THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER || 33
PAIRING: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x OC!Fem Avenger
SUMMARY: Alisa starts missing the time of her life when she thought she was an orphan with no family left.
WARNINGS: Forced cold bath, Game of Thrones references, nakedness (nothing sexual), cursing, mentions of fights and murders, bruises, a bit of self-loathing, past trauma, abusive relationships, some sort of religious psychosis, blood, and (light but) unwanted physical touch. That should be all.
OTHER: Hey everyone, just wanted to let you know that I'll probably start a new job on Monday or sometime next week, so I'll be even less active than I am now. All I want is to be filthy rich and never work a day in my life but oh well. However I will continue posting this story because it's already finished and only needs to be adjusted here and there :) As always, hope you enjoy 🙂↕️
-> Masterlist ; | 12.7k words |
-> part thirty two ; part thirty four
-> The Last Supper
Alisa heard a woman humming softly to herself even before she opened her eyes, trying to understand where she was and why the only thing she could feel was cold biting into her skin. What she registered next was dampness, and it didn't take long for her to realize she was submerged somewhere in freezing water - water that would likely stop her circulation if she stayed in it much longer.
Her head felt heavy but despite that she could still remember what had happened before someone struck her from behind, knocking her unconscious. She remembered the bitterness that had settled in when it became clear that Cassandra had been wearing a mask all along and that she had always been on Malcom's side.
Alisa and Cassandra had never had the kind of relationship two sisters were supposed to have, and it hadn't really been either of their faults. Still, the younger one had almost taken it for granted that, once this mission was over - if she survived - they would stay together. That had been before making a deal with Crowley, sure, but the point was that Cassandra had been the only member of her family worth building something with.
Alisa wasn't exactly the most affectionate or dependable person on the planet, but she had been willing to give her a chance. A chance for both of them, really, and that wasn't something she offered lightly.
The truth was, Alisa was fine on her own. Solitude was all she had known for most of her life, and at some point she had been forced to turn it into comfort instead of something to resent. Which was why she didn't even know how to let people in most of the time and why she didn't bother trying. It wasn't something she was good at.
Sometimes even holding a simple conversation with a friend drained every ounce of energy from her, as if she needed to unplug herself for days afterward just to recover. She didn't do it out of malice, she was just built that way. And you don't heal that kind of mental damage overnight.
So now she felt like an idiot for thinking she could make an exception for Cassandra who had turned out to be just another two-faced traitor, and Alisa was so fucking done with those.
How does it go again? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Alisa forced her eyes open. Her eyelids felt heavy - who knew how long she'd been in there. The steady throbbing that stretched from her temples to the back of her skull told her it hadn't been long, at least. That was something. At least she hadn't been like this for days.
She tried to move her legs and immediately realized she was naked. That worried her.
When her vision finally cleared and the blur faded, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. She was still in Malcom's house, specifically in the bathroom. It was a place she knew, which meant she could probably find a way out… except she wasn't just in the bathtub. She was sealed inside it.
The bathtub had been covered with a metal plate welded along the edges, split at the center where another piece locked it shut, it was completely impossible to open from the inside. Only her head stuck out through a circular opening, just enough to let her breathe.
Oh, and the same woman who had been humming earlier was brushing her hair.
Not exactly what she'd meant when she said she wanted to take a bath.
"You're finally awake, little sister." Cassandra said, her voice far too sweet for the situation. The way she dragged the brush through Alisa's silver hair was unsettling: she was making slow movements, carefully working through the tangles like she was tending to a doll.
"Why the fuck did you put me in here?" Alisa snapped, lifting her palms upward and trying to push against the metal plate. It didn't budge, not even a little. Instead, a wave of shivers ran through her body.
"Purification." Cassandra replied simply. "She doesn't like the cold, but we have to wash away your impurities before she takes you. It symbolizes rebirth, in some religions."
Alisa tried to keep her teeth from chattering - maybe if she stopped thinking about how much she resembled Jack from Titanic in the middle of the Atlantic, she wouldn't die of hypothermia. She just had to convince herself.
"Was it you?" Alisa said, ignoring the clear signs of religious psychosis that had taken over her sister's mind who knew how long ago. "You were the one feeding them information about where to find us, weren't you? We never figured out how they always knew our moves because it never crossed our minds that it could be you."
"Yeah." Cassandra shrugged lightly. "I was hiding in plain sight, if you think about it. It wasn't easy either 'cause let's be honest, you and that bunch of idiots are the most paranoid people I've ever met." She scoffed. "And stubborn. Keeping up with you was the most stressful thing I've ever done - arguments here, last-minute plan changes there. The things we do for love." She breathed the last part out.
Welcome back Jaime Lannister.
"So everything you told us these past weeks was just bullshit?" Alisa's voice came out weaker than she intended as her attempt at pretending the water wasn't freezing clearly wasn't working. She tried again, this time pushing with her feet against the metal. Still nothing.
"Not everything, no." Cassandra said. "I did feel bad painting Malcom as the villain, but we had to get to you before the Winchesters stabbed you. So, you know... I told him to tie me up and leave me in that church for you to find. Ellen was already tracking you, so we knew you'd come here." She paused, her expression flickering for a moment. "Even so… this wasn't how I wanted things to go. I meant it when I said I wanted to stand by your side. We're sisters, after all." She set the brush down on the edge of the sink beside her. "I wanted to get to know you. I wanted… I thought you understood how lucky you were to grow up with Mom and I had hoped that the person she raised, even with her harsh methods, was still in there." Her voice hardened slightly. "But she's not. You've changed, apparently."
Alisa could hardly believe what she was hearing. She was worse than she thought. "Lucky to grow up with Ellen?" She echoed, almost laughing. "Do you even hear yourself? Between the two of us, I'm supposed to be the one closer to losing it and yet you're the one spouting this kind of bullshit."
"You say that because you don't know her."
"I don't know her?" Alisa shot back, incredulous. She tried to push herself up to sit but of course she couldn't. It came out more like an involuntary spasm at what she had just heard.
Fifteen years of hearing, seeing, and sometimes getting beaten by Ellen for disobeying the stupidest things and Cassandra had the nerve to say Alisa didn't know her?
"Our Mom wasn't the monster you think she is, she became one after you were born." Alisa heard the legs of a chair scrape against the floor, and a moment later Cassandra stepped into her line of sight. "Everything changed after you were born, Alisa. Before that, she used to come see me every now and then when she left the facility to visit Dad. She brought me gifts, played with me... then she disappeared. Just like that, she was gone! And all because her entire world started revolving around you!"
Alisa rolled her eyes. "So your mommy abandoned you and you decided to join some fucked up cult just to get attention? Most people go to therapy."
"Very funny." Cassandra forced a tight, fake smile. "I'm the one who told Malcom about Spegil - I'd overheard Dad talking about it. At first I thought it was some kind of code, but Malcom looked into it and we found out it wasn't. So yeah… we chose this path. Him to get to you, me to get to Mom."
"You do realize Spegil will devour everything if you set her free, right?" Alisa said flatly. "You've been around us long enough to understand that and yet here we are."
