WHO: Heather & [OPEN to anyone in the apartment] WHAT: You have to let it out sometime. WHEN: Tonight, before training with Sam and Ruby. WHERE: Bathroom; Winchester apartment. RATING: TBD. STATUS: Incomplete.
Heather was starting to become a fantastic little actress as of late. Not that certain aspects of life weren't sincerely making her feel good, but it was all too brief when it did happen. Lunch with Mary, joking conversations with John, intimate time with Sam, even heart-to-hearts with Dean. She thoroughly enjoyed all of that, she valued it, but nothing was powerful enough to keep the darker emotions at bay for too long. She'd been trying, and trying hard, but it seemed that once everything had started to ebb and swell inside of her, it just kept going and going until an unavoidable breaking point was reached.
It had hurt a little when Sam didn't make any mention of the 'gift' she'd left on his bed. She wouldn't admit that to him, though, not after he'd already given her that bracelet. And something like that, as she'd said, probably wasn't the best kind of thing to try and do with an apartment full of people (even if it hadn't really stopped them before) or when Sam was preoccupied with honing his abilities with Ruby. He said he was okay with it, but deep down, Heather knew it scared him. The way he'd felt before wasn't something she'd easily forgotten, and neither was the raw fear in his eyes when he asked her the kind of questions he'd been asking her last time. If he was a killer, if she thought he could ever become the kind of person his alternate self had been, if she thought he was normal in his violent thinking. Heather never wanted to see that look on his face ever again. Having and using the powers were one thing, but if they had that effect on him, she didn't like it.
And then there was Azazel and Lilith. Granted, Heather now had a handful of people willing to protect her, and she definitely wasn't going off anywhere alone again, but it was still a concern of hers, of course. Not just for herself, but for the others, as well. She knew they were powerful demons who wouldn't have a problem killing off any of them, and there was nothing fun about having a target on your head.
Dahlia was another person on Heather's mind, as well. The woman had been a leader back in Silent Hill, had been the one to burn Alessa alive and stir up the hell inside of that town to begin with. And now she was walking around Los Angeles like she hadn't done a thing wrong. It killed Heather, tore her apart inside, and it wasn't just because of what she'd done to Alessa. She'd also been a friend of Claudia's. The same woman who had sent a monster to slaughter her father where he sat in his own home. And now she knew who Heather was herself, and she was showing a distinct interest in meeting her. 'Fuck that' was probably the only real response Heather had come up with in regards to the woman.
The most upsetting part of it all, though, was still her Dad. It had been days now. Days since they'd gone into the alternate universe to offer up the falsely created sacrifice. Alessa had thought it would work, Sam had thought it would work, and so naturally, Heather did, too. A trade. But either the town hadn't taken it, hadn't been fooled, or it just didn't have any real intention of letting go of the curse on Harry. And by now? Heather was believing the latter more and more.
It was funny, the fact that she and Alessa had just been discussing whether or not some of the powers Alessa possessed had been passed onto Heather when she created her. Funny as in ironic, of course, considering the feelings and sensations Heather had been getting as of late. Harry. Pain. Suffering. Torture. Death. The last one was the strongest. She'd been dreaming about it, which was where her insomnia had come from, and now even during the day, she would just get pangs of ominous vibes over and over. Death was hovering over her, screaming in her ears, filling her entire body with darkness and grief. She knew what it meant. She didn't even have to ask another soul about it.
Her father was dead, and she was picking up on it with whatever powers she'd ended up getting from the other girl.
And so now, she was sitting in the bathroom with her back pressed up against the door after she'd slid down into that position. She was crying, bawling really, and ever since the first tear fell, she hadn't been able to stop. Her shoulders heaved with every sob, and her entire body shook with the effort to hold it all in. Someone would surely hear her, someone would need to use the bathroom soon. But she couldn't help it. She cried and cried until her lungs and throat hurt, until her muscles ached from the tension, until her head throbbed so hard that she thought it might explode.