Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 11 - Interlude
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Ben’s super proud of himself.
He totally got all the words in the message right, he knows it.
Back from shoe shopping with Pamela and wearing a new pair of sneakers that are so cool but need to be scuffed up before he dares wear them to school, he races through the forest behind Collinwood to the big tree stump where he and Sarah always meet.
She’s sitting against the wooden stump with her knees drawn up reading Swiss Family Robinson.
“Hello, Ben!” she says brightly. She carefully wraps the book back in the ziploc baggie Ben brought for it.
Sarah had thought it was the best invention she had ever heard of.
“Hey Sarah. New shoes!” he exclaims and hops on one leg as he shows off his high tops.
“These are the shoes that are good for sports, correct?”
“Yup,” he beams, happy she remembered.
“They are very intricate. I have not seen their like.”
He takes that to mean she thinks they are cool too.
“Did you speak to my brother?”
“Sure did. Gave him the message and got it all right.”
She breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. “Thank you, Ben. That means a great deal to me.”
Ben shrugs and picks up a stick and starts poking a rock with it. “Sure. No problem. Still can’t talk to him yourself, huh?”
She shakes her head, red braids swaying slightly. “No. I’ve tried but he doesn’t see me. I’m not sure why. Once I thought… I thought he might know I was there, but…” she shrugs herself, a gesture she learned from Ben.
“Shitty.”
She chuckles at his word. Sarah’s older than him but she never makes him feel like a baby or dumb. But she does think it’s funny when he cusses.
“What didja do while I was gone?” Ben asks, flipping over the rock with his stick and finding a treasure trove of dark bugs underneath.
Sarah leans over and peers at the insects. “I was here for a bit and then I went back.”
“Back long ago?”
“Yes.”
Sarah had a hard time explaining it at first because she didn’t quite know where she went. She didn’t realize the difference between ‘now’ and ‘then.’ Ben had pestered her mercilessly, asking non-stop questions until he finally figured it out.
Sarah could go backward in time.
Ben had figured it out when Sarah explained that where she went there were horses and carriages, and Collinwood was brand new.
What Ben couldn’t figure was why. Why she could go back, why she would go back.
Ben only knows that Sarah is Mr. Collins’ sister and Mr. Collins lives at Collinwood and seems like he’s Dean’s age. He has no idea that Mr. Collins is over two hundred years old and that Sarah was born just after the turn of the 18th century.
He frankly wouldn’t care.
All he knows is that Sarah is his friend. Sarah is older than him. Sarah is fun.
Sarah can time-travel.
It pretty much makes her the coolest girl ever.
Maybe even cooler than April, who’s kind of his girlfriend. But just by a little bit. And he would never tell April that.
“What didja do back there?”
“I just like to look around, see people, things.”
“I like looking around at stuff too. Hey, wanna go down to the cliffs?”
“Okay.”
***
One of the cooks had to take his cat into the vet, so Dean is pulling emergency duty in the kitchen.
He likes being in the kitchen. He likes chopping stuff and prepping things and putting them all in their places for later. It’s early afternoon, after the lunch rush but before the dinner crowd, so he’s happy to take the time to work through the lull and stock up.
He’d received the call shortly after he had finished his pie, right after Ben had delivered his creepy message, and frankly, he was glad for the distraction.
Although he’d been sorry to leave Cas. But he’d pretty much invited himself back over telling Cas that he had to run out and help cover kitchen until Ash finished up at the vet, or until Andy showed for the evening shift. Then he had sort of babbled about how Andy could double as a waiter or kitchen staff whenever needed and he thinks he might have started rambling on about Ash’s cat too when Castiel had silenced him with a kiss and told him he looked forward to seeing him when Dean was finished.
So a quick run home for a shower and a change of clothes and now Dean’s rhythmically chopping onions, tomatoes and green peppers in the kitchen. He wipes his hand on his apron and grabs another flat of tomatoes. He enjoys the routine work.
He could do without the heat in the kitchen. Grills, burners, ovens, friers and dishwasher all combining to create a hot, smelly atmosphere that’s even more moist than a Maine summer.
“Oh, thank god, you’re alive.”
Dean looks up to see Sam letting himself in through the swinging doors that block the front of the pub from the kitchen. Sam is clutching his heart dramatically and wiping a pretend tear from his eye.
“The sleepless nights. The worry. Raising a big brother is hard.”
“Samantha,” Dean intones dryly, not pausing in his chopping work.
