32. Proving a Point

"There's gotta be another way," I plea. I yank uselessly on the chains that bind me to the floor. My blue eyes are wide in fright. I can hear them, they're practically scratching at the door. The only thing standing between them and a fresh meal is that door, and their master. But their master won't stop them. "Please."

"Sorry, no loopholes in the contract," says Crowley. "You made the deal, you can't back out on your end."

"Bastard." I spit towards him, I only manage to get it on his shoe. "I hope the Winchesters kill your ass so you're unrecognizable."

"Whoa, going dark, are we?"

I struggle against the chains more. "I'm willing to make another deal."

"No counteroffers, dearie. One deal per customer."

I grunt. "Can't you at least let him go?" I nod my head in Dean's direction. He's to my right, strapped down to a chair. He's got a raging fire in his green eyes, but the flame is dimming with each passing second. I know the flame will blaze when I'm gone.

"And let him miss the show? I don't think that's fair, Maxi."

"Shut up with the damn nickname, Crowley!" I scream hoarsely. I sob when I feel my throat throb. I whimper, looking past the King of Hell, towards the door, where my death is waiting to take me. I can faintly see their shadows, the darks in the strip of light at the bottom of the door.

"I'll do this the old-fashioned way." He begins his slow walk towards the door. Instead of using magic that Dean and I very well know he possesses, he wants to prolong the agonizing wait.

"Max," says Dean. I turn my head to him but then flinch away. The last time I looked at him, his face was ghastly. I don't want to see that again. "Max, come on, baby. Look at me, Max. You know what's real and what isn't."

Slowly, carefully, I turn my head. I let out a quiet breath of relief. There's no horrifying alterations on his face. He's the same Dean Winchester I'd come to know. The same that will be watching me die. The same who might be let go and go on a quest to avenge my death.

"That's it," he says soothingly. My heart, my mind, everything is pulsing furiously. I know death is coming. "That's it, Max. Focus on me, don't look that way."

I choke out a cry. "Dean..."

"I know, I know." His hands twitch, just like mine do. We both want the same thing: for us to touch, the reassuring touch that everything will be okay. But why would we lie about it? Dean knows Hell isn't a nice place, demons spawn from there. I've glimpsed Hell, for God's sake! I know I won't be okay there! But right now, all I want to hear are lies. I want to cushion the fall that I'll be taking soon.

We completely ignore Crowley and his Hellhounds. We pretend as though we're the only two in the room.

"I'll be okay, Max," Dean assures me softly. The smile, on his mouth and in his eyes, is one of heartbreak. We're losing each other. That's the biggest thing for me, that Dean makes it through this. I'm not worried about myself like I should be. "Fight, okay?"

I nod vigorously. "Kick ass, for me."

What I wouldn't give for one last touch, one last kiss...

But Crowley isn't giving us any comfort. I don't hear footsteps, just the feral snarls of his pack. I swallow, taking all of my will power to focus on Dean and imprint his features into my head. I'll need something going into Hell. He'll give me the strength to get by for a while, I can feel it in my bones.

We hear the ancient creak of the door. Even as I hear the big paws thunder for me, even as I'm pushed to the ground. As I'm being chewed on, ripped into, torn apart. All I can focus on is Dean. Through my ear-splitting cries of pain and agony, I focus on Dean.

I can see the chink in his armor: how he's got a haunted look in his eyes as he watches. He doesn't look away, which I would rather he do.

Pain. Hot breath. Biting. Scratching. Fur. Bloody canines. Blood. A hot tear or two.

A Hellhound cuts my view of Dean off from me, and now I'm on my own.

***

"Son of a bitch." I rub my eyes before I splash water onto my face.

The moment I wake from the nightmare, I go for the nearest bathroom. I'm running out of time. I run my hands through my hair, trying to make it a new habit instead of scratching my arms raw. I head back into my room to find a note on the floor. I tilt my head as I read the scribble: Out for food. Keep an eye on Sam. I purse my lips.

Babysitting Sam would be easy, considering he's probably still asleep. He's been out since noon yesterday, which is a red flag to everyone. The second trial took more out of him than the first did. To my knowledge, Sam hasn't slept this long before.

Out of curiosity, I find the familiar path to Sam's room to check in on him. Sure enough, he's still out. At least he can sleep soundly, even though it's a bad thing. I pad through the halls and out into the library section of the bunker. This place feels empty, only because three people are staying in it. A fortress from all the evil, I think proudly. The Men of Letters don't sound as bad as I originally thought.

