❛ CHAPTER ONE ━━ THE LAST ONES ❜
𖤐¸𓍢 ━━ ❪ ACT ONE OF SOULBOUND ❫ ˖ ୧ 。
◟ ✦ IS HE A PRETTY ANGEL? ❞

WHEN OLIVE WAKES UP IN THE backseat of a car, the first thought that that crossed her mind was that she was back with Sophia. She had hoped last night was a bad dream, that she and Sophia were still on their way back home from spending the weekend at her grandparents house. For a moment, Olive waits for the familiar sound of her mother's homing, most likely drumming her fingers on the wheel.

But she was only met with silence.

Olive slowly raises her head, causing the side of her face to redden from the leather. Her eyes adjusted to the fading purple sky through the backseat window. The sun was due to rise at any moment, and her stomach was rumbling uncomfortably as she dropped her head back into the seat with a tired yawn.

She stiffens, a sudden fear creeping in the back of her mind. She recalls the accident. The car crash and the man in the cabin with haunting black eyes. Olive begins to tremble. Did Dean get her out in time? Was she safe? Or was she back in hands of the black-eyed man? Was she dead?

A soft stir from the front seat made Olive's eyes widen. In a startled manner, she slowly pops her head over the bench seat. Dean Winchester lays across the front seat. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes shut tight as she slept in a none peaceful way.

He looked like an angry bear, Olive thought.

If Dean had gone through all that trouble to saved her life, then he was a good person, right? No matter how scary he looked.

Nervously, Olive climbed over the bench seat, landed softly on his torso—she was weightless, far too skinny to be healthy. "Dean," It was barely audible, but Dean stirred, "Dean," She tried again, voice airy as she reached over and poked his cheek.

Twice.

On the third try, his eyes open. Dean sits up instantly, looking around with paranoia only to be faced with the wide eyes of a five-year-old.

He looked ready to attack but after blinking a few times he groggily asks, "Olive?" His eyes darting around the Impala again, "What happened?"

Olive tilted her head, unbothered. "I'm hungry."

Dean scoffed, hooking his hands under her armpit and dropping her in the passenger seat as he sat up to rub his eyes, "What time is it?" He mumbled.

She shrugged, "I don't know, I can't read numbers," She says honestly.

Dean looked at her for a moment and after a beat and a deep inhale of annoyance, he pulled out his phone. 3:34. "How long you've been up?"

"I just woke up," She fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket—which looked like a blanket on her. The hem falls just beside her knees and the sleeves at least a few inches over her fingertips, "I thought I was in the bad place, in the cabin, but I'm not anymore." She explained softly.

Dean's face softened, but his voice was urgent, "Do you remember what happened last night? With the demon?"

Her eyes widened, her face pale. Olive's light blue eyes burned deeply into his own, expressing the fear she wouldn't say out loud, "I don't want to re-nember it." She said lowly, "Please don't make me."

Dean exhaled softly, giving a hesitant nod. He might not know her, but he had a feeling that if Olive did remember what she did in that cabin, it would scare her more.

She was already skittish, looking around every once in a while in paranoia—like he always did.

Olive knowing would make it harder for him to explain. And Dean wasn't the best at comforting people. If she started asking questions, he wouldn't know how to answer them.

But whether she did or didn't remember, Dean didn't want Olive to understand it.

Maybe then she'll have a fighting chance at being normal. Something he and his brother didn't have.

"That's okay, all that matters is that we're out of there," He dismisses.

She nods. "Are you taking me back to my mommy?"

Dean's face dropped, completely forgetting about that part, "Olive your mom. . she's. ." He couldn't find the right words, but Olive thought she understood.

"Oh. ." She slumped in her seat. "It's okay."

His lips part in surprise, "Is it?"

Olive shrugged and leaned her elbow on the window, her chin rested on her palm. "She was only my mommy for a few months. . .it's okay if she doesn't want me anymore. Are you taking me back to the orphanage?" Except the word sounded more like or-fridge.