“You look tired.” Sam raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”
“Are you just going on shift or getting off?” Dean replies, ignoring his brother’s question.
“Getting off. And I would guess that I’m not the only Winchester with that claim to fame today.” He waggles both eyebrows this time and Dean throws a dishcloth at him.
“You eat yet?” Dean asks.
“Naw. That’s why I come here. Feed me.” Sam rolls back one of the silver lids that covers the pizza toppings and digs into some pepperoni.
“That’s for the customers who pay. You remember what that entails, right? An actual exchange of cash between proprietor and eater?”
Sam shoves more pepperoni into his mouth. “Dude, I’m like quality control. Someone’s gotta check this stuff.” He pulls up a couple of milk crates, stacks them and has a seat on the makeshift chair.
“You want a pizza or something?” Dean asks, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Maybe some fries and a burger?”
Dean nods and uses his tongs to grab a pre-made patty from the fridge and toss it down on the grill. In the practiced move of someone who works in the kitchen a lot, he manages to get a bun toasting on the edge of the grill and start some fries at the same time.
It’s a time honored tradition. Big brother feeding little brother. If asked, neither would say that’s what it is, but… that’s what it is.
Dean goes back to chopping methodically. In the silence, Sam leans forward once and then once again so he’s in Dean’s line of sight.
Dean flicks his eyes at him quickly and then back to his work. “What?”
“Oh, I get it, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, is that it?”
“Shut up,” Dean replies gruffly but Sam can see a faint flush creep up his neck.
“Jackpot,” Sam says gleefully, tossing back some shredded mozzarella. Dean slaps the back of Sam’s hand with the wide blade of the knife, like a teacher smacking a student with a ruler.
“Again, for the paying customers.”
“Again, quality control. It’s extra official since I’m a professional.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Professional eater. Seriously, either one or both of your legs is hollow. You should check that out, Dr. Winchester.”
“Quit changing the subject. So, sleep over at Castiel Collins’ house last night?”
“None of your business.”
“Dean,” Sam starts. “You didn’t come home. It’s obvious you stayed over. Are you blushing again?”
“Shut up,” Dean says again.
Sam laughs as Dean flips the burger over and presses the patty flat. He raises an eyebrow at Sam in an unspoken question, cheese? Sam nods and Dean slaps down a slice of cheddar, covering it with a lid from a stray pot to help it along with melting.
“So, I take it that means there will be a second date in your future?”
Dean shrugs and mumbles something as he turns away from Sam to grab a take-out container for Sam’s meal.
“Oh, sorry, what? I didn’t quite catch that?” Sam teases.
“I said I’m going over there tonight.” Deans teeth are clenched.
“You remember what I told you right? He’s never gonna marry the cow if he’s milking you for free.”
Dean tosses a very ripe tomato at him and it bounces off Sam’s chest, splits and lands on the floor with a squish.
“Occupational health and safety, dude. That’s a hazard,” Sam points down at the tomato, barely able to restrain his laughter.
Dean can’t help but laugh too. “Bitch,” he says easily, shaking his head as he pulls the fries out of the oil and spices them. He slides the fries easily into the foil container, assembles the cheeseburger and places the lid, fingers flying over as he seals up the container by spinning it and pressing down. He’s done it a thousand times and doesn’t even realize how quick his movements are.
“Your dinner, majesty,” he deadpans as he pushes the container across the counter to Sam.
Sam grabs it easily. “Thanks, man. So I guess I won’t send out the search party tonight?”
“Not tonight, Samantha. Think you can handle sleeping alone, in the dark, by yourself, or should I go dig out your old blankie before I go to Cas’?”
“Oh, so it’s Cas now is it?” Sam’s lips turn in an expression indicating he’s impressed. “Or maybe you call him lover-boy?”
“Get out of here,” Dean says with a chuckle as Sam ducks out the back door. “And don’t forget to put out the garbage! It’s trash day tomorrow,” he calls out to the closed door and then shakes his head.
***
With Dean gone, Castiel can take the time to eat something. Or drink, more accurately.
He can’t say he likes it. He’s never liked it. He never wanted to like it. It is simply something that needs to be done.
Sometimes he can eat (feed) and not think of it at all. Like a mindless employee eating at his desk while working. Sustenance goes in, but it’s not noticed or remarked on by the brain. It’s just a means to an end, a way to fuel the body so that more work can be done. Castiel prefers those types of meals (feedings) and he can usually have them if he sticks to a regular schedule and doesn’t wait until he is too hungry (ravenous) to eat (feed).
