by Lucy Smoke
Right back into hell.
48
AVALON
I COME AWAKE SLOWLY, LIKE RISING TO THE SURFACE OF A GREAT BIG BODY
of water, to the sound of machines running. There's an annoying, consistent
beeping and the smell of antiseptic in my nostrils. It burns. Shit, everything
burns. A sharp pain digs against my ribcage, and the rest of my body isn't in
great shape either. My leg is wrapped in some sort of gauze and it’s difficult
to move. It's like someone threw me down a massive flight of stairs and I'd
somehow managed to bruise every fucking bone in my body.
My lips part and a low groan emerges. It's so fucking dry. My mouth
tastes like shit.
"Ava?" I know that voice. My eyelids crack open and I turn my head.
Rylie's face hovers in front of me, the dark circles under her eyes even more
shadowed than usual. Her face is washed free of her usual makeup and her
fading lavender colored hair is pulled up into a haphazard bun. "Oh my God,
you're awake." She sniffles and her hand clenches into the plain white sheets
tucked into the side of the hospital mattress. Her upper arm is wrapped in
bandages. "Are you in pain? Do you need anything? Want me to call the
nurse?"
"Water," I rasp, lifting a hand as if a glass will magically appear if I just
reach for it.
"Of course." Rylie disappears out of my line of vision for a brief moment
and I hear the sounds of a door opening and closing and a tap running. When
she comes back, she's got a plastic cup in her grip, filled halfway. "You need
to be careful," she says, shifting onto the mattress and placing a hand behind
my neck as she helps me sit up. It hurts to fucking move, but I need that
fucking water. "Do you remember what happened?" she asks.
It's a little fuzzy when I think about it, but when I try to recall the
memories of how I ended up here, it's interrupted by that weird ass dream I
had. The car. A Dean who wasn't actually Dean. The sun coming up and then
… nothing.
"Avalon?"
I blink, realizing I've finished the cup she'd given me and she's sitting
there, staring at me as if waiting for a response. Wait, she is waiting for a
response, but instead of answering her question, I ask one of my own.
"Where's Dean?"
Rylie pulls her hand back and lets me rest back on the pillow. Her lips
pinch down and she glances to the side. My head turns, eyes following the
direction of hers. As soon as I see him, the breath rushes out of my chest.
Dean is on his back with bandages peeking out of the hospital gown he's
wearing—the same kind I am. The monitors on the other side of the second
bed in the room beep with consistency, letting me know that the one person
on the face of this earth that I need—the one person I can't live without—is
still breathing. His heart is still beating.
I don't even realize I'm crying until the sight of him becomes blurry.
"Ava." Rylie's hand finds mine over the sheets. "Ava, he's okay. He's just
resting. He hasn't woken up yet, but the doctors said he's out of the danger
zone now."
It's good to hear that. It eases something inside of me, but now that the
dam has opened, I can't seem to stop these tears. Her fingers—cold and thin
as they are—feel so strong in my grip. I squeeze until I know I'm probably
hurting her, but Rylie doesn't say anything. She doesn't flinch away from my
fear or the bite of my nails. In fact, she squeezes back—as if to let me know
without using her words that she's here. That I'm here, and so is Dean. We're
alive. We made it. It's over.
The rush of relief is both euphoric and exhausting. I curl towards her as
her free hand lifts up and touches my back. I don't know how long I lay like
that, with my head half in her lap as she rubs my back, but it reminds me of a
long ago memory. Something I'd forgotten until just now.
I'd been so fucking young—three? Maybe four? It's one of my first
memories. I'd been sick to my stomach, puking, shaking, and crying. My skin
had been cold one minute, hot the next, and all throughout, I thought I was
going to die. Patricia had never come to see me. She'd ignored my existence
even then, but sometime, in the middle of the night—a cool hand had touched
my feverish forehead. No assurances had been spoken, but I'd felt her tears as
she'd lifted me into her hole-riddled arms and held me, rubbing my back just
as Rylie does now. And just before I'd fallen back into my delirious slumber,
I'd heard my mother's voice.
"I'm so sorry," she'd whispered to me, but it wasn't my name she'd said. It
wasn't me she was apologizing to. It was him—my father. It was the one and
only time I think she'd ever hugged me, but it was there. It's as real to me as
the present is now.
Rylie holds me and lets me cry on her for a long time. How long, I don't
know because eventually I fall back asleep like that, curling into her, feeling
her fingers against my spine, and despite the place and the pain in my chest,
feeling safer than I've ever felt in my entire life.
When next I wake, the darkness in the room has lightened a bit and
Rylie's gone. This time, she's replaced with another familiar face. "Abel," I
croak, groaning when it appears my throat's gone dry again.
He jerks up from the chair he'd been dozing in and flashes a look between
Dean and me as if he couldn't recognize the tone of my voice and isn't sure
which of us had called for him. When he sees my eyes open, he nearly jumps
on me.