"Everyone except the one who frees her." Cassandra replied evenly. "That's what the prophecy says, and I trust that more than whatever an angel loyal to two hunters told you. Me, my husband, everyone who chose to follow us; we all know it." She tilted her head slightly, studying her. "And speaking of that, you owe my husband the lives of Barnes and the Winchesters. If it were up to me, I would have had them impaled outside already, especially after Bucky managed to give even a demon a hard time. Thankfully Meg took him down in the end. A lot in the end."
"Who the hell is Meg?" Alisa asked, then paused as her brain caught up with the first part of what Cassandra had said. "Wait you married that psychopath?" She didn't even know why she sounded so surprised.
"Watch your mouth when you talk about him." Cassandra snapped, one eyebrow lifting sharply. "We got married the moment we turned eighteen. Angelica didn't like him, she always said he was a violent lunatic and hoped I'd end up with Adam instead." She spread her arms in a careless shrug. "Then she lost her mind, and her ideas started falling apart. Though, to be fair, that was Dad's fault."
Alisa didn't miss the flat, detached way she said Mrs Miller's name as if it meant absolutely nothing to her. As if the woman hadn't raised her. As if she hadn't once refused to even speak to Alisa for not telling her that Malcom had torn the poor woman to pieces in the attic of her own house. She had lied. And she had lied so flawlessly that now the Avenger wanted to kick herself for not seeing through Cassandra's act sooner.
She needed retirement.
"I'm shocked she didn't like him." Alisa said dryly, because sarcasm was all she had left at the moment. "Really. He's such a special guy, full of kindness and big, selfless heart."
"He really is." Cassandra shot back, annoyed by her sister's tone.
"You two don't make one brain." She said. "And congratulations, now I want to murder you as well. Will I ever know peace?" She groaned.
"Our mother wasn't wrong when she said violence is your first language."
"Cassandra I swear to God if you don't stop calling that woman my mother too, I'll find a way out of here and rip your head off your fucking body." Alisa growled.
There were very few things she tolerated in life, and the mere thought of Ellen as a maternal figure made something in her snap completely. Especially when she had been beaten into not seeing her that way. Was this what you called a trauma response? She didn't know, but the frozen fingers of her hands twitched faintly, life flickering back into them for a moment.
Cassandra shook her head, visibly annoyed. "I'd leave you in that tub for days to see if that lovely temper of yours improves, but I don't believe in miracles." Her jaw tightened. "And it's dinnertime, and Malcom is a man who values punctuality and things done properly. You'll be dining with us, by the way. We decided to make it a special occasion tonight."
She gave her a quick wink before leaning forward, undoing the iron latch that kept that pathetic excuse of a cage sealed shut.
"And behave." Cassandra warned, her voice dropping slightly. "Your friends are downstairs. If I let you out right now and you so much as try to hurt me, they're dead."
"You talk a lot about me but it's pretty fucking clear you don't have a problem letting people die either." Alisa shot back, fixing her with a hard stare. "Father Philip. I'm guessing that was you. How'd you do it? Summon a demon to do the dirty work while Dylan was busy punching you in the face?"
"Dylan never punched me." Cassandra scoffed, though there was a flicker of amusement in her expression. "But he's so far gone at this point that convincing him he did something that never even crossed his mind is ridiculously easy." She let out a short breath. "Philip gave me those bruises trying to defend himself, right after I drove that blade into his chest."
Alisa's lips parted in shock. Dylan had told her he didn't remember that detail, and she had chalked it up to simple memory loss.
"And Kimmel?"
"I told Malcom we'd be going to that motel, and he decided to stage the whole thing." Cassandra shrugged lightly. "He's the mind, I'm the hand. We wanted you to think you were losing it, maybe push you into believing you couldn't even trust yourself anymore, that it would drive you to say yes to Spegil." She paused briefly, then exhaled through her nose. "But it didn't really work. And with everything that happened with Brielle and… well, we had to speed things up."
Cassandra was so aware that Alisa wouldn't lay a finger on her if her friends' lives were on the line that she didn't even give Alisa the chance to respond before fully removing the only thing keeping her trapped there. Then she stepped back toward the door.
Alisa didn't move immediately, she kept her gaze locked on her sister, forcing her muscles to cooperate just a little longer and trying to stop them from shaking because, shit, even her organs felt frozen by that point. Only when the bathroom door closed behind her did she finally drop the tough act and jump out of the tub as if something had stung her.
"Fuck fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-" She jumped around a little.
Lately, the cold had been living in her bones, and this freezing bath, complete with rose petals floating among the ice cubes (which she decided not to comment on), was the last thing she needed.
Alisa wrapped her body in a towel, one that Cassandra had probably left there, alongside a white robe she had have to wear, because the alternative was walking out naked, and that didn't seem like the best idea. She tried to warm herself up as best as she could, willing the blood to start flowing again. When she looked down at her body, even for just a second, she saw how the bruises stood out darker now that her skin looked paler than usual and she quickly looked away. She didn't like that sight.
There wasn't a single thing she liked about herself right now, starting with the bruises on her body and ending with the mess inside her head. Everything had been one long chain of disasters, each event hammering away at the small piece of sanity she had managed to build during these years of freedom. And now, that fragile peace she had held onto had shattered in just a month, maybe even less.
When Alisa slipped the robe on, she quickly noticed that it was made of silk and it was knee-length - thank God for that at least - and it clung to her still damp skin, cold in all the wrong places. She did the only thing that made sense in that moment: she started thinking of a way to get out of there alive, to find Bucky, Sam, Dean, and Dylan, so the five of them could just vanish from this hellhole.
Naturally, her first thought was to find a weapon: something sharp, practical, anything that could help her carve a path through whatever lunatics filled this place. She knew Cassandra and Malcom were involved, but there was no way they were the only ones. And the muffled voices whispering on the other side of the door, low and indistinct murmurs, confirmed it. Alisa couldn't make out a single word, nor tell who they belonged to.
She yanked open the drawers under the sink hard enough that they nearly came off their tracks and dug through them with a kind of desperate fury. For a brief, absurd moment, she almost laughed; Malcom had done some deranged things in his life, and yet this damn bathroom, aside from the nightmarish tub, looked so painfully normal that it made her want to scream. No blades, no scissors, not even those tiny toenail clippers that people keep around for emergencies.
So she turned to the only other option: the window.
Technically Alisa couldn't die, so jumping might hurt like hell, but it wouldn't kill her. Smart idea, she almost patted her own shoulder at that.
But when she managed to pry it open, that idea vanished instantly. The air outside felt thick and heavy, and the shade of light was... not what she was expecting. The sun was on the verge of setting, bleeding into the horizon until everything, including the sky, the clouds, even the fields below, glowed a deep, unnatural red, the kind of color that made eyes sting. Blood red.
And down there, in the wheat fields surrounding the house, stood hundreds of people, all perfectly still, all masked, all facing the house. And not a single one of them moved an inch.
Alisa closed the window before she even realized she had done it.
"I'm fucked." She muttered under her breath, somewhere between irritation and despair.
The door behind her creaked open again and when she turned, Cassandra was there once more, only this time she wasn't alone. Two masked figures stood behind her, wearing those disturbing deer skull masks that looked a little too real to be props. Cassandra, like them, wore a long black robe that brushed the floor as she stepped closer.
What kind of creepy fashion show was this?
"Come on." She said, stepping aside and tilting her head toward the hallway as a silent command to move. "Family's downstairs already." She added softly once the two of them were face to face, her lips curving into a small, unreadable smile.