Other times he feels like an animal. It bothers him that his salivary glands flood when he smells blood, making his mouth water, and sometimes he gets a sharp pang under his tongue, reminiscent of when he used to smell vinegar as a mortal. It bothers him when he is so hungry that as soon as the first red drop touches his tongue he wants to moan in relief and satisfaction. It bothers him that sometimes after he’s had what he’s portioned out to himself he thinks about drinking more. Licking the wound if he was feeding from a human.
Now with Charles’ idea of the blood bank, he doesn’t have to feed from mortals anymore. His mind, his conscience, prefers the sterile plastic bags with their bar codes and labels, and the cold, packaged blood with its slightly processed taste, even if his hunger does not appreciate the idea of dinner presented like slop at trough.
Sometimes he thinks of his hunger, his otherness, his vampirism, like a separate being. There is himself, as he was, mortal, and then there is the beast superimposed on top. Locked in his tomb for years he slept off and on, time rolling by in the background unable to be counted or marked. He had ample time to think on his nature. Sometimes he was convinced he was two separate creatures. And other times he was just as convinced that the beast had always been a part of him, sleeping, waiting, until Ruby’s dark magic woke the slumbering giant. And still other times he feels as though the creature has merged so completely with his soul that he does not know where he ends and it begins.
If either ends or begins.
He’s been a monster for longer than he was ever human.
The thought weighs on him.
He wonders, he hopes, that it is like being an immigrant. Though he’s been in his new homeland for longer than his birthplace, he will always consider his birthplace home.
He does not like to consider the alternative.
Sarah’s message, delivered through Ben, is on his mind. He had always considered his deal, his bargain, with Ruby to be a deal with the devil. Not that he believed Ruby was anything more than a witch, and a mad one at that. But he thought, more often than not, that something had been channelled through her. Something had made her fixate on him and in turn enabled the deal to be made and in that deal, secured his soul.
But now Sarah’s message.
No one can claim to have made a deal with the devil.
Does that mean there is hope for him yet? He wants to believe in that.
Do not fear the past. Those who own it do not repeat it.
What does it mean? To own his past? Does it mean not to fear the beast? Not to fear the hunger?
Does it mean he must tell Dean what he is?
The idea makes him ill. They’ve just started. They’ve just begun again what was ended years before. And although, in the past, Dean did not flinch when he found out the truth, he was dying. In pain and on opiates how much did he comprehend of what Castiel showed him?
How much of the monster did he understand?
How much of the monster could he understand?
How much would he want to understand?
Part of him doesn’t want to tell Dean simply because when they are together, he can almost forget about the animal he has become. The night before with Dean, dinner and then after… he didn’t feel like a savage. He didn’t feel unnatural or horrific.
He felt… happy.
So happy.
It’s like his brain simply could not hold all the happiness that being with Dean made him feel, and so he had not remembered what it was like. And having that feeling back again last night…
It scares him to think what he would do to hold onto it. Or what he wouldn’t do to hold onto it.
But he doesn’t know how to keep a secret like this from Dean. If they continue on, if they fit back into what they were, how can he hide his nature? How can he continue to lie, to deceive, to betray ad infinitum? How long until Dean notices that he doesn’t get sick, doesn’t need to eat?
Doesn’t age?
When he thinks of not aging, he is struck with horrible panic. He cannot watch Dean die again.
But to inflict this monstrosity on him… he didn’t know what he was offering before. He only saw it as a solution to the immediate problem of Dean dying. He knows now the horror of the gift that is also a curse.
And so the struggle continues. He cannot tell Dean, he cannot lie to Dean. He cannot watch Dean die, he cannot turn Dean.
There must be an alternative.
He’s afraid to look. Afraid to look and find nothing. Until now, it has been easier to not look and pretend that the answer may be out there somewhere, waiting.
But now, with Dean…
It will entail research, he supposes. Immersing himself in the horror that was Ruby’s life. What she knew, how she knew it, where she learned, from whom she learned it.
The idea is distasteful to say the least, but infinitely more appealing to the alternatives of turning Dean or watching him die again.
So research it is.
He wonders how far down the rabbit hole he will have to travel. He wonders if any more pieces of his soul will have to be paid out along the way.
Next Chapter - 12 - Chuck Shurley, Vampire BFF
Ben’s super proud of himself.