"Gently," I say quickly when it looks like he might pounce. He pauses at
the side of my bed and then lowers down. His palm presses into the mattress,
pushing it down as he hovers over me, his face drawn tight.
"Ava ... fuck, Jesus, Ava—we almost..." He bites his lip and then releases
a slow, shuddering breath. "We almost lost both of you."
I figured. That dream in the back of my mind—the Mustang, the fake
Dean. I'd died or almost had. That much was clear. I always thought that
those hallucinations people had right before they died were all bullshit, but
apparently not. There hadn't been a white light, but the sun rising—it'd felt
warm.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice croaking. "Where's Rylie?"
Abel gently turns and scoots his ass onto the mattress and I push away
from him to give him some room, wincing when a few of the cords attached
to my arm pull tight. He curses and adjusts, pulling me back so that they ease
up, and then shifts both of us until he's resting back against the headboard and
I'm half draped over his lap.
"Rylie's getting checked out by the doctor," he answers my second
question first.
"Her arm?" I ask. "She was shot?"
"It's just a graze, she'll be fine," he assures me.
"And everything else?" I prompt.
"Our dads are dead," he begins. "You're safe. That's the most important
thing. Dean's father was out of town taking care of something and they
decided to act while he was away."
I nod. It's over. I lay against him for a moment, relishing in that
knowledge. I'm fucking tired, sore as hell, and
hooked up to an ungodly
amount of machines—but it's all fucking over. Finally.
"Wait," I say, looking up at him. "How did you guys..." I don't know
exactly how to ask.
"Cover it up?" he guesses. I nod. He inhales. "We took a note from your
book," he says. "We set the house on fire as well as their bodies. Dean's
father is handling the rest. As far as the media is concerned Elric Smalls and
Lionel Frazier were visiting an old friend’s house that had been unoccupied
for years. The electricity running throughout the house shorted, caused a fire,
and exploded the building while they were inside."
"And Ace?" I ask. "Elric sent him upstairs after you guys."
"We didn't see him," Abel replied.
"He must have gotten away, then..." I think back to Elric's words just
before Ace had left. It almost sounded like Ace was only working for them to
keep someone else safe. Who though?
Abel's hand squeezes my arm lightly, the warmth of his palm almost like
fire against my cold skin. My nose twitches. The scent of bleach and
medicine is so heavy that it's a relief to turn my face into his side and inhale
his cologne. The only thing that'd make this better is if it were Dean laying by
my side.
"Can you help me?" I ask.
Abel stops squeezing and pulls away slightly. "Of course," he says,
immediately. "What's wrong? Are you in pain? Do you need me to call the
nurse?"
I shake my head. "No, I just want..." I gesture lamely to the other side of
the room where Dean lays.
Abel's head turns up and follows the direction of my hand before a light
of understanding enters his eyes. When he looks back at me, his face softens.
"You can't get up right now," he replies. "But I think I can pull something
together if you give me some time."
I reach down and touch his hand. Without hesitation, he flips it over and
laces his fingers with mine, lifting it and kissing my bruised knuckles.
"Thank you, Frontman," I say.
"Anytime, Princess."
As Abel leaves the room to go put together whatever he's planning, he's
passed in the doorway by a giant, familiar figure. I smile as Brax takes up a
stance at the end of my bed. "Heard you were awake," he rumbles.
"Yeah," I reply, "and hurting like a bitch." He doesn't crack a smile. I tilt
my head to the side. "You good, psycho boy?" I ask.
Braxton crosses his arms and lowers his head until his chin is almost to
his chest. After a moment of deep, slow breaths, he shakes his head. "Not
even a fucking little bit, savage girl," he replies.
I hold out a hand. "Wanna talk about it?"
He takes one look at my hand and then, after what feels like eternity, he
nods and circles the bed. It almost makes me laugh how easily he slides into
bed with me, taking up Abel's vacated position. It's nice. It's sweet. It feels
like I'm holding my family, but as I turn my cheek and take another long look
at the man across the room, it doesn't feel like enough.
49
DEAN
THERE'S A HEAVY WEIGHT ON MY CHEST LIKE A MASSIVE FUCKING BOULDER IS
sitting right on my sternum. My eyelids flicker. I'd bet anything in the
fucking world those assholes—Brax and Abel—have pulled some dumbass
prank on me. My head's pounding. I don't normally get so fucking drunk, but
it's hard to remember how I got here.
When I finally manage to crack open my eyes, however, and I see the
wash of dark, inky almost-black hair laying across my chest, the memories
come flooding back. The Havers fire, the Mason Estate, Avalon, Elric
Smalls. The gunshot.
It looks like I'm still alive, at least. And if Avalon is here then so is she.
I flex my fingers and reach up, ignoring the tugging of cords wrapped
around my arms and the pain that shoots through me. The need to touch her is
too strong. The pain is nothing. Her head pops up and she looks up at me, her
eyes widening.
