19. Sleep Deprived

There's something...different about you. I don't know what it is, but...I'm getting this strange vibe. If I were you, I'd tell the Winchesters. If it's something up their alley, they're the best people to go to. Don't waste your time around them.

These are the words that are stuck in my head as I wake this morning.

I have my hands in my lap, my eyes are on the ceiling. We'd just gotten back from another case, this one in St. Louis, involving witches and their companions called familiars. It was the familiar, a woman named Portia, who had given me the parting advice once the case was done. She's given me odd looks from the moment we met. I had almost confessed to the brothers on the drive back, but I hadn't. Hell, I had almost confessed to Portia that I had seen a Hellhound when I wasn't supposed to with the naked eye.

Even though I'm nowhere around the Winchesters right now, the atmosphere in the bunker is thick with tension and worry. We're on a recovering streak since the witch/familiar case, with Dean and I worrying about Sam. We'd seen the after effects of the first trial. There's still two left to tackle. What if this is too much for Sam to handle? What if the second trial, whatever it is, kills him before he makes it to the third?

That will only, probably, fire up Dean's motivation to seek out another Hellhound and do the trials on his own. It's bad enough one Winchester is going through with the insane idea to close Hell. I knew Dean cared about his little brother a lot, but it seemed like I was doing all the hawk-watching. But I never asked Sam if he was okay, because I knew he wouldn't tell me the truth. If the brothers couldn't tell each other the truth, why would they be honest with me?

Since my Hellhound sighting at the Cassity farm, I've begun to wonder if there's something wrong with me. Portia could sense something was up. What if I'm something I never thought I was before? What if my family is like me, and they've kept it hidden from me for all these years? Oh, stop going insane, I chastise. There is no way that any of us Bartons are anything but human. We're not invincible, we're not immortal.

I pull myself up, yawning mutely. I can feel the heaviness under my eyes. The bags are imprinted into my skin now. Lately, between the Cassity farm case and the St. Louis case, I haven't been sleeping a lot. I'll wake up even more exhausted than I had felt going into sleep the previous night. This pattern needs to stop. Maybe we've got sleeping pills lying around the bunker.

I get my shank (Dean had given it back to me after we got back from the Cassity farm) out of habit and tuck it away. My stomach yells at me. I can't even get to the bathroom and it goes off. I focus long enough to pick my direction to the nearest bathroom. I have to use anything my hands can grip for support. Everything feels like lead.

I decide to opt for a bath this morning instead of a shower. I almost sleep sitting on the toilet as I wait for the water to fill the tub. I wouldn't mind a nap in the water provided I don't drown myself in the process.

I make sure the door is shut before I strip. As I keep track of the water, I take time to notice my slight change. I look a little skeletal still, but the bones aren't as prominent as they used to be. I sniff. Though I don't bear a lot of scars on the outside, there are a lot on the inside. And I don't mean broken ribs or anything. I feel the scars on the inside, in my head. Awful reminders of my failures.

This will take away all that. I shut the water off and shudder once my foot comes into contact with warmth. I slip in, careful to not slosh water on the floor—I don't want the brothers yelling at me (more so Dean than Sam) about the mess nor do I want to clean up a big, slippery hazard.

I take my time running the shampoo through my hair. I think back to what I had before this: I was lucky if I got something of soap to wash myself with. The rain was my shampoo, conditioner, and water. When you're not clever enough to break into places to steal hot water and the basic bath items, you have to resort to the very bare minimums. I'd desperately wanted to break into a place. We'd all needed it then.

Once I get the suds out of my hair, I rub myself down with some soap, feeling a sliver of my past get scrubbed off. I feel like the longer I'm with the Winchesters, the more my past gets left behind. Most of it I want to forget, but a few things I don't. But even the thought of them makes my heart ache terribly.

I hold the bad thoughts at bay. This bath is for a reason, and that reason isn't this. Focus on the good things. Let the water relax you. Sneak in a catnap or two, or three. You do need it. I maneuver under the water until I feel I'm completely relaxed and comfortable. Somehow, I manage to achieve both.

It takes ten minutes for me to fall asleep.

***

Growling. Running. Barking. Running. I need to escape. They're right on my heels. I need to get away from them.

Where are the damn Winchesters when you need them?

Moonlight is my only guide through the woods. I don't care about stealth at this point, they have my scent. They'll find me whether I'm quiet or loud.

