—she was a thief that lacked training, and she got herself caught. However, she hoped to prove to be more slippery than he could give her credit for.

She spun around with a bright smile, trying to look older than her nineteen years, and hopefully coming off more as coy than childish. She held up her hand before wiggling her fingers slightly. “My hands are clean—no sticky fingers here.”

The man only chuckled, looking at her in a low, predatory manner that was by no means making her feel more comfortable than she was, before starting to move closer to her. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Bela,” she swallowed quickly, picking the first name that came to mind other than her own, and praying that he wouldn’t catch her lying. “Bela Talbot.” She straightened more, doing her best to seem less intimidated and more confident—which worked for her because she was good at playing games. “Bela Talbot, at your service.”

5. They were kindred souls, her and Dean. He would probably deny it, say they were nothing alike, but they were. They had both been two people, stuck in impossible situations, and desperate to find a way out of them. Desperate enough to give themselves away in order to make sure that they could survive. Granted, Dean had been more desperate that she was—one year was all he had, and he had taken the deal that way—but then again, the Winchesters had always been the better people in this situation.

She should have known that he had seen the devil’s shoestring above her door. It was written all over his face that he knew. But she had been so focused on the fact that she would get out of the deal anyway—death by bullets was better than death by hellhound—that she hadn’t seen the look on his face, the fact that he knew. It wasn’t until later, when she was sitting in that dingy old motel room, waiting for the hounds to find her, that she realized what he had done, and she cursed him for not giving her the easy way out. And she cursed knowing him, because she’d rather not be carrying this guilt to her grave.

6. She’d liked Sam. She’d liked him a lot, actually—he was an easy mark, but he was smart too. He knew how to figure things out. He would have been useful, in the long run, if she had actually had one. But desperate people do desperate things, and although she knew that demons weren’t exactly the most trustworthy beings, especially when they were holding all the cards, she was desperate enough to do anything to see if it would work.

But the problem was, she knew Sam. She liked him. It wasn’t some poor fool who happened to have made an enemy of Lilith, it was Sam Winchester, the man who had saved her life, the man who she had shot before, but that wasn’t exactly shooting to kill. She didn’t know if she could look at Sam and shoot him dead, but she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try.

Then again, she was probably damned either way.

7. She looked into his eyes and saw anger. Rage. He may have deserved to be hanged by his brother, he may not have, but he was just so angry regardless. His brother had betrayed him, put him to death when he was supposed to have been protecting him, and there was nothing he could have done about it. She looked at the ghost, and wondered if her parents would carry the same rage in their eyes. Her father’s maybe, possibly. She doubted that her mother would.

In fact, her mother would probably carry the same dead eyes she had in her life. She would look away, pretend she didn’t see what was standing right in front of her. And regardless of how much Bela hated her, how much Bela hated what she allowed her father to do to her, she knew that no matter what, she wouldn’t be able to look at her, just like it made her sick to her stomach to look at the ghost in front of her.

8. She hadn’t planned on running into him. In fact, no one was counting on Gordon Walker getting out jail anytime soon, but with the rumored number of times that Sam and Dean had escaped from prison, she should have figured that anything was possible. Why he came looking for her, however, aside from the fact that she had just been with the boys, she had no idea.

He was a rather amusing man, Gordon. He really didn’t know her very well, and he clearly didn’t go in there knowing what to expect. A gun to her head wasn’t about to scare her. In fact, if he killed her, he’d probably be doing her a favor. But he wanted his information more than he wanted to see her head on a platter, and she knew it. The regret really came for when she sent him after Sam and Dean and got him turned into a vampire. She wouldn’t wish vampirism on anyone. Really. She wouldn’t.

9. Agent Hendrickson sounded like a very dedicated man over the phone. And having him find out that she could point him in the direction of men he’d been pursuing for months had him asking fewer questions than she thought. He was desperate to get the Winchesters into custody, and she played off that, played him like a fiddle. For some reason she didn’t think that he would wind up dead. She should have known better. She really should have, but for some reason it didn’t hit her until she saw the report on the news. Another bit of guilt to settle into her stomach, not that she wasn’t carrying enough already.

10. Rufus was bait. There was no other way to put it. He was bait for the Winchesters to come her way and so she could finish the job. She hadn’t anticipated the background search, however. Her secret about who she killed was one she had been planning on taking to her grave—it was something she never wanted anyone to know, especially since they would want to delve into the reasons why, and she really wasn’t interested in giving that information away—ever. However, her meeting with Rufus had some what limited her in that respect, and now Dean knows what she did, and he thinks he knows the why. Dying with him thinking nothing more of her than he did when she was alive was fine with her. She wasn’t looking for pity.

And she certainly didn’t want it from Dean Winchester.



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