Dean fumbles out of shock, learning more things about the child was like a surprised pop-quiz, "What—? No! No." He says firmly, "I'm not taking you to an orphanage." He looked down at her, confused. "You're telling me that you got just recently got adopted before the car crashed?" She nods.

Dean bit the inside of his lip. She's been orphaned twice.

"She didn't leave you, kid." He states firmly, starting the car.

"Then where did she go?" She questioned innocently, looking out of the window as he drove out of the parking lot.

Here goes nothing, "She died." He explained, not meaning to come off as so blunt, "It was, uh, in the car crash she's the one who told me to find you." She looked away, her eyes narrowing as she tried not to cry in front of him, "I'm sure she loved you." He added unsure if that would help.

It didn't. All Olive ever wanted was someone who loved her. Her own mother didn't, neither did her father. She thought things would be different with Sophia, she had hoped things would be. Maybe she would finally belong to someone, to a family.

But now Sophia was gone too.

Olive's lips quivered, her eyes stinging with tears that she quickly wiped away.

The five-year-old nodded, "Okay. . ." Her voice broke a little, looking down at her hands, "I understand." She looked up at him. "Are you gonna take care of me now?" Her voice was a little higher, slightly cracked. she didn't want to cry.

Dean didn't answer for a moment, forcing his eyes away from the downhearted child and towards the road, his knuckles gripped the wheel, and without another thought. "Yeah, yeah, I am."

‧₊ ❁ཻུ۪۪.;:୭̥.┊

THE DOOR CHIMES AGAINST THE GLASS as Dean held it open for her, stepping into the cool air of the 24-hour diner. The diner itself wasn't modern. It had red leather seats and standard domino tiles with a natural smell of fresh eggs and coffee. Only two workers could be seen, and a few locals in the corner hunched over plates before work.

Olive was practically vibrating in her seat, an eager smile on her face that was contagious to Dean.

A small smile formed on his own as he watched her move around. "Get whatever you want, we still have a two-day drive."

Olive presses her chin against her hands, leaning forward. "Where are we going, Dean?"

He didn't question her sudden shift in behavior, but people grieve in their owns ways. He doesn't think everything has officially sunken in for her—Dean would rather have the curious flower child in front of hum than a grieving one. It seems that the child reacted to loss in the same way he did; moving on.

Dean frowns at that, wondering what a child like her had to go through in such a short time to react this way.

"I'm going to go see someone, her name is Lisa. . ." He replies, looking over his menu, "She has a son named Ben, he's a bit older than you."

"Is she your girlfriend?" She dragged out, tilting her head.

Dean leaned forward and copied her tilt, "That is none of your business," He dragged mockingly.

She huffed. "I bet she is," She muttered. Dean couldn't help but chuckle.

"What are you ordering?" He asked, watching as Olive opened her menu.

She stares at it long and hard, trying to sound the words out under her breath.

Dean smirks, quickly leaning over and plucked the menu out of her hands, turning it over, "You're reading it upside down."

"Oooooh." Olive dragged, squinting her eyes at the menu. After a beat, she places it down softly and crosses her arms, "I still can't read."

His lips twitched up in amusement, grabbed the menu. "All right, let's see. You can get the standard bacon 'n eggs, side of pancakes, and apple juice."

He looked over to her for confirmation, but Olive scrunched her nose in distaste.

"What? You don't like bacon?" He sounded offended.

Olive grabbed the menu back, "I like bacon. . .I just don't want it."

"Don't...want..bacon?" Dean seemed to have a hard time understanding. "What kid doesn't like bacon?" He mumbled to himself.

"Can I get this?" She pointed at two things on the menu, and after a moment, Dean nodded.

"Have you ever had those before?" She shakes her head at the question, his eyes widened, "You gotta be kidding me!"

"What can I get the two of you?"

The waitress clicked her pen and smile, her salt and pepper hair pulled up in a messy bun, the name tag on her uniform reading—Connie.

She looked between the two kindly.

Dean smiled, "Bacon cheeseburger, extra onions." He handed her the menu before turning to Olive, motioning for her to order, "And a side of pancakes."