He totally got all the words in the message right, he knows it.
Back from shoe shopping with Pamela and wearing a new pair of sneakers that are so cool but need to be scuffed up before he dares wear them to school, he races through the forest behind Collinwood to the big tree stump where he and Sarah always meet.
She’s sitting against the wooden stump with her knees drawn up reading Swiss Family Robinson.
“Hello, Ben!” she says brightly. She carefully wraps the book back in the ziploc baggie Ben brought for it.
Sarah had thought it was the best invention she had ever heard of.
“Hey Sarah. New shoes!” he exclaims and hops on one leg as he shows off his high tops.
“These are the shoes that are good for sports, correct?”
“Yup,” he beams, happy she remembered.
“They are very intricate. I have not seen their like.”
He takes that to mean she thinks they are cool too.
“Did you speak to my brother?”
“Sure did. Gave him the message and got it all right.”
She breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. “Thank you, Ben. That means a great deal to me.”
Ben shrugs and picks up a stick and starts poking a rock with it. “Sure. No problem. Still can’t talk to him yourself, huh?”
She shakes her head, red braids swaying slightly. “No. I’ve tried but he doesn’t see me. I’m not sure why. Once I thought… I thought he might know I was there, but…” she shrugs herself, a gesture she learned from Ben.
“Shitty.”
She chuckles at his word. Sarah’s older than him but she never makes him feel like a baby or dumb. But she does think it’s funny when he cusses.
“What didja do while I was gone?” Ben asks, flipping over the rock with his stick and finding a treasure trove of dark bugs underneath.
Sarah leans over and peers at the insects. “I was here for a bit and then I went back.”
“Back long ago?”
“Yes.”
Sarah had a hard time explaining it at first because she didn’t quite know where she went. She didn’t realize the difference between ‘now’ and ‘then.’ Ben had pestered her mercilessly, asking non-stop questions until he finally figured it out.
Sarah could go backward in time.
Ben had figured it out when Sarah explained that where she went there were horses and carriages, and Collinwood was brand new.
What Ben couldn’t figure was why. Why she could go back, why she would go back.
Ben only knows that Sarah is Mr. Collins’ sister and Mr. Collins lives at Collinwood and seems like he’s Dean’s age. He has no idea that Mr. Collins is over two hundred years old and that Sarah was born just after the turn of the 18th century.
He frankly wouldn’t care.
All he knows is that Sarah is his friend. Sarah is older than him. Sarah is fun.
Sarah can time-travel.
It pretty much makes her the coolest girl ever.
Maybe even cooler than April, who’s kind of his girlfriend. But just by a little bit. And he would never tell April that.
“What didja do back there?”
“I just like to look around, see people, things.”
“I like looking around at stuff too. Hey, wanna go down to the cliffs?”
“Okay.”
***
One of the cooks had to take his cat into the vet, so Dean is pulling emergency duty in the kitchen.
He likes being in the kitchen. He likes chopping stuff and prepping things and putting them all in their places for later. It’s early afternoon, after the lunch rush but before the dinner crowd, so he’s happy to take the time to work through the lull and stock up.
He’d received the call shortly after he had finished his pie, right after Ben had delivered his creepy message, and frankly, he was glad for the distraction.
Although he’d been sorry to leave Cas. But he’d pretty much invited himself back over telling Cas that he had to run out and help cover kitchen until Ash finished up at the vet, or until Andy showed for the evening shift. Then he had sort of babbled about how Andy could double as a waiter or kitchen staff whenever needed and he thinks he might have started rambling on about Ash’s cat too when Castiel had silenced him with a kiss and told him he looked forward to seeing him when Dean was finished.
So a quick run home for a shower and a change of clothes and now Dean’s rhythmically chopping onions, tomatoes and green peppers in the kitchen. He wipes his hand on his apron and grabs another flat of tomatoes. He enjoys the routine work.
He could do without the heat in the kitchen. Grills, burners, ovens, friers and dishwasher all combining to create a hot, smelly atmosphere that’s even more moist than a Maine summer.
“Oh, thank god, you’re alive.”
Dean looks up to see Sam letting himself in through the swinging doors that block the front of the pub from the kitchen. Sam is clutching his heart dramatically and wiping a pretend tear from his eye.
“The sleepless nights. The worry. Raising a big brother is hard.”
“Samantha,” Dean intones dryly, not pausing in his chopping work.
