Bela Talbot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
enjoythe_ride) wrote2009-11-15 12:28 am
enjoythe_ride) wrote2009-11-15 12:28 am
In which there are some nightmares.
[Set in Bed of Roses. Cowritten with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silvr_moonbeams.]
They didn't happen often anymore, but every once in a while, usually on the anniversary of their death, they started to sneak back in again.
It wasn't so much of a picture, but more of a feeling. The feeling of him pressing down on top of her, inside her. It was crushing, like she was being suffocated and couldn't breathe, and all she could do was just close her eyes and pray for it to be over. But it just kept coming, over and over, again and again, until she was prepared to beg him to stop, because if she did it would only make it worse. She wasn't sure if he would enjoy it, of if he would just smack her and tell her to be quiet. He didn't want to be interrupted. He never wanted to be interrupted. It was their secret, and he expected her to take it to her grave.
He had tried to make it like a game, once upon a time, but the trouble was, she'd gotten to old to be fooled by it. She knew better. She knew just by the way she felt when he touched her that it was wrong, and that was the way he was touching her now, and she hated it. She wanted to scrub her skin off so that she didn't have to feel the way his fingers touched her. The touch of your father was supposed to be comforting. It was supposed to make you feel loved. Instead it just made her feel sick.
She'd never been one to really remember her dreams but these nightmares were something different entirely. Perhaps it was because they drew on memories themselves but she couldn't get out of them, couldn't shake herself awake -- force herself to realize that it wasn't real and she could wake up now and be safe. It was because those things that happened to her were real, and no amount of magic she could do would take that away from her. All that was left for her to do was toss and turn, trying to fight her way out of it with an occasional moan of something akin to heartbreak and fear, and hope that somehow she'd find a way through.
Dean had been sleeping quite well, but not hard enough to not notice Bela moving beside him. He grunted slightly as he awoke and glanced over at her. He frowned and his arm circled her waist and pulled her in close. "Bela," he murmured. "Wake up, sweetheart."
She didn't at first. She just pushed back against him, murmuring a half-hearted "no" as she tried to put some distance between her and the imaginary person keeping her far too close.
He let her push him away and propped himself up on his elbow to lean over her slightly. "Bela," he said, a little louder. His fingers brushed her cheek.
The second time he said her name, it was enough to make it register that that wasn't what her father called her, but that was when it started to get worse, dragging her back in, but this time she wanted to get out. She clawed her way out as she tried to wake herself up, and by the time she actually did, she was sitting up slightly burying her face in her hands as she tried to catch her breath.
Dean sat up beside her, a worried look covering his face. "It's okay," he said gently, brushing his hand through her hair.
Her breathing started to slow eventually and she groaned, pulling her knees to her chest as she did. "No, it's not." She's supposed to have herself together. This was all supposed to be behind her. He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. She started to lean in to him at first, but after about a second she realized her skin was still crawling, and she pushed away gently. "Not right now. I'm sorry."
He nodded and moved back on the bed to lean against the headboard. "Okay," he said, waiting.
After about five minutes, she sat back with him, letting her head rest against his shoulder as she tried to get closer. The initial scared feeling had past and her skin had cleared, and now she needed him closer. When she moved close, he stretched his arm around her again. He wasn't sure what was going on in her head, so he kept quiet and just sat there for her. She closed her eyes, before resting against him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"I don't mind," he said gently. "You okay?"
"Not particularly," she sighed softly. "But it's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
"What do you want?"
"I -- " she paused for a moment, before shaking her head. "I don't know. Just -- stay."
"I'm here," he nodded. She curled into him, resting her forehead against his shoulder and just staying close. He rubbed her arm and pressed his lips to the top of her head again. "It'll be okay," he murmured.
"I know," she sighed softly. "I just -- hate that it keeps coming up."
"Ignore it," he said. "Don't let it...do this to you."
"I can't," she said softly. "It's just -- it's there. It's always there."
He went quiet, not too sure what he could say. He sighed. After a bit he moved a bit so her was leaned over her slightly. "So'm I," he shrugged.
She looked up at him, watching him for a moment, before leaning in to kiss him gently. "Thank you." He held her cheek and kissed her back. She held the kiss for a moment, before pulling back to settle under the covers again. "I really am sorry for waking you up."
"It's really okay," he nodded. His arm looped around her waist. She curled into him, closing her eyes as she pushed closer. He kissed her ear lightly.
"Thanks for not pushing as well."
"Not my thing," he shrugged. "'sides, not really feelin' like sleepin' on the couch." He smirked.
She chuckled slightly, before kissing under his chin lightly. "Night, Dean."