Alisa didn't have time to process that last part before one of the masked men reached for her. His grip around her arm was surprisingly gentle, too careful for the situation, and that contrast only made it worse, but her brain was stuck replaying Cassandra's words. Family.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
A shiver crawled up her spine, so sharp it almost hurt. She had said it too naturally, as if the word "family" didn't sound like a threat. Rationally, Alisa told herself she just meant her followers, the freaks and zealots that made up that twisted little fucked up army. That had to be it.
But that thought didn't make Alisa feel any better, if anything it made her stomach drop. Every instinct in her body screamed that something was wrong, that there was a bad surprise waiting just around the corner. And as they led her out into the corridor, that feeling only grew stronger.
The house was dark, completely dark. Every light was off, every bulb dead, and the only illumination came from the candles, lots of them, lined up on the wooden floor.
For a moment, she honestly thought it was the stupidest idea anyone could've come up with. Each candle was spaced just a few centimeters apart, forming perfect rows along both sides of the hallway. The wax dripped in slow rivulets down to the floor, pooling into little puddles. Even the staircase was lit: two candles at each edge of every single step.
Everything in that damn house could've gone up in flames at any moment, and she wasn't saying that just because she had the habit of overthinking everything. The entire floor was made of wood, and with how close those candles were to the walls, it would've taken just one wrong move, one tiny stupid accident, for the whole place to turn into a blazing inferno.
So, naturally, what did Alisa do? She tried to kick one.
The masked person shoved her to the side, however. Maybe next time.
Alisa glanced at Cassandra - or rather, at the back of her head since she was walking a few steps ahead of her, descending the staircase at a maddening slow pace, and exhaled quietly. The situation, as far as the Avenger was concerned, was downright humiliating. It looked like something ripped straight out of a cheap horror movie: dim lighting, ritual candles, ominous silence. The only thing missing was the creepy chanting in Latin.
The thing is, she knew damn well Spegil wouldn't be waking up tonight if everything went according to plan, which made this whole spectacle even more ridiculous. They'd planned an entire ceremony for nothing, and she almost laughed.
And sure, she was trapped, but she had something they didn't: her deal with Crowley. As long as he'd promised to reclaim her soul and stop the universe from being snuffed out, she still had the upper hand... or at least, she liked to tell herself that. It didn't look that way right now, to be fair, but fine. She could live with that for now, assuming no one got themselves killed before the demon made good on his word.
They led Alisa into the dining room, and the moment she stepped inside, her eyes fell on the table. It was buried under plates of food, more than enough to feed an army, and the smell hit her immediately. Rich, savory, intoxicatingly good. Against her better judgment, her stomach twisted with hunger.
The room, like the rest of the house, was once again lit only by candles. Their flickering light turned everything into a distorted painting with too many shadows; she couldn't see the details clearly, but the faces at the table were familiar.
The first person she saw was Bucky.
He almost stood when he saw her - just a reflex, probably, but caught himself at the last second. He wasn't tied up or gagged, but the tension in his shoulders told Alisa everything she needed to know: he was there against his will. His expression softened just a little when his eyes scanned her, checking for damage. She could tell the exact moment he realized she wasn't dying or anything like that, and that she didn't have any new bruises or wounds beyond the ones she had already collected. That alone seemed to ease him.
Alisa couldn't say the same for him.
There was a split on his lower lip, fresh enough that he had to swipe his tongue across it to stop the bleeding. Another gash cut through his forehead, and a dark bruise had blossomed around one eye, though it wasn't swollen yet. There were marks on his neck and his knuckles too, proof that Cassandra hadn't been lying when she'd said he had fought back hard.
Alisa had seen him in worse conditions. They had gone on missions with him where he'd come back half-dead, and she'd always thought she'd gotten used to the sight and, if we're being honest, she hadn't cared much those times. But this time was different. This time, the thought that someone had hurt him made her stomach turn and twist.
He didn't seem to care much about his state, though. When he caught her staring, one corner of his mouth lifted, faint but genuine, as if to say, 'I'm fine, and I'd do it again'.
Sam and Dean were there too, sitting beside him on the same side of the table. Unlike Bucky, they didn't look injured, just pissed. Both of them. Their eyes tracked Alisa the whole time as she was brought in, but neither smiled. She didn't take it personally; she was too tired to. And it was obvious they weren't mad at her for once.
"Sit down." Cassandra ordered.
One of the masked men, the one that wasn't holding her arm, pulled a chair out from the table.
Alisa rolled her eyes slightly but sat anyway, lowering herself onto the chair across from Bucky.
Behind him, the window was open wide, letting in a breath of cold air that made the candle flames flicker. The very last traces of daylight were bleeding out of the sky, and in the distance she could see the silhouette of that church, the one where Sam and Dean had found Cassandra not long ago.
Or, more accurately, where she'd let herself be found.
Alisa couldn't help but notice that Dylan wasn't there. He wasn't sitting at the table with the others, and that realization sent a slow chill down her spine. Logically speaking, if Bucky, Sam, and Dean were all sitting there alive, breathing, glaring at whoever happened to move, then Dylan had to be fine too, right? That was the logical conclusion. Because, she told herself, those three wouldn't be calmly sitting at a dinner table if the kid had been killed or taken. She would have expected at least some kind of rebellion... probably loud, violent, and messy.
One of the masked figures, the one who had pulled the chair out earlier, reached up and removed his mask, ruffling his disheveled hair back into place as if he hadn't just been wearing a rotting animal skull. Alisa kept calling them "masks" for convenience, but again, they weren't masks at all. They were actual animal skulls, cleaned and hollowed out, the bone yellowed with age and god knows what else.
It was Malcom, not that she was even remotely surprised.
The other person, the one who had been holding her by the arm, was a bit shorter than Malcom and didn't remove their mask. Instead, they stumbled backward a few steps (almost tripping over the long ceremonial robe dragging at his feet) and then went completely still, standing by the doorway with his back pressed to the wall. They looked like one of those mindless zealots she had seen outside earlier.
"I've heard so much about you, Alisa." Malcom said, a half-smile curving his lips. She wouldn't have called it malicious if it hadn't belonged to him. "I hope my home meets your expectations." He kept smiling as he sat down at the head of the table, like he'd just crowned himself king of the damned.
Alisa's gaze flicked toward Cassandra for the briefest second, just in time to see her leaving the dining room, biting down a smirk that made her mind explode with questions. That wasn't a good sign. In fact, it made every hair on her arms stand on end. Things couldn't possibly get worse.
... right?
"I'd rather be anywhere else." Alisa said honestly, glaring back at him. "Where's Dylan? The kid who was with us. If you've laid a single finger on him, I swear I'll skin every one of you alive." He was on her list as well. Yes, it was long.
"Why don't we try keeping our claws to ourselves for tonight?" Malcom replied, his voice smooth and venomous. "Let's have a nice family dinner, like normal people. Hmm?"
There was no need to say that she and the other three wore the exact same stunned expression, frozen somewhere between disbelief and disgust. Because really, trying to pretend any of this was normal was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard.
"Maybe you should listen to him, Ali." Sam said, catching her off guard. His voice was low and careful, but his shoulders were tight and he sat like a man braced for a fight.