She's fumbled for a second, not feeling comfortable with talking to a stranger, "Uh, can I have the thingy with the holes in it?" She pointed to the stack of waffles. Connie smiled wrote it down with a nod, "Does it really come with blueberries on top?" Her little eyes widened in amazement.

"Yup, you can even get chocolate chips if you want," Connie stated.

Olive tilted her head, "Mhmm no thanks." She said after a moment. "Can I also have the pink drink?"

"Strawberry milkshake?" Connie wrote down, "Whip cream?" Olive nodded, dimples on display. "Anything else?" She shook her head and handed her the menu.

Dean frowned, his eyes sweeping her form, "Are you sure?" She was too skinny and pale. He didn't know what the orphanage was feeding children—or what she ate when she was with Sophia, but as long as Olive was with him, he vowed to make her eat better.

She seemed deprived of the little things, what else besides waffles and milkshakes how she not tried?

Dean's eyes lit up, "Do you have pie?"

Connie nods. "Fresh out the oven."

"We'll take that too."

Before Olive knew it, a plate of steaming hot waffles, a large milkshake, and a slice of pie were placed in front of her—it was happily overwhelming. She didn't put syrup on her waffles, Dean noticed, and when he asked her about it, she shrugged and told him that it 'might make the waffles soggy.' Which made him scoff as he drowned his pancakes in syrup.

Although she enjoyed them, Olive's favorite thing had to be the milkshake—which had strawberry slices at the bottom and whip cream all over the top.

She swears to Dean that she'd live off of them if she could.

Dean gave a genuine smile at that.

"Now," He states, pushing a thick slice of apple pie towards her. Her eyes widened in imitation, but it was Dean's excitement that made Olive so excited, "This might just be the best—no, the greatest thing that you will ever taste, understood?"

"Uh-huh." She wildly nods.

"There is nothing in this world that can't be fixed with pie." Dean explained, "Nothing."

"Nothing." She repeated. Satisfied, Dean handed her a fork, watching patiently as Olive cut into it and slowly raised it towards her mouth. She paused, "But what if it's yucky?"

He reels back, "Say that again, and you'll walk to Indiana." Needless to say Olive enjoyed the pie. She even tried to steal some off of Dean's plate when he wasn't looking—he was aware of it, but didn't say anything if it meant Olive ate more.

"You gotta little. . ." Dean motioned to her face where Olive had whip cream on her nose, cheeks, and mouth. He smiles lightly as Olive stuck her tongue out, trying to lick her nose, "Come 'ere," She leaned forward, and Dean quickly wiped her face with a napkin.

For a moment, Dean can picture himself genuinely taking care of Olive. She reminded him a lot of Sam when he was younger. Innocent. As she continued stuffing her face, he sat silently, thinking over the last few days. He had a lot of questions, and a lot of pieces of the puzzle he still needed to put together.

"Hey, kid?" He grabs her attention.

"Mm?" She lifts her head, swallowing a mouthful.

"What happened to your parents?" He questioned hesitantly, "You know, why aren't you with them?"

Olive froze, slowly placing her fork down with a soft clink. Her heart sped up at his questions, a sweat on her palms that made her sick, behind her eyes flicks a type of trauma from memory.

Olive didn't want to remember the feeling of snow numbing her body, but every time she thought about that day it all happened she'd feel a shiver run up her spine.

"I don't want to re-nember," She repeated the same words from earlier, looking down at her plate with a frown.

Dean sighed in frustration but didn't push the topic further. He understood exactly what she was going through, pushing her to talk didn't help either of them, "My mom died in a fire." Dean explains after a long moment, "I was four, just like you were. Something really bad killed her—a demon."

"Is that what the bad man was? In the cabin?" She questions.

He nods, "Yeah. But the one I'm talking about had yellow eyes, so it was a little different."

"Why are you telling me?" Her eyes glossed.

He takes a moment to find the right words, "Because. Because I just want you to know that you aren't alone. I understand what you're going through. . .and you can, I don't know, talk to me about it if you want or something." He clears his throat awkwardly. "Look, kid. There's a lot of things out there. A lot of horrible things."

She seems intrigued. "Like what?"

He hesitated, tapping his fingers on the table.