"You're awake." She breathes the words as if she can't fucking believe it
and then before I can say anything, she leans up and wraps her arms around
my neck and kisses me.
Shit yeah, this is the best fucking way to wake up even if I'm strapped to a
goddamn hospital bed. My dick jumps beneath the plastic-y gown I'm dressed
in, pressing insistently upward. Yeah, buddy, I think. I want her, too. And as
much as I want to roll her over, push her legs apart, and sink into heaven—
that weight is still there. The pain, while temporarily forgotten, comes roaring
back and I break off the kiss with a low groan. Pathetic.
"Shit, sorry," Avalon pulls away, panting.
"Don't," I say gruffly, "ever apologize for waking me up like that, baby."
I scrub a hand down my sore face and release a breath.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
I chuckle. How does she think I feel? "Like someone shot me in the
chest," I reply.
Her lips turn down into a scowl. "I'm fucking serious, Dean," she snaps.
"Do I need to call the nurse?"
"What?" My eyes scan the room, noting that two hospital beds have been
pushed together to make a much larger one, and on either side are a line of
random ass machines. "Why would you do that? You call them, they're gonna
come in here and drug me up again."
"Do you need it?" she asks.
I shoot her a dark look. "Do I look like I need it?"
She blinks innocently back at me. "Do you really want me to tell you how
shitty you look right now?" she replies.
Brat. "I look shitty, huh?" I grin as I palm the side of her hip. "You were
sure excited about jumping a guy who looks as shitty as I do."
Her beautiful blue-gray eyes roll. "Please," she mutters.
"Please what, baby?" I inquire, sliding my hand up her side—pushing the
t-shirt she's wearing up past the waistband of her pants until I can feel the
smooth, soft skin underneath.
Avalon purses her lips, reaches down, and pinches my side— fucking
hard. "Fuck!" I snap, jerking away, and that too sends a bolt of agony up my
chest. "What the hell was that for?" I demand even as I try to hide how much
it actually hurt.
"For being a dipshit," she snaps. "You're in no condition to do shit right
now much less be starting anything."
I groan and cup the side where she pinched me, but if she feels any
remorse, she sure as fuck isn’t showing it. "You're hurting an injured man," I
reply. "Don't you feel anything?"
"Annoyed." She deadpans.
"Well if you're not gonna do anything, why aren't you in your own damn
bed?" I ask. "And why the hell are you wearing real clothes while I'm stuck in
this shit." I gesture down to my hospital gown.
She shrugs. "I woke up first and asked Abel and Braxton to bring me
some clothes," she answers.
"They're here?" I ask, turning my head towards the doorway, but no one
appears.
"Yeah, somewhere—probably grabbing coffee. I doubt it's fun watching
two people sleep."
I groan and reach for her, ignoring the tugs and little pains as I yank her
down to my level, against my chest. “Shhhh,” I hush her by cupping my palm
over her mouth as I settle back even further into the mattress and cut off her
protests. The agony in my chest feels like a red hot poker and it takes
everything in me not to show it. “Can we just relax, baby?” I ask. “Please,
I’m tired.”
Her hands pause over my sides. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dean?”
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. “I’m alive,” I tell her.
“When I really didn’t think I was going to be.”
Her nails scratch against the plastic gown I’m wearing. “I’m pissed at
you,” she tells me in a quiet voice.
I snort and that, too, hurts. “When aren’t you?” I shoot back.
“I’m serious,” she says. “I thought … if you ever do something like that
again, Dean, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Kill a dead man?” I chuckle. “I don’t know if even you can do that.”
“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t make light of this.”
My eyes open and I look down, meeting her gaze. “Baby…”
“You almost died,” she says. “You can’t fucking shove yourself into
someone’s life and then just give up like that. You can’t ever do that to me.”
“I didn’t plan to go in there and get shot,” I argue.
“You also didn’t think twice about putting yourself between me and a
fucking bullet.” She bares her teeth at me. “You didn’t fucking think.”
My hold on her loosens. “You’re saying I didn’t fucking think?” I growl.
“I did—all I could do was think. Think about what was happening to you.
Whether you were dead or alive and what I could do to get you back. You’re
all I fucking think about Avalon. You’re all I fucking want.”
“Then why did you almost fuck everything up?” she yells. I blink,
overwhelming shock hitting me like a bullet train to the head when a single
tear slips over her cheek. She doesn’t even give me an opportunity to reach
up and wipe it away. To feel if it’s real or not with my own thumb. Instead,
she quickly swipes her hand over her cheek, erasing its existence as if it’d
never been there in the first place.
“Baby—”
“No, don’t fucking ‘baby’ me,” she snaps. “I want an answer, Dean. What
made you think what you did was okay?”
“Are you seriously mad at me for protecting you?” I demand.
“Yes, I am.”