"Did you hear your friend?" Malcom's hand, which had been resting on the table, slid over to seize hers. He ran his thumb slowly across the back of her hand, that same casual, possessive motion. "Let's stay calm tonight. I don't want something as pretty as you to get upset."
Something.
Alisa kept her eyes locked on his hand on hers a beat too long. The contact felt like a swarm of devils under her skin, her body responding the way it always did to that kind of touch which wasn't anything positive. She was a person who leaned toward violence; that was something she was painfully aware of and had been trying to control. Most of the time she could hold it back, but men like him made it a lot harder.
Her gaze slipped up to his face at the exact second her other hand closed around the knife, ready to drive it between his eyes. The motion was precise in her head, it had to be fast, and clean, everything she needed to end it.
But then Bucky kicked her shin from under the table, the impact stopped her dead.
She looked at him with the same murderous stare she'd just given Malcom, but he only shook his head to say no. That small, silent plea pissed her off more than the kick had hurt.
"Good girl." Malcom said, his tone dripping with something between mockery and lust as he pulled his hand away from hers. "So obedient, yet still fiery. I can see why our dear Spegil wants no one else but you, something Cassie still has trouble believing." He sighed as though genuinely disappointed, then pushed his chair back and stood. "I truly do respect you, Alisa. I mean that. Which is why I'll let you talk among yourselves for a bit. It's the least I can do for someone who's about to sacrifice herself for our sins tonight."
"Do I have Jesus written on my head or something?" She snapped.
Malcom didn't answer, but he giggled. He even had the audacity to bow, like she had done him a favor before disappearing in the same direction Cassandra had gone.
The second he was out of sight, she shot to her feet as if the chair had caught fire.
"Why the fuck are you all so calm?" Alisa snapped, palms slamming down on the table, making the silverware rattle against the plates.
"It's called survival instinct, sweetheart." Dean said, though his voice wasn't nearly as sarcastic as usual, if anything it sounded tired, tight. "There's four of us and God knows how many of them. We can't brute-force our way out of this, we've gotta think."
"Great. Then get your asses off those damn chairs and start thinking on the move." She shot back, throwing her arms out in disbelief. She knew it wasn't that simple, but Jesus, the least they could do was try.
The three of them just looked at Alisa completely deadpan, like they were sharing one single brain cell between the lot of them. And that's when it hit her: maybe they weren't sitting still because they wanted to. Maybe there something else.
So she narrowed her eyes, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the masked guy in the corner wasn't planning anything stupid. Then she walked toward Bucky, irritation still boiling under her skin, and that's when she saw it.
It wasn't that they didn't want to move, it was that they couldn't.
At first, it looked like nothing was wrong, because there were no ropes or no handcuffs, or anything of the sort. But when Alisa looked closer, her stomach dropped: around Bucky's waist was a thick, reinforced leather belt clamped tight against the chair. At first glance it seemed like something he could easily snap with his super-soldier strength, but then she noticed the wires, those thin, metallic threads running from the belt down the side of the chair and connecting to a small black box fixed underneath the table. The faint red light pulsing on its surface said enough.
A detonator.
If anyone stood up too fast or tried to break free, that thing would light up the whole damn house.
"Lately, I've started to... uh... appreciate that fiery spirit of yours." Bucky said, his tone halfway between fond and exasperated. "Really, I have. But right now we need a little less fire and a hell of a lot more calm, baby."
Baby? She grimaced.
He gave her that almost-ironic smile of his, the one that usually meant he was trying not to laugh while everything went straight to hell. Meanwhile, she was standing there, mouth half open, trying desperately to think of something optimistic. The only thing that came to mind, though, was the dozen different ways all of them were about to blow up if any one of them so much as sneezed wrong.
"Yeah, what he said." Dean chimed in, jerking his thumb toward Bucky beside him.
But then Bucky's expression shifted, his voice suddenly firm. "You, however, can get out of here."
"Yeah, what he sa- no, wait, what?!" Dean snapped, almost jerking forward before remembering what was wrapped around his waist. He froze again, glaring at Bucky. "And leave us here?"
"It's the best option." Sam said evenly, siding with the soldier. "If she escapes, she buys time. It's the only chance we've got to stop them from waking Spegil and, you know, saving billions of lives in the process."
"Oh, shut the fuck up, Sam. I don't wanna die." Dean snapped.
Sam didn't even flinch, the younger hunter just rolled his eyes the way only a younger brother could, his voice rising with that perfect mix of irritation and familiarity. "You shut the fuck up." He shot back.
"Mom should've left you in the dumpster she found you in as a newborn."
"Still going on about that? I'm not five anymore, Dean, quit acting like an idiot."
Siblings.
Alisa blinked at them, utterly dumbfounded. "You two hit your heads somewhere on the way here, didn't you?" She said, pointing between the oldest hunter and the soldier. "Even if I wanted to abandon you, there are people crawling outside. I wouldn't make it ten feet. Not to mention barefoot and completely naked under this ugly-ass thing they gave me."
Dean raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk creeping onto his face, the one that always preceded something grossly inappropriate. But before he could get the words out, Bucky cut him off.
"You say one inappropriate thing, one, about the last thing she said, and I'm getting up." Bucky warned, his voice low and serious as he shot Dean a deadly glare.
And Dean, for once in his goddamn life, stayed quiet.
"Why the hell did you let them do this to you?" Alisa asked Bucky, her voice coming out sharper than she meant for it to be. Before he could answer, she lifted her hand and gently brushed her fingers over the cut on his lower lip, careful not to press too hard. His skin was warm under her cold touch, and for a brief second, the chaos around them seemed to quiet down.
"Because I wanted to get back to you." He said simply, his tone stripped of everything but honesty. It did something strange to her chest, it made it tighten, burn, and flutter all at once. "A demon... Meg, I think that's what they called her, teleported me into a room upstairs after we realized Cassandra had sold us out. So I tried to fight my way through those masked bastards. I was doing fine, actually… until that damn Meg decided to step in. And I can't exactly fight something that doesn't die."
"Wait, Meg?” Sam cut in, eyes going wide. "Did you just say a demon named Meg?"
"You know her?" Bucky asked, turning his head toward him without daring to move too far, he'd already pushed his luck with that kick earlier.
"Unfortunately." Dean muttered, jaw tightening.
"Or fortunately." Sam countered under his breath, and for a second he looked like he was about to explain. But then he remembered there was a fifth person in the room, one who wasn't on their side and was definitely listening. So he clamped his mouth shut.
"Where the hell is Castiel?" Alisa said when she started hearing footsteps approaching, and more than one pair. "They surely can't kill an angel, right?"
"I prayed for him to come help us, but he's not answering." Dean's voice was steady, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "I don't think he's ignoring me this time. So either something's happened to him… or he just can't hear me."
"And why can't he hear you?"
"Because I made sure to copy one of those little symbols they love using so much." Said Cassandra's voice from behind her.
Alisa turned just as she stepped into the room again. She looked almost exactly the same as before: same calm, same quiet arrogance... except now she was wearing red lipstick. A particular shade of red Alisa hated for one very specific reason.
The redhead didn't come all the way to the table, she stopped in the center of the room, in the space between the table and the cold, unlit fireplace behind her.