On one end, he wanted to keep her away from this life—especially if Olive was going to stay with Lisa and Ben.

Explaining the hunting life wasn't his idea of a fresh start, but there was also a side of him that just knew it needed to be done.

Olive wasn't a normal child, and once he and Cas figure out what she is, her life will go from milkshakes to boot camp.

He'll tell her what's out there, but he wouldn't dare tell Olive her part in it.

"Ever heard of Vampires? Werewolves?"

Olive nodded, "In storytime."

"Well, they're all real. Anything you can think of that's scary: real." He explained.

Her eyes widened, "Green beans?"

Dean blinks. "Uh–not exactly."

"Those are scary." She shrugged.

He huffed a laugh, "Yeah, well, me and my brother, Sam, spent all our lives fighting the scary things. . .to find Yellow Eyes." He continues. "And after a long time of cheap motels and family problems, we finally found him, I killed him."

She leans in curiously, "Where is he?"

"Who Yellow Eyes?" He slacked, "He's dead."

Olive shook her head, "Your brother. . ."

Dean hesitated, looking down at his coffee, "He's dead too." He muttered.

Every time he closed his eyes he was back on that field, watching his brother jump into the pit. Both of his brothers—one he never got the chance to really know.

"You're all on your own?" She asked softly, eyes glossing at the thought.

"For the most part, yeah." He chuckled dryly, "I'm the last one."

Dean watched curiously as Olive leaned forward. She grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped his tears on his cheeks away, much like he did earlier with the whipped cream. He didn't even realize a small tear slipped his eyes—he didn't feel it.

She gave a dimpled smile. "I'm the last one too," She stated, sitting back down in her seat. "We can be the last ones together!"

After a moment, he smiled.

Olive bounces towards the Impala, dragging Dean by his sleeve, "Road trip! Road trip! Road trip!" Dean begins to walk slower on purpose, dragging his feet in amusement, "Ugh-! Walk faster we have ta go see Lina." She gets behind him and starts pushing.

"One, It's Lisa," He correct, pulling the door open for Olive. She slid in, stomach first, "And two, we need to stop for gas before we get on the road," He rounded the car and sits in the driver's seat. "We also need to change you out of those clothes." He glanced at her blood-stained onesie that thankfully nobody noticed in the diner.

Reaching in the backseat, he grabs her backpack and tossing it to her. She makes an 'ooph' sound when it lands into her chest, "How did it go away?" She questioned, looking down at her stomach before rolling her onesie up her thigh, "The cuts?"

He shifts. "A friend of mine fixed you up." He says simply.

"Is he a doctor?" She pressed, leaning forward, resting her arms on the bench seat.

"No." He dismissed. Olive crunched her face causing Dean to sigh, she wasn't going to let this go. "He's an Angel. . ."

"Like in the sky?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, he healed you."

"Then he's nice." She nodded back.

"He's annoying." He replies instantly.

"What's his name?" She continued to lean forward until she was hanging over the front seats.

"Cas," Dean states, pushing her head back.

She pops her head back over, "Does he have a harp?"

Dean smirks. "Oh yeah."

"Does he have wings?" She pressed.

"Yup."

"What color are they?"

He blinked. I don't know, I've only seen the shadows."

"I think they're purple!" She cheers.

"What makes you think that?" Dean scoffed.

Olive shrugged, "I don't know he just seems like a purple person. What's he look like?"

"Who cares?"

"Is he a pretty angel?" Dean's eyes narrowed, and the questions stopped there, but after a long pause, Olive spoke up again. "Are we there yet?"

"Oh-kay." Dean pushed in a random cassette, Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath blow through the speakers—how ironic, Dean thought, "If there's one thing you need to know about driving with me is that the driver picks the music."

"Well, what do I do?!" She yelled over the music, covering her ears and crinkling her nose in annoyance as Dean turned the volume up with a head bop.

He smirked, looking back at the road, "Shotgun shuts her cakehole."

And with that, they were back on the road.

PUBLISHED, 05/15/2020 !
EDITED, 3/15/2021 !
WORDS, 3258 !