My head snaps up to the stairs, where Dean's coming through the second door, down the steps, a bag of groceries and six-pack of beer in each hand. I sigh through my nose, shaking my head as I watch him.

"Figured you might be up when I get back," he comments. I sidestep out of his way as he enters the library, putting the bag in a chair before putting himself in one.

"Oh, so you figured I wouldn't sleep well?"

"Max, when was the last time you slept through the night?"

My mouth quirks into a thin line. I grab the closest beer bottle to me, opening it and downing some of it. I make a face, which makes Dean barely laugh.

"Don't have a strong stomach for it?"

"I used to. It was my go-to when I could find it on the streets. Now I understand why I didn't take up drinking. It tastes awful."

"Hand it over, then. I'm not letting this go to waste."

"Oh, so you're not a germaphobe?" I hand him the beer.

"Pretty sure you're not ill, Max."

"You're lucky I didn't put any backwash in it. Then again, maybe some might've gotten back in there..."

"Bad scare tactic, Max." He takes a drink. "We've kissed. I don't think a little backwash will stop me, if there even is any in this."

I roll my eyes but notice the faint skeptical look in his eyes when he looks at the bottle.

Dean and I turn at the sleepy footsteps. Sam, definitely looking like he just crawled out of bed, shuffles into our view.

"Man, I'm telling you, give me five minutes with some clippers," says Dean.

"Shut up," Sam croaks, running his hands over his face and his hair. I'm slightly jealous as his hair is tamed with the simple motion. Mine requires combing through. His I bet doesn't even knot. "Uh, what time did I lay down?"

"You took a siesta around noon. Yesterday."

I watch a bottle fly in the air. Sam and I just watch it, I cringe upon seeing the impact of bottle-to-ground. I give Dean a pointed look.

"I'm sorry," says Sam. "I, uh..."

"That's why we don't have nice things, Sam."

"Whoa, hey, you okay?" I ask the younger Winchester as he stumbles.

"Yeah, I'm, I'm fine, I just-" He's leaning on the table, rubbing his face again. "Uh, you know, what, I'm gonna get dressed. We should go find Kevin."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, easy, easy, Sleeping Beauty," Dean says. "Look, man, I've hacked into every security camera around Garth's houseboat, Kevin's hometown, where Mrs. Tran lived..."

"And?"

"Well, nothing so far," I report somberly.

"Guys, we have to find him."

"I know," says Dean. "I know, but Garth is out looking for him, we got a hunter APB out on Kevin, we will do what we can from here while you get better."

"I'm fine. Dean, I can still go out there, I can still hunt."

"Really?"

I'm lingering beside Sam as the three of us take the path down to the shooting gallery. I see what Dean is trying to prove. But is it really necessary?

"This is stupid," says Sam.

"I sort of second that," I agree.

Dean loads the gun and hands it over to me. "You're helping prove my point, Max," he tells me.

"Whatever." I fire two shots. Not exactly bullseye hits, but at least my aim is getting better. "Happy now?"

"Alright. You hit that target, we'll talk about getting you back out there."

"No problem," says Sam.

Sam only proves Dean's point more. First, it's the wavering aim, and then it's the two big misses. I sigh heavily.

"Look, man," Dean says, concerned, "this second trial hit you a lot harder than that first one. I don't know whether it was just more intense or what."

"Felt the same. Till the next day."

"So, we're gonna sit tight. Keep an eye out until you get better."

"That doesn't mean we're chaining him to the bed," I tell Dean immediately. "We just don't let him leave."

"Come on, Max, not you too," Sam groans.

"Sorry, Sam, but I'm not blind. I know hunting runs in your blood, and any case that comes up you need to jump on it, but what does it do you let alone your brother any good if you can barely hit the target? Just humor us, Sam, and take it easy."

I'm pretty sure Sam's too tired to voice a complaint.

"Now, does anyone want something to eat?"

"Max, it's night," Dean points out.

"So what? Sam's been asleep since yesterday. He's had nothing in his system, and truthfully, I'm a little hungry myself. Come on." I gently grab Sam and pull him along behind me. "I'll make us something easy then ship you back off to bed."

**Mm, so Max's dreams are starting to get worse now. If you recall, she had one like this before. But this time she knows why now. She knows who's behind it.**