"It's been useful spending these weeks with you." She began, her tone calm and conversational, like she was hosting a dinner party instead of a damn standoff. "I've learned a lot of things I didn't know existed, despite having dealt with angels and demons for… well, a very long time. I know all about how to keep demons away now: pentagrams, sigils, every pretty symbol you could draw to make them lose your scent. What I didn't know," She added with a smirk. "was how to keep angels away. Which is ironic, don't you think? Considering where we are, and who's about to be set free tonight."
Cassandra had this infuriating habit of repeating herself, Alisa noticed, like she loved the sound of her own voice a little too much. And in Alisa's head, she kept repeating her own truth: no one was going to be set free. Not tonight. She had practically sold her soul to make sure of that. The only problem was timing, because she needed to be sure Bucky, Sam, Dean, and Dylan (wherever the hell he was) were safe first.
"You sound a little too sure of yourself for my taste." Alisa said, hand finding her hip just as Malcom appeared again. He didn't step inside this time; he leaned against the doorway, arms folded, eyes fixed on the silver haired girl. "I'm not saying yes to her tonight, Cassandra."
Cassandra didn't even flinch. "Now you sound a little too sure of yourself for my taste, sister." She replied, her voice sugar-sweet but cold. Then she smiled, that same bland, rehearsed smile that made everyone roll their eyes, and walked over to the table. With unhurried grace, she sat at the head of it, but on the opposite end from where Malcom had been sitting earlier.
With almost every seat taken except for two, those empty chairs made Alisa uneasy for a moment. Who the hell were they still waiting for? Not that she had the luxury to think too hard about it, because she needed an idea and she needed it fast, to put an end to this circus before it turned bloody.
She couldn't kill anyone, not here, not when there were hundreds of cultists outside who would gladly finish the job for them. Running wasn't an option either; leaving those four idiots to die wasn't in her nature anymore, and it wouldn't solve a damn thing. Timing was everything now. Unfortunately, her timing depended entirely on Crowley, and she could only hope he knew what was happening.
They couldn't count on Castiel either, apparently. Those bastards had made sure they were veiled, hidden from his sight somehow.
So her only weapon, the only one she had left to stall and lie her way out of this, was words. Dangerous, double-edged things, but still words.
"You know what?" Alisa finally said, shrugging lightly. "You win." The words came out smooth, meant to be inconsistent with everything she had said so far. "No point pretending otherwise. You've practically cornered me." She gestured vaguely to the room, as if to say 'look at this shitshow'.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bucky muttered through gritted teeth, but she ignored him. As always.
"You played your cards well." She continued, voice steady. "Because it's obvious you plan to use those four to make me say yes to Spegil, and you're right. They're my weak spot, sue me for it." That, at least, wasn't a lie. "And you, Cassandra… you already knew that. I think you also know I won't let you do it."
"Oh, I'd love to see you try to stop us." Cassandra said with dripping sarcasm. Up until now she'd played the role of the poor, well-meaning sister so perfectly that seeing her switch sides was almost uncanny. Almost; Alisa had seen far worse.
"If you think I'm about to lose my temper, you're wrong." Alisa said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I just want to make a deal, one where everyone walks out happy."
"A deal?" The redhead arched an eyebrow, tone dry and quite unimpressed. "Sounds like a waste of time." Her gaze slid toward her husband, silent question in her eyes - 'is this even worth hearing out?' - but Malcom didn't look at her.
The man gave chills. He wasn't really that unpleasant to look at, but he radiated something foul. He was staring straight at her, ignoring his wife entirely. A half-smile pulled at his lips, widening in something grotesque when their eyes met. He gave a small, lazy shrug.
"I'm listening." He said.
Alisa didn't get a good feeling from that, but she could use it. If there was trouble in paradise - or in hell, in this case - she might as well take advantage of it. Because it was obvious from what little everyone had seen that Malcom had zero respect for his wife. Which, frankly, wasn't her problem.
"So you're the one wearing the pants in this relationship? Good to know." Alisa said, tone casual but laced with venom. She had to be careful, though, couldn't push too far. The other three were still under their thumb thanks to that damn detonator.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Cassandra scoff at her choice of words, then grab a glass and pour herself some water. Her movements seemed almost mechanical. Even from there, Alisa noticed her hands trembling: the tiniest betrayal of the composure she worked so hard to fake. She was nervous about something.
"I want you to let them go." Alisa's words made Malcom's brows rose slightly, waiting for her to continue. "All four of them. They walk out of here alive, and only when they're safe I'll say yes to Spegil."
That bastard smiled wider, too wide, though he tried and failed to hide it. "All four? I only see three."
"The kid's part of the deal." Alisa didn't miss a beat.
"Ah." He tilted his head, clearly mocking her. "And does he know that?"
It was then that she frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Does he know that? He couldn't possibly be dead, she would've felt it in the air somehow. And even if Dylan didn't know, it didn't matter; he'd leave with the hunters and the soldier once this was over.
"Dylan is-"
"Don't talk." Malcom's voice cut through the air like a whip, silencing Cassandra mid-sentence. There was nothing gentle about it, it was a command. Like he was talking to a dog. And she obeyed.
He started walking toward Alisa unhurriedly, savoring every step like a predator toying with its prey. She hated that look on his face, the kind of smug satisfaction that made her skin crawl. In another world, she would have loved nothing more than to bury an axe in his chest. Her freezing hands twitched just at the thought.
But not here and not now because she needed him to agree. Because if he let them go, she'd win. Once they were out, everything would fall back into Crowley's hands, into the deal she had made with him. They'd be safe, she'd die, and everyone would live happily ever after. Just like she had planned.
But when did life ever go according to plan?
He took a lock of her hair between his dirt-stained fingers and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. He even closed his eyes as he did it, like he was savoring it.
Alisa didn't move an inch while he pulled that disgusting stunt, she just stood there rigidly, watching him act like some feral thing that had forgotten how to behave among humans. The room fell silent, and she could feel everyone's eyes on her and him, and it made her skin crawl for the thousandth time that night.
Cassandra, sitting across the table, looked like she was about to burst into flames. Her jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as if she were actually holding smoke inside her. But she didn't say a word, she just bit her tongue, forced her gaze away, and pretended to focus on the glass in her hand.
Bucky wasn't taking it much better, but what the hell could he do? Nothing. Not with the detonator still armed. His shoulders tensed, the veins on his neck standing out, his metal hand twitching ever so slightly like a weapon itching to move... and Alisa wasn't so sure he could keep his shit together, honestly.
"Please, just stay seated." Dean muttered under his breath, voice low and comically desperate. "Don't do anything stupid, Barnes, we'll all blow sky-high." And he wasn't wrong.
Alisa ignored their hushed argument, tuning it out before it pulled her under because she needed to keep her focus.
"I would love let them go." Malcom said finally, still holding her hair, still smelling it like a psychopath. His tone was soft and casual, that somehow made it worse. "Just to make the little Spegil vessel happy." He said it like Alisa wasn't even a person, just an object, a thing that happened to breathe. "I do admire your courage, though. But, my angel, Mommy wouldn't like that very much."
Mommy...?
He smiled faintly, still toying with the strands of her hair as he went on. "And I owe her a few favors, she's kept me out of prison more times than I can count. I always pay my debts. So now that I've got you and the Winter Soldier under my roof, I'm not about to let him slip away. Do you have any idea how much that handsome face of his is worth?"