I begin to feel their breath on my heels. It's not just one Hellhound that's pursuing me, it's a pack. A pack of how many, I don't want to look back and take a headcount. If I make one wrong move, I'm kibble. I will cease to exist. My body most likely will as well if the pack picks my bones free of flesh.

The only reason I'm running is because one tiny shank is not going to help me against an army of Hellhounds. But why is a pack out to get me? There's only a Hellhound per person. But I didn't make a deal with a crossroads demon! But that doesn't matter when you dream. Rules don't exist here.

After crashing through brush, I'm exposed to an open, small clearing. I would have said empty, but that isn't the case. More hounds emerge from the shadows, all hackles are raised and exposed canines are their way of smiling at me. I can see the bloodlust, the hunger in their eyes. I'm surprised none jump the gun and take me to the ground.

I take a good look around me. Any direction I look, there's a Hellhound. I'm in a ring of them. The moonlight is now a spotlight, as though a show is about to begin, and I'm the main attraction. More like the main course.

Out of desperation, I pull out my shank, trying to seem as threatening as possible to these hounds. But they can all sense my worry. They can probably smell my fear. The circle begins to close in. Some snap their jaws to make me flinch. Their scare tactics aren't necessary; their presence alone frightens me.

"Now, now," comes an accented voice from the shadows. "Easy, pets. It's not dinner time yet."

The circle stops shrinking. Low growls still vibrate from hounds' throats. I search for their master.

"I don't have a right to know who the man behind my murder is?" I throw out smartly. "Come on, that's just being rude."

"You won't recognize me if you see me."

"I probably don't know you."

"Oh, you do, Maxi. You do. Just need to jog that noggin of yours into remembering."

"Remembering what?" I jerk my head when I think I see something move in the darkness between the trees. "This is a dream, I didn't do anything!"

"That you know of." The voice snickers.

"What is really necessary to bring the entire population?"

"Oh, this is nothing, dearie. If you want to see the entire population, I suggest you visit Hell."

"I think I'll pass. I don't do well in the heat," I retort tartly.

"No more games, can't starve my pups any longer. Time's up, Maxi. Pleasure doing business with you."

One hound doesn't lead the charge; the entire herd of them descends on me. I don't have time to prepare, I don't have time to think.

I'm done for the moment my body hits the ground.

***

I jump at a loud noise, and a lot happens at once.

I scream at the top of my lungs and (foolishly) try to cover myself up as Dean has knocked the bathroom door wide open. He's got the demon-killing blade in hand, and I'm looking around wildly to find something to cover with. In my haste, I've sloshed some water out of the tub and onto the floor. Son of a bitch.

"What the fuck, Dean?" I screech, wincing as I hear the water hit the floor. "Knocking would have been just fine!"

"You weren't answering the door."

"You're impatient."

"I've been calling your name for five minutes."

"I didn't hear you. Why didn't you just open the door?"

"You locked it."

"I did?" I don't remember locking it.

"Yeah, you did." His face pulls into a frown. "Sam and I haven't seen you all day. We thought you were avoiding us or something. We only just split up. And now I've found you here..." He's having a hard time pulling his eyes off my vulnerable body.

"Eyes elsewhere, Winchester." I cross my legs and use my arms to cover my breasts. I only splash more water out of the tub in the process. "Could you maybe make yourself useful and grab me a towel, and some clothes?"

"What am I, a maid?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to parade around naked in front of you and Sam." I sniff. "Please, Dean."

He doesn't say a word, but he leaves me alone in the bathroom. I keep the water in the tub, feeling as though it's the only protection I have against prying eyes. I feel a rush of heat fly through my veins. This is the second time Dean's found me like this in the bathroom. Well, the first time was an accident. This time is different.

I begin to think Dean is purposely being a douchebag after fifteen minutes, but he surprises me and comes back with a towel and clothes. I reach for the towel first.

"You want to tell me what's going on with you, Max?" he asks.

"Really? You want to interrogate me, when I'm the one not undergoing trials to close Hell?" I cock my head. "I think you need to straighten out your priorities."

"You were screaming, Max. Like somebody was killing you in here."

"I...I was?"

"Yeah."

I look around abashedly. "Let me get decent first, and then maybe we'll talk about it, okay?"

"I'll be in the kitchen."