“You look tired.” Sam raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”
“Are you just going on shift or getting off?” Dean replies, ignoring his brother’s question.
“Getting off. And I would guess that I’m not the only Winchester with that claim to fame today.” He waggles both eyebrows this time and Dean throws a dishcloth at him.
“You eat yet?” Dean asks.
“Naw. That’s why I come here. Feed me.” Sam rolls back one of the silver lids that covers the pizza toppings and digs into some pepperoni.
“That’s for the customers who pay. You remember what that entails, right? An actual exchange of cash between proprietor and eater?”
Sam shoves more pepperoni into his mouth. “Dude, I’m like quality control. Someone’s gotta check this stuff.” He pulls up a couple of milk crates, stacks them and has a seat on the makeshift chair.
“You want a pizza or something?” Dean asks, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Maybe some fries and a burger?”
Dean nods and uses his tongs to grab a pre-made patty from the fridge and toss it down on the grill. In the practiced move of someone who works in the kitchen a lot, he manages to get a bun toasting on the edge of the grill and start some fries at the same time.
It’s a time honored tradition. Big brother feeding little brother. If asked, neither would say that’s what it is, but… that’s what it is.
Dean goes back to chopping methodically. In the silence, Sam leans forward once and then once again so he’s in Dean’s line of sight.
Dean flicks his eyes at him quickly and then back to his work. “What?”
“Oh, I get it, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, is that it?”
“Shut up,” Dean replies gruffly but Sam can see a faint flush creep up his neck.
“Jackpot,” Sam says gleefully, tossing back some shredded mozzarella. Dean slaps the back of Sam’s hand with the wide blade of the knife, like a teacher smacking a student with a ruler.
“Again, for the paying customers.”
“Again, quality control. It’s extra official since I’m a professional.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Professional eater. Seriously, either one or both of your legs is hollow. You should check that out, Dr. Winchester.”
“Quit changing the subject. So, sleep over at Castiel Collins’ house last night?”
“None of your business.”
“Dean,” Sam starts. “You didn’t come home. It’s obvious you stayed over. Are you blushing again?”
“Shut up,” Dean says again.
Sam laughs as Dean flips the burger over and presses the patty flat. He raises an eyebrow at Sam in an unspoken question, cheese? Sam nods and Dean slaps down a slice of cheddar, covering it with a lid from a stray pot to help it along with melting.
“So, I take it that means there will be a second date in your future?”
Dean shrugs and mumbles something as he turns away from Sam to grab a take-out container for Sam’s meal.
“Oh, sorry, what? I didn’t quite catch that?” Sam teases.
“I said I’m going over there tonight.” Deans teeth are clenched.
“You remember what I told you right? He’s never gonna marry the cow if he’s milking you for free.”
Dean tosses a very ripe tomato at him and it bounces off Sam’s chest, splits and lands on the floor with a squish.
“Occupational health and safety, dude. That’s a hazard,” Sam points down at the tomato, barely able to restrain his laughter.
Dean can’t help but laugh too. “Bitch,” he says easily, shaking his head as he pulls the fries out of the oil and spices them. He slides the fries easily into the foil container, assembles the cheeseburger and places the lid, fingers flying over as he seals up the container by spinning it and pressing down. He’s done it a thousand times and doesn’t even realize how quick his movements are.
“Your dinner, majesty,” he deadpans as he pushes the container across the counter to Sam.
Sam grabs it easily. “Thanks, man. So I guess I won’t send out the search party tonight?”
“Not tonight, Samantha. Think you can handle sleeping alone, in the dark, by yourself, or should I go dig out your old blankie before I go to Cas’?”
“Oh, so it’s Cas now is it?” Sam’s lips turn in an expression indicating he’s impressed. “Or maybe you call him lover-boy?”
“Get out of here,” Dean says with a chuckle as Sam ducks out the back door. “And don’t forget to put out the garbage! It’s trash day tomorrow,” he calls out to the closed door and then shakes his head.
***
With Dean gone, Castiel can take the time to eat something. Or drink, more accurately.
He can’t say he likes it. He’s never liked it. He never wanted to like it. It is simply something that needs to be done.
Sometimes he can eat (feed) and not think of it at all. Like a mindless employee eating at his desk while working. Sustenance goes in, but it’s not noticed or remarked on by the brain. It’s just a means to an end, a way to fuel the body so that more work can be done. Castiel prefers those types of meals (feedings) and he can usually have them if he sticks to a regular schedule and doesn’t wait until he is too hungry (ravenous) to eat (feed).