"That why you've got him rigged to explode too?" Dean snapped. "Because I'm not seeing the logic, man. How much cash can you make off a pile of ashes?"
Malcom chuckled, short and sharp. "I'm confident he won't blow. Just taking a few precautions."
Alisa was done listening to his smugness. "You can kill them, but I still won't say yes, Malcom." She felt forced to cut in. Let the others handle the sarcasm, she didn't have time for that right now - which was weird. "Either you let them go, or I don't cooperate. Not even if you kill them in front of me."
The words came steady but her mind was elsewhere, circling that one word he'd dropped earlier. Mommy. Did he mean his mother? Because if Cassandra hadn't lied about that part, she was supposed to be dead. So why bring her up now?
He finally released her silver hair, letting it fall back against her shoulder, and circled her like he was inspecting a piece of art. Then he stopped behind her. His chest hovered too close to her back, she could feel the heat and the smell of him even without contact, and when his hand landed on her arm, it wasn't a grip strong enough to hold her, but her body locked up all the same. Every muscle froze, rigid as stone.
"Take your fucking hands off her." Bucky said, and although his voce was quiet, it felt more like a threat than anything else. His tone didn't waver, it didn't rise. "I swear to God, I'll stand up and we'll all go out together."
Alisa didn't even doubt him. The way he said it made her pulse jump, it was clear he wasn’t bluffing - which absolutely worried her, by the way - and Malcom must've seen it too, because for a split second his smirk faltered.
"She can't die anyway." Bucky added, almost conversationally. "So go ahead. See what happens."
"Honey." Cassandra's voice finally broke through the thick silence, heavy with irritation. She sounded exhausted, done with all of it. "Leave them alone, they're not worth it. Sit down before that lunatic decides to blow us all to hell."
Malcom shot her a sharp look, but he didn't answer... well, not verbally, anyway. His silence was its own kind of mockery and after a beat, he slowly stepped back from Alisa, like he was doing it on his own terms.
The instant he moved away, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her lungs burned as air rushed back in, and when she looked sideways, Bucky was already watching her - and the bastard had the audacity to wink.
Asshole. But she did have to suppress a smile.
Before she could also roll her eyes at him, someone else arrived: a girl she had never seen before walked in, a little short and with a head of messy curls. She carried herself like someone who owned the place, with her chin up, steps quick, and an expression full of attitude. Her eyes were razor-sharp, scanning the room in an instant.
The smirk that spread across her face when she saw the Winchesters was instant and almost childlike, absolute and pure delight flickering across her features. But it didn't last long; the joy twisted into something darker, more mischievous.
"Well, well. Sam and Dean Winchester." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "What brings you boys to this charming little hellhole?" She ran her tongue slowly over her upper lip, eyes glinting like she was enjoying every second of this. Then her gaze shifted to Bucky. "Hey, handsome. How's the face?"
Bucky tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. "Still attached." He muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Meg." Sam said, his tone carrying that mix of disbelief and irritation he always had when facing old enemies. "Years go by, and you're still making shitty life choices. I thought you were dead."
"Did you think that, or did you hope it?" She shot back, laughing under her breath. Her laughter wasn't loud, on the contrary it was low and unsettling, like she was amused by some private joke no one else got. "Anyway, I'm here to tell you that your guests are ready to come in."
Her tone changed when her eyes landed on Alisa. The mischief faltered, replaced by something colder, more assessing. For a moment, she just stared. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe recognition... whatever it was, it made the air shift again. She was used to that look, strangers often didn't know what to make of her. So Alisa just smiled blankly at her.
"Thanks, Meg." Cassandra said dismissively, not even glancing her way. Her voice regained that clipped, controlling edge she used when she needed to sound in charge. "Since you're here, I'll let you know that you should go tell your kind they'd better get their act together. I don't appreciate how they've been behaving lately."
"Oh, I wonder why they've been behaving that way." Meg spat, the sarcasm cutting clean. Her tongue clicked against her teeth as she smiled, not sweetly, but like someone who'd love an excuse to start a fight.
The tension in the room thickened again, but it wasn't the same as before. Malcom now looked annoyed, Cassandra looked tired, Dean and Sam looked ready to shoot something just for the relief of doing something. And Alisa... she just stood there, quietly taking it all in.
The real problem, as if this whole situation wasn't already bad enough, came when she heard that sound.
It happened in one of those accidental silences when Alisa heard the rhythmic sound of a pair of heels clicking against the wooden floor. The sound echoed through the house like the ticking of a clock counting down to her own execution, and that wasn't even her being dramatic.
Normally, no one in their right mind would flinch at the sound of heels, but she wasn't "anyone", unfortunately enough. For a brief, gut-wrenching moment, she felt like a child again, sitting on a cold floor with her ear pressed against a locked door, waiting. Waiting for that exact sound, because it meant someone was coming to let her out of that cage.
Only this time, the context was different: she wasn't a kid anymore, she wasn't helpless (usually), and the feeling that crawled up her spine wasn't hope anymore.
The woman, however, hadn't changed: those heels belonged to Ellen. She'd have recognized them in a crowd of thousands.
Alisa wouldn't have minded seeing her again, not if the situation allowed her to wrap her hands around her throat. She could sit through almost anything - shit, she was sure she could sit still while Crowley tore her soul out, even, but sitting next to Ellen without doing something incredibly, irreversibly stupid? That was a different story.
And judging by the way Bucky, Sam, and Dean all stiffened at once just because Alisa did, they knew it too - or suspected something bad was coming, at least. Dean muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like: "we're dead."
It didn't take long for Ellen to appear in the doorway of the dining room, Sawyer trailing dutifully behind her. She looked pristine, as always. Dressed head to toe in white, hair pulled back into a flawless chignon, lipstick red enough to draw blood. Cassandra had copied that shade, now it was clear, with the intent to mimic her mother without realizing she'd never come close.
"Mom, Dad." A genuine smile finally broke across Cassandra's face, the first of the evening. "Told you Alisa would take the bait. Did I do a good job?"
That obvious need for validation might've earned a sarcastic remark from Alisa under different circumstances, something biting and not particularly kind, but with that woman in the room, it was hard to think about anything other than murder. As usual. The entire evening seemed to orbit around that word.
"What a lovely little picture we have here." Ellen said with a faint smile, not sparing anyone a glance except her youngest daughter. With unnecessary assistance from Sawyer, she slipped off her coat and casually tossed it to Meg, as if she were nothing more than a servant.
The demon clearly didn't appreciate that, shooting her a glare that could've killed. Alisa wished it had.
"Last time I saw you, I stabbed you and tried to shoot you in the head." Alisa's gaze fixed on the spot on the woman's chest where she had driven the blade deep, practically salivating at the thought of doing it again only this time closer to the heart. It was that serious. "I hope you're only here so I can finish the job."
Ellen pressed her teeth together, exhaling. "Always ready for a fight. Don't you ever get tired?"
Alisa pretended to consider it. "No."
"Good." She sounded pleased, her eyes drifting to the super soldier, then to the Winchesters. "I quite like this little quartet." She gestured lazily. "Though I wouldn't have bet on you becoming so close so quickly. My daughter's never been very good at making friends-" She paused, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "She has this unfortunate habit of dragging them all down with her."