He leaned down to catch her lips. "Night, Bela." She held the kiss for a moment, before closing her eyes and starting to drift off slowly. Dean lay back and held her against his chest, waiting for her to fall asleep before he let himself do the same.
silvr_moonbeams.]They didn't happen often anymore, but every once in a while, usually on the anniversary of their death, they started to sneak back in again.
It wasn't so much of a picture, but more of a feeling. The feeling of him pressing down on top of her, inside her. It was crushing, like she was being suffocated and couldn't breathe, and all she could do was just close her eyes and pray for it to be over. But it just kept coming, over and over, again and again, until she was prepared to beg him to stop, because if she did it would only make it worse. She wasn't sure if he would enjoy it, of if he would just smack her and tell her to be quiet. He didn't want to be interrupted. He never wanted to be interrupted. It was their secret, and he expected her to take it to her grave.
He had tried to make it like a game, once upon a time, but the trouble was, she'd gotten to old to be fooled by it. She knew better. She knew just by the way she felt when he touched her that it was wrong, and that was the way he was touching her now, and she hated it. She wanted to scrub her skin off so that she didn't have to feel the way his fingers touched her. The touch of your father was supposed to be comforting. It was supposed to make you feel loved. Instead it just made her feel sick.
She'd never been one to really remember her dreams but these nightmares were something different entirely. Perhaps it was because they drew on memories themselves but she couldn't get out of them, couldn't shake herself awake -- force herself to realize that it wasn't real and she could wake up now and be safe. It was because those things that happened to her were real, and no amount of magic she could do would take that away from her. All that was left for her to do was toss and turn, trying to fight her way out of it with an occasional moan of something akin to heartbreak and fear, and hope that somehow she'd find a way through.
Dean had been sleeping quite well, but not hard enough to not notice Bela moving beside him. He grunted slightly as he awoke and glanced over at her. He frowned and his arm circled her waist and pulled her in close. "Bela," he murmured. "Wake up, sweetheart."
She didn't at first. She just pushed back against him, murmuring a half-hearted "no" as she tried to put some distance between her and the imaginary person keeping her far too close.
He let her push him away and propped himself up on his elbow to lean over her slightly. "Bela," he said, a little louder. His fingers brushed her cheek.
The second time he said her name, it was enough to make it register that that wasn't what her father called her, but that was when it started to get worse, dragging her back in, but this time she wanted to get out. She clawed her way out as she tried to wake herself up, and by the time she actually did, she was sitting up slightly burying her face in her hands as she tried to catch her breath.
Dean sat up beside her, a worried look covering his face. "It's okay," he said gently, brushing his hand through her hair.
Her breathing started to slow eventually and she groaned, pulling her knees to her chest as she did. "No, it's not." She's supposed to have herself together. This was all supposed to be behind her. He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. She started to lean in to him at first, but after about a second she realized her skin was still crawling, and she pushed away gently. "Not right now. I'm sorry."
He nodded and moved back on the bed to lean against the headboard. "Okay," he said, waiting.
After about five minutes, she sat back with him, letting her head rest against his shoulder as she tried to get closer. The initial scared feeling had past and her skin had cleared, and now she needed him closer. When she moved close, he stretched his arm around her again. He wasn't sure what was going on in her head, so he kept quiet and just sat there for her. She closed her eyes, before resting against him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"I don't mind," he said gently. "You okay?"
"Not particularly," she sighed softly. "But it's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
"What do you want?"
"I -- " she paused for a moment, before shaking her head. "I don't know. Just -- stay."
"I'm here," he nodded. She curled into him, resting her forehead against his shoulder and just staying close. He rubbed her arm and pressed his lips to the top of her head again. "It'll be okay," he murmured.
"I know," she sighed softly. "I just -- hate that it keeps coming up."
"Ignore it," he said. "Don't let it...do this to you."
"I can't," she said softly. "It's just -- it's there. It's always there."
He went quiet, not too sure what he could say. He sighed. After a bit he moved a bit so her was leaned over her slightly. "So'm I," he shrugged.
She looked up at him, watching him for a moment, before leaning in to kiss him gently. "Thank you." He held her cheek and kissed her back. She held the kiss for a moment, before pulling back to settle under the covers again. "I really am sorry for waking you up."
"It's really okay," he nodded. His arm looped around her waist. She curled into him, closing her eyes as she pushed closer. He kissed her ear lightly.
"Thanks for not pushing as well."
"Not my thing," he shrugged. "'sides, not really feelin' like sleepin' on the couch." He smirked.
She chuckled slightly, before kissing under his chin lightly. "Night, Dean."
He leaned down to catch her lips. "Night, Bela." She held the kiss for a moment, before closing her eyes and starting to drift off slowly. Dean lay back and held her against his chest, waiting for her to fall asleep before he let himself do the same.