enjoythe_ride | In which she bails, which is what she does best.

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In which she bails, which is what she does best.

Bela was barely out of the hospital an hour before she was on the road again, getting the hell out of Charleston and as far away from where she was last seen as possible. She was getting out of the country. Sam wasn't the plane type, and she still had a few estates under her birth name back in England. She would hide out there until Sam was either dead or otherwise eradicated, and she'd be damned if someone was going to stand in her way and stop her.

She was in New York the next day, and as soon as she walked in the door she was tearing through the apartment, packing up everything she would need for her trip as quickly as she could. It wasn't long before she had her bags in front of her, but there was still one thing that was missing. One thing that she certainly couldn't leave the country without.

"Where the hell is it?" she muttered to herself, tearing apart the couch and every bag looking for her passport. They weren't going to let her through the gate, no matter how much money she tried to pay them with, and Bela was looking to get out without incident. Which meant she needed to find it. Now.

She could have sworn she left it in her purse...

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"I don't think I'm too good for anyone," she said quietly. She paused for a moment. "At least -- not where you would be concerned. I just -- " She reached for the eggs and started to crack them into the bowl. " -- Don't. Not everyone is a fan of having a slew of one night stands."

"Life I live, it's all I'm lucky to get. Tried the relationship, and it didn't work out in the end."

He finished the coffee and got up to pour himself another cup.

"It's complicated," she sighed, just continuing to work on what she was doing. "You wouldn't understand."

"Let me take a shot. You thought you were gonna die. So why bother? You'd have to just lose them in the end and feel the pain, and you like to be in control and not deal with things you don't want to feel."

"Not exactly." She stopped for a moment, before turning to face him again. "Why do really think I made my deal, Dean? Honestly -- no games or barbs."

"At the time, I was thinking it was for the money." He sipped his cup. "But thinking about it, and seeing this... makes me figure it ain't. Maybe something to do with the spilling your family blood that caused it. Sure as hell wasn't for a better personality."

She rolled her eyes slightly, before looking away from him towards the cabinets. "Remember when you asked me if my father didn't give me enough hugs? Quite the opposite, in fact. Or rather, I should say that he gave me far more than just hugs."

Dean nodded his head.

"You realize there are these people called police, right? They help with that kind of thing."

"No one believed me. Trust me, I tried." She turned back to the food at this point. "I was fourteen, and I was out of options. I didn't think about what the deal meant I just -- wanted out."

He was quiet a moment, not saying anything until he reached over to get some sugar for his coffee. "Don't blame you, then."

She poured the eggs into the pan as she started to cook them before speaking again. "I'm not looking for your pity, alright? I just -- want you to understand."

"Trust me, last thing you got to worry about is me pitying you," he deadpanned. "Just stating that I get it. Dad's a bastard, you needed out and you found a way and took it. Not the best planning, but things like that aren't always easy. It's the spending ten years as a bitch that I don't get."

"I was fourteen and I'd just sentenced myself to damnation for something someone else did," she shrugged slightly. "If I was going to Hell anyway, I wanted to make sure I'd earned it, as oppose to being a good person who didn't."

The eggs were cooked, and she started to divide them out onto plates. "Besides, being in the world I was in allowed me access to my options -- if there were things that would help me get out of it."

"Still doesn't explain the bitchiness." Dean smirked a bit though. He actually got it - what she was saying - because he had felt that for a good portion of his death sentence. But he had a year... she had ten.

She gave him a side-long look at that one, before handing him one of the plates. "Order up."

"Thanks." He took the plate, putting it on the counter. "Want me to top that cup off?" He held out the coffee pot to her.

She nodded a bit, before finishing cooking the rest of her breakfast and heading over to the kitchen table to sit.

Dean sat across from her, poking at his food a bit before starting to eat.

"You're lucky you managed to escape Hell," he told her softly.

She'd say that she didn't, but she had a feeling he wasn't quite thinking the same thing. If he wanted to talk though, she'd be willing to let him talk. He listened to her, the least she could do was listen to him.

"Considering the end result, I'm surprised you made it out mostly intact."

"I have a mission to focus on. If I didn't..."

He stabbed the eggs, not looking up. "I need to get Sam back. I don't have time to get all emotional about what happened down there."

"And when you get Sam back, what then? You'll deal with it after? Sam's going to be a mess. If he even survives this whole thing, you'll have to focus on him. When are you going to take care of yourself?"

She watched him carefully, before moving her hand across the table and resting over his free hand.

"Sometimes, things -- just have to be dealt with, Dean. Sometimes there's things you have to get emotional about or you're going to break, and it may not happen after you get Sam back. You could fall apart long before that happens, and then where will you be?"

Dean licked his lips. He didn't pull his hand back, but his leg started to bounce nervously under the table. It was his only betrayal of just how wound up he was.

"If I fall apart, I fail. I'm not going to fail in this. I can't."

Her thumb brushed against the back of his hand lightly, repetitively, trying to be soothing in a way that didn't involve her getting up and walking around the table.

"Dean, you only fail if after you fall apart, you can't pull yourself back together. And the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be to do that."

That was the thing: Dean wasn't sure he would be able to pull himself back together if he let himself fall apart. He couldn't risk it, not with Sammy's soul on the line.

"I guess it's just a risk I have to take."

Her eyes looked back down at her food for a moment again, taking a few bites, but not moving her hand. There was a connection there, and she wasn't sure if she was doing it for herself or for him, but since he wasn't moving either, she assumed it was just for the both of them.

"You're not alone, you know. You are allowed to ask for help."

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