Alisa's throat tightened, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Having her standing just a few steps away while being forced to hold back felt like torture. Her hands practically itched to ruin everything just to wrap her fingers around that woman's throat and make her stop talking.
Unfortunately, self-control was required.
Alisa's eyes snapped to Malcom. "You sure you don't want to accept my offer? Because I can promise I'd free you from your mother in law and the debts you owe her. That one's on the house."
"Offer?" Ellen echoed, inserting herself into the conversation like she always did, uninvited. "You've been awfully eager to make deals left and right lately, from what I can see."
Alisa stiffened at the hostility in her tone, but at the same time, the words carried extra weight as if she were hinting at something more specific. And knowing her, that was exactly the case. She never spoke just to fill the silence; everything she said had a precise meaning.
Malcom moved, stepping away from Alisa. She caught the hint of an amused smile before he walked toward the masked figure who had remained completely still up until now. But she didn't dwell on it because a creeping sense of dread had already settled in her chest.
Something terrible was about to happen.
That feeling was rarely wrong.
Meanwhile, Sawyer, leaning on his cane, made his way toward his daughter. Alisa followed him with her gaze, only to realize that when he reached out his hand clearly expecting her to take it, Cassandra ignored him completely. Her eyes were fixed on Ellen, not out of interest, but for something else entirely.
Alisa knew that look. She'd worn it herself more times than she could count.
The redhead just wanted her attention, no matter how little.
"When you're stuck in a shitty situation, it's only natural to look for a way out." Alisa said at last, shrugging with feigned nonchalance.
She kept the edge of irony threatening to slip into her voice firmly in check. One wrong move, and Ellen would realize that her earlier words had managed to rattle her, even if only slightly.
"I'll go put this away." Meg said suddenly, holding Ellen's coat in her arms. "And please, whatever you do, try not to kill the Winchesters. They're mine." With a wicked smile and one last almost flirtatious glance at Sam, she disappeared.
"And you think hell is your way out?" Ellen arched a judgmental eyebrow. "Because let me tell you, it was a very poorly thought-out move turning to the King of Hell and making a deal to save what can't be saved."
Alisa's breath caught in her throat, and for what felt like an eternity, she forgot how to breathe altogether; she was completely, utterly fucked. What was she supposed to do, lie until her last breath? It would be pointless. And besides, if Ellen knew, then everyone knew.
"Deal? King of Hell?" Bucky repeated, as if he couldn't quite grasp the connection. Or maybe he just didn't want to. "W-what the hell is she talking about?"
Saying Alisa didn't have the courage to look at him would've been an understatement; it felt like if she avoided his gaze, maybe she could stop him from putting the pieces together. It was stupid, considering he probably already had, but at least she wouldn't have to see the disappointment on his face for keeping it from him.
"I didn't want to become the hand." Alisa murmured, fully aware that to them, those words made no sense.
To her, they made perfect sense. And that was exactly why she didn't regret the choice she had made and why, given the chance, she would do it again. And again. And again. Because whatever disappointment the three of them already felt toward her was bearable - painful, yes - but nothing compared to the thought of watching them die because of her.
"Fuck, Alisa, did you really sell your soul to that piece of shit?" Dean snapped. He didn't wait for an answer since the truth was obvious. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met, and I swear to God that when we'll meet again in Hell, I'm gonna chase you around with a bat for all eternity!"
"So what - what does that mean?" Bucky asked again, this time less confused and far more furious. "That she's going to die?" He turned sharply toward her, but she was still staring at the ground. "You're going to die? You're gonna die and you didn't think to - Jesus fucking Christ!"
"Oh, don't worry, Bucky!" Cassandra cut in, a sickeningly sweet edge to her voice. "It won't be Crowley who kills her tonight. Though I'll admit, that idiotic deal of hers sped things up a lot faster than we originally planned."
The sound of Cassandra's voice grated on her nerves.
"Assuming you can even hold off the hellhounds Crowley will send after her." Sam snapped, dragging his lower lip between his teeth before letting it go.
"Yeah, because a deal can't be undone once it's made, right?" Alisa said at last, the words leaving her mouth with more confidence than she actually felt. The truth was, she wasn't even sure that was accurate. Her knowledge of demonology - if that was even the right term? - barely scratched the surface. "So…" She added, lifting her hands in a small, helpless shrug. "Guess that's it."
Ellen's expression seemed to darken; it was so subtle and fleeting that no one but Alisa noticed. She was the only one who knew her that well - even more than Sawyer, who had been by her side for over twenty years, maybe even thirty. So she knew exactly what had caused that shadow to cross her face: her hatred for Crowley and everything tied to him: hell, deals, hellhounds.
"What do you think, Ellen? Can deals with demons be broken?" Alisa couldn't resist pinching right where she knew it would hurt, tilting her head with a faint, insincere smile.
Ellen didn't give her the satisfaction of reacting: not a twitch, not even a word. Her mask stayed perfectly in place as calm and stiff as she usually was. But Alisa saw the tension at the corners of her mouth.
Malcom, ever the observer, studied every word that left Alisa's mouth like he was cataloging evidence. Cassandra hovered nearby, her lips parting once or twice as if she wanted to step in, but she didn't, she knew better. Between Alisa and her devilish mother, Alisa herself was the one who knew Ellen best, and unfortunately - or fortunately, depends on the case, that gave her the upper hand in this particular fight.
Sawyer kept shooting the silver haired woman sharp glances, his jaw locking each time his eyes met hers even for the briefest second. And the person in the black robe, the one with the mask, had't moved an inch. Alisa was staring to get a little suspicious, because why the fuck were they still there?
"You love talking about things you don't understand." Ellen said at last.
Alisa caught that flicker of worry in her eyes, and it almost gave her goosebumps because she loved seeing Ellen unsettled by something she had said. She wasn't afraid to say the things Ellen didn't want spoken aloud anymore. Now, with a single sentence, she could strip her bare if she wanted to.
"Yeah." Cassandra's voice sliced through the silence. She wasn't sitting anymore, hadn't been for a little while, but she still stood at the head of the table, a half-full glass of wine dangling carelessly from her hand. "You're right, Mom." She said, her tone airy and cruel. "She talks a lot of nonsense without realizing that her little deal is void the moment Crowley shows up late. And he will show up late, because we plan on finishing this before he can ruin everything."
"Or maybe..." A calm voice interrupted. "You just leave that alone, and we call it a night." 'That' being Alisa, by the way. She would've expected anyone else to say that before Sawyer, but then again, once the words sank in, it made a sense because he wasn't defending her. "She's not worth your trouble." He added flatly.
Cassandra seemed pleased by her father's intervention, even though technically he had gone against both women's wishes. The truth was, she took a certain satisfaction in seeing the contempt on his face since all of it was directed at Alisa.
It was obvious that Cassandra harbored a deep sense of jealousy toward her sister, blaming her for her mother's abandonment. That same mother hadn't spared her a single glance since arriving and seemed interested in only one person - Alisa.
And the same went for her husband; he snapped at Cassandra whenever she spoke, only to look at her sister like she was something to savor later.
So yes, seeing someone finally treat Alisa with disdain filled that rotten, despicable heart of hers with joy.
Typical sisterly affection these days.