Other times he feels like an animal. It bothers him that his salivary glands flood when he smells blood, making his mouth water, and sometimes he gets a sharp pang under his tongue, reminiscent of when he used to smell vinegar as a mortal. It bothers him when he is so hungry that as soon as the first red drop touches his tongue he wants to moan in relief and satisfaction. It bothers him that sometimes after he’s had what he’s portioned out to himself he thinks about drinking more. Licking the wound if he was feeding from a human.
Now with Charles’ idea of the blood bank, he doesn’t have to feed from mortals anymore. His mind, his conscience, prefers the sterile plastic bags with their bar codes and labels, and the cold, packaged blood with its slightly processed taste, even if his hunger does not appreciate the idea of dinner presented like slop at trough.
Sometimes he thinks of his hunger, his otherness, his vampirism, like a separate being. There is himself, as he was, mortal, and then there is the beast superimposed on top. Locked in his tomb for years he slept off and on, time rolling by in the background unable to be counted or marked. He had ample time to think on his nature. Sometimes he was convinced he was two separate creatures. And other times he was just as convinced that the beast had always been a part of him, sleeping, waiting, until Ruby’s dark magic woke the slumbering giant. And still other times he feels as though the creature has merged so completely with his soul that he does not know where he ends and it begins.
If either ends or begins.
He’s been a monster for longer than he was ever human.
The thought weighs on him.
He wonders, he hopes, that it is like being an immigrant. Though he’s been in his new homeland for longer than his birthplace, he will always consider his birthplace home.
He does not like to consider the alternative.
Sarah’s message, delivered through Ben, is on his mind. He had always considered his deal, his bargain, with Ruby to be a deal with the devil. Not that he believed Ruby was anything more than a witch, and a mad one at that. But he thought, more often than not, that something had been channelled through her. Something had made her fixate on him and in turn enabled the deal to be made and in that deal, secured his soul.
But now Sarah’s message.
No one can claim to have made a deal with the devil.
Does that mean there is hope for him yet? He wants to believe in that.
Do not fear the past. Those who own it do not repeat it.
What does it mean? To own his past? Does it mean not to fear the beast? Not to fear the hunger?
Does it mean he must tell Dean what he is?
The idea makes him ill. They’ve just started. They’ve just begun again what was ended years before. And although, in the past, Dean did not flinch when he found out the truth, he was dying. In pain and on opiates how much did he comprehend of what Castiel showed him?
How much of the monster did he understand?
How much of the monster could he understand?
How much would he want to understand?
Part of him doesn’t want to tell Dean simply because when they are together, he can almost forget about the animal he has become. The night before with Dean, dinner and then after… he didn’t feel like a savage. He didn’t feel unnatural or horrific.
He felt… happy.
So happy.
It’s like his brain simply could not hold all the happiness that being with Dean made him feel, and so he had not remembered what it was like. And having that feeling back again last night…
It scares him to think what he would do to hold onto it. Or what he wouldn’t do to hold onto it.
But he doesn’t know how to keep a secret like this from Dean. If they continue on, if they fit back into what they were, how can he hide his nature? How can he continue to lie, to deceive, to betray ad infinitum? How long until Dean notices that he doesn’t get sick, doesn’t need to eat?
Doesn’t age?
When he thinks of not aging, he is struck with horrible panic. He cannot watch Dean die again.
But to inflict this monstrosity on him… he didn’t know what he was offering before. He only saw it as a solution to the immediate problem of Dean dying. He knows now the horror of the gift that is also a curse.
And so the struggle continues. He cannot tell Dean, he cannot lie to Dean. He cannot watch Dean die, he cannot turn Dean.
There must be an alternative.
He’s afraid to look. Afraid to look and find nothing. Until now, it has been easier to not look and pretend that the answer may be out there somewhere, waiting.
But now, with Dean…
It will entail research, he supposes. Immersing himself in the horror that was Ruby’s life. What she knew, how she knew it, where she learned, from whom she learned it.
The idea is distasteful to say the least, but infinitely more appealing to the alternatives of turning Dean or watching him die again.
So research it is.
He wonders how far down the rabbit hole he will have to travel. He wonders if any more pieces of his soul will have to be paid out along the way.
Next Chapter - 12 - Chuck Shurley, Vampire BFF