I wait until Dean is fully gone, and the door is shut, before I climb out, rub myself down, and dress. As I dress, I see that the door is moving slightly. I huff. He probably broke the lock. But I can't remember locking it.

All the clothes turn out to be my size, except for the flannel. I have a tank top underneath it in case the flannel is too much. It's hard to guess who it belongs to, as Dean probably grabbed the first things he could find.

I'm definitely feeling energized now. I don't think I can avoid Dean this time. If he heard me screaming, he'll want to pester me until I tell him. He's pestering the wrong person. After this, I'll have to steer him Sam's way so Sam can get his dose of parental advisory instead of me.

"So, you wanna tell me what that screaming fit in the bathtub was?" This is the first thing I come to when entering the kitchen. It looks like Dean is prepping some spaghetti, which sounds really good right about now.

"How long was I in there, Dean?" I ask.

"Long enough to skip two meals."

"You didn't think to find me when I didn't show for breakfast?"

He shrugs. "We figured if you were hungry you didn't want to wait for us."

I cross my arms. "Need any help?"

"I could use some company."

I step more into the kitchen. "I didn't mean to scare you both. I was just...so tired. I fell asleep in the tub, that's all."

"You can't sleep anywhere without a nightmare, huh, Max?"

"I guess not." I go stand beside him, watching the noodles in the boiling water. "We need to stock up on some sleeping pills."

"Or I can just help you sleep the old-fashioned way." He smirks.

I nudge him in the side. "Don't think so, hotshot." I purse my lips.

"Things don't get easier with time, Max. The nightmares don't."

"I didn't have them for a short time," I admit.

"I'm surprised you didn't have them sooner."

"Guess I got lucky." I push the sleeves of the flannel up. "You don't have to worry about me, Dean."

"No, you're wrong. I do. If I knew you longer and you were an experienced hunter, I'd maybe give you some slack. But you're the complete opposite of that. At least I know you're not a flight risk anymore."

"I stay because of the food," I tease grimly. "And the shelter. And the protection." I stew the noodles around in the pot. "Any meatballs to go with this?"

"If you stand guard, I'll get some going."

"Sounds good."

We work nicely in the kitchen. Minimal conversation rises. I have to keep rolling the sleeves of the flannel up so I don't dirty them up any.

"You ever think of leaving, Max?"

I'm now at the meatballs, making sure they're covered in sauce. "What? Dean, we've been over this before. I feel obligated to hang around."

"And I keep telling you that you don't have to."

"Eh, somebody needs to babysit the bunker when you're out hunting." I move my hair out of the way so none falls into the sauce. "Need I remind you that you were the one who let me stay here?"

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't."

"Why? You don't like having me around?"

"No, not at all," he says sarcastically. We exchange the smallest of smiles. "You're a nuisance."

"A while ago, you'd be serious about that."

"Things change." Dean pulls some plates by the spaghetti and begins to dump some onto a plate. "Don't go light on those."

"Wouldn't dream of it." As I'm handed a plate, I scoop out the sauce and meatballs, trying to make the plate look presentable. I push them onto the other side of me once I'm finished with them. "You gonna call Sam in here, or does somebody have to serve him again like he's five?"

"You and I both know the answer to that, Max." He goes behind me to grab the plates.

I sigh. "Your brother isn't a little kid anymore, he's a grown man."

"The only way I'd get him in here is if I dragged him in here with the books."

I snicker. "Reading is a good thing, though. Keeps the mind active, and the imagination."

"Spoken like a fellow nerd."

I roll my eyes. "It's true, though. I'm just not about history and facts. I'm more about the fictional stuff, the kind of stories that take you away from life for a little while." I make sure the stove is off so nothing burns while we're away to eat. I scan the fridge and grab some parmesan before I go back to my plate.

"Hold up," Dean tells me.

"What now?" I ask.

Doing the hygienic thing, he grabs a paper towel and wipes one of my cheeks. "Had a little sauce on you."

"What? You weren't gonna be an ass and not say anything?"

"Nah." He moves in a bit closer, green eyes squinting. "I think I got it all."

"Well, then, let's eat!" I take lead, with my own plate and parmesan cheese in hand.

I'm so glad I'm ahead of Dean, because I feel the heat rising in my face, and my steps seem to quicken with my heartbeat.

**Anyone getting some serious Dax feels with them lately?

If you are, then my plan is working. Just like with Sakota. I will make you hop aboard the Dax ship.**