Chapter Text
Balthazar tried to move her out of the way, but Dean had already squeezed out three rounds before the angel had registered what had been said. They hit her in the chest, a tight grouping straight through her heart. She crumpled to the ground. Jocelyn was by her side trying to put pressure on the wound before Sam could stop her; there was nothing to be done, Dean had kept his word. Annie reached for Jocelyn’s hands, both now smeared an awful red, almost black.
“I love you,” Annie’s words were accompanied with and terrible hissing and gargling sound as blood bubbled in her mouth. Balthazar hit Dean in the face knocking him the floor only to drag him back up to hit him again and again and again. Each time Sam or Bobby tried to stop it he flung them backwards into the walls.
Jocelyn’s strangled sob was the only thing that stopped the savage beating. Sam scrambled to her side. Balthazar slumped against the wall sliding down to the floor, his knees to his chest, beside the bloodied Winchester.
“You could have saved her instead of beating the shit out of me,” Dean spit blood onto the floor, it mingled with the Annie’s. “You had time.”
“No I couldn’t” The angel looked at the Dean the spark of chaotic glee glazed over with loss. “She wasn’t human, at least not entirely. Her mother begged me to take her somewhere safe and I thought I had.”
“She would have been if she hadn’t been dragged back.” Bobby sank down next to them pulling out an old silver flask. He took a long swallow and offered it to the angel.
“Thanks,” The angel took the proffered alcohol, his drag long and deep. “You should have given her a chance.”
“I couldn’t.” Dean took the flask his vision unfocused. “If she turned on us, if Crowley found her, if he convinced her… I couldn’t.”
Other than Jocelyn’s quiet sobs the room was silent for a long while. Bobby got up to get bottle of whiskey at some point returning to the angel’s side. The sun had started to sink below the tree line when it happened.
Annie’s body twitched, a small plume of tell tale black smoke rose from the holes in her chest. Everyone went still, even the ancient grandfather clock in the far corner of the room, who’s ticking until that point had been almost deafening, fell silent. Her back jackknifed off of the floor at such a horrific angle Dean thought he heard snapping, and then she gasped drawing in huge gulps of air until she collapsed on the floor. She rolled onto her side and threw up chunks of flesh and black sludge. She heaved a few more times, coughed, and finally propped her self against the front panel of Bobby’s desk. She pressed the back of her hand against her chin trying in vain to wipe away the sludge dripping down her front; succeeding only in smearing them. No one spoke, or moved, they would have stopped breathing if they could have.
The sun finally disappeared entirely leaving the group in the stark shadows of the poorly lit study. Dean took long draws from the whiskey, its contents almost completely drained, Annie’s rattling breaths echoing in his head. The clock rang out in the ominous way all grand old clocks seem to have and resumed ticking.
“This isn’t good,” Annie broke the silence. She wheezed, her voice raw.
“Most assuredly not.” Balthazar took the bottle from Dean and drained it.
“I think I’m still bleeding.” Annie pressed her fingers to the still open wound on her chest.
“Well you did get shot,” Dean chuckle humorlessly at his own joke.
Annie chuckled too her head falling back against the desk. Dean gave her a morbid grin, and suddenly the two were laughing in sincerity, their heads flung back eyes squinting tears leaking down their faces. It filled the space with sickening noise, rasps, and coughing, the faint splash of a hand sliding in blood. It carried through the walls and burrowed into the bones, when they finally stopped the room echoed with dark nervous energy.
“So do I get a band aid?”