"Stop arguing! I don't find it enjoyable." Malcom interjected irritably. "This was supposed to be a fun dinner, and I'm not having fun anymore!"
It still wasn't clear why, but - aside from sounding like an overgrown, spoiled child Alisa wanted to slap - he grabbed the masked figure by the shoulders and dragged them closer to the table, closer to the rest of them.
"What is he, four years old?" Dean muttered to himself, annoyed, before continuing. "I know that son of a bitch well, and if it's her soul he wants, nothing in the world's gonna stop him. He doesn't play by any rules, and if you piss him off, he'll use you like rags. So congrats assholes, you're dead."
The strange part was that Ellen gave a resigned nod at Dean's words, not even bothering to contradict him or call it bullshit. And really, why would she? She knew Crowley just as well as the Winchesters did.
Alisa made the mistake of glancing to her left once Dean finished speaking, but her tired, heavy eyes immediately locked onto Bucky's completely involuntarily, like a compass always pointing north.
She regretted it the second it happened, because all she found there was disappointment. Right back to where they had started: he had given her a chance, had begun to trust her and in return, she hadn't told him she was going to die.
She would've been furious if their roles were reversed.
It was too much. She couldn't hold his gaze any longer; truthfully, she would rather look at Ellen's cold, irritated expression as she took her seat at the table than keep shrinking under Bucky's blue eyes. Her throat felt painfully tight.
"Well then, let's bring him here!" Malcom replied to Dean with such genuine ease that every confused gaze snapped toward him. Then he smiled. "Yes, let's bring him here." He repeated. "At tonight's ceremony, there'll be others of his kind among us and as disgusting as I find them, at least they're no longer loyal to him. They're on our side, he can't win. And if he brings his hellhounds…" He tapped the masked person's shoulders with both hands, standing just a step behind them. "We'll be able to see them, won't we?" He leaned forward until his lips hovered close to the person's ear.
Alisa didn't know why that gesture twisted her stomach the way it did, but nausea crept up her throat. She glanced around, trying to see if anyone else understood what he was talking about, but Ellen and Sawyer looked just as confused as she felt, same as Bucky, Sam, and Dean.
Everyone except Cassandra, who was smiling so widely it looked almost predatory.
The masked person's hands trembled as they raised them to their face - maybe from excitement, Alisa thought, because she genuinely had no fucking idea what was going on or why Malcom suddenly seemed so entertained now that he had taken back control of the situation.
And the reason for their excitement became clear the second the boy's face was revealed and something inside Alisa shattered completely. Her chest tightened, crushing in on itself.
In a single day, she had learned that her sister had been nothing more than a spy for a sadistic murderer. That she had pretended to be a victim all this time, standing on her own two feet fueled only by hatred and the desperate need to prove something to someone who didn't give a damn about her. In a single day, Alisa had found herself face to face with Ellen again and as if that wasn't enough, she was now being forced into an unwanted family dinner.
She missed the days when she thought she was an orphan.
Apparently, though, the universe wasn't done with her, it wanted to twist the knife deeper, to bleed her dry, because all of that wasn't enough.
Under the mask was Dylan.
His eyes weren't the soft brown Alisa remembered. The whites were gone, replaced by a blood-red hue that burned like an infection. His skin had turned the color of ash, so pale it bordered on gray, with black veins webbing beneath the surface; she didn't need a degree in medicine to know that wasn't normal.
He looked like one of those bodies SHIELD had found, the kind that technically shouldn't move anymore, except he was still breathing and still conscious, still avoiding everyone's eyes. His head hung low, as if shame could protect him from their shocked stares somehow. The realization that he wouldn't even look at her and that he was standing with them hit harder than she expected because... she just wasn't expecting it.
Maybe he'd been part of it all along, everyone knew that two bitches were better than one.
"Dylan." Sam breathed out, just as stunned as Alisa, Bucky, and his brother. "What the hell are you doing there?" Then he turned to Cassandra. "You said he was fine - that you locked him in a room."
Alisa didn't give the redhead time to answer, because she snapped at Sam instead. "And you believed her?!"
Then she took two steps toward Malcom, grabbing the first object within reach: a candlestick resting on a side table. It wasn't sharp but it was heavy, heavy enough to crack his skull open like a melon.
Unfortunately for her, Dylan was standing between them.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Malcom wrapped an arm around the boy's neck and Dylan didn't even make a sound, resting his cheek against his temple in a gesture that held nothing affectionate about it. He stepped back, keeping a safe distance from Alisa and her fury. He knew she wanted his head, but he also knew she wasn't stupid. She would never risk hurting the boy, not even by accident.
And he was right. Because even though every muscle in Alisa's body was begging her to unleash the frustration, the anger, the confusion of the past month onto that psychopath, she couldn't. Not with Dylan in the way.
"Good girl, stay right there." Malcom raised a finger, not loosening his grip on the boy. "Go on. Tell them. Tell them which side you're on now."
Dylan still couldn't find the courage to look at her, let alone speak.
"The kid figured out which side is safer." Cassandra filled the silence instead, lifting her glass of wine as if making a toast. "And we welcomed him, since his condition lets him see things no one else can - just like you, Alisa. You're both supernatural things now. Sure, we've got demons on our side, but everyone knows how two-faced they are. And besides, it's nice to see how useful my little lab rat turned out in the end." She paused. "Well, technically he was supposed to die weeks ago, but he's tougher than he looks so I decided he could be my experiment."
"You're the one who did this to him." Bucky said through clenched teeth, putting two and two together. If the three of them hadn't been tied to a detonator, the room would've already been painted red.
Cassandra's lips curved outward, nothing but pure satisfaction in her expression now that someone had finally understood. She lifted a shoulder with pride, as if it were something to boast about and not a monstrosity inflicted on a barely eighteen year old kid with his whole life ahead of him.
"When?" Alisa asked. And she did it with such coldness that even Sawyer turned to look at her.
"When you and your boyfriend ran off from the cabin. Sam and Dean were still out hunting, and I was so bored I thought I'd experiment on Dylan. He didn't even notice when I slipped a sedative into his water." She had the nerve to chuckle. "So when he passed out, I used your blood, Alisa, and injected it into his veins. Remember? You had just been shot, and I was the one patching you up. God, you were such an idiot to think that-"
Cassandra never finished that sentence. Not because anything alien happened, nor because Malcom interrupted her like he often did.
She was cut off by the candlestick Alisa had been gripping the entire time, until she finally snapped and hurled it straight at her face, the rage inside her bursting out all at once.
The object flew across nearly the entire room and struck her square in the nose, which immediately started bleeding.
Alisa already felt better.
Sawyer lunged toward his daughter in a split second, grabbing the nearest napkins to help her, spitting venom at Alisa - words she didn't even bother listening to, too busy instead thinking about how she should've thrown it from a different angle… or maybe from closer range, so it would've done more damage.
"You're nothing but a fucking whore!" Cassandra shrieked hysterically, both hands pressed to her nose as she shoved her father away with her elbows. "Fuck - fuck!"
"How dare you?" Malcom snarled through clenched teeth, enunciating every word as his grip tightened around Dylan's neck. "That's not how this goes, you're supposed to behave!" He stomped his foot like a petulant child. "I told you to purify her! Does she look purified to you?!" He snapped, raising his voice toward Cassandra.
The poor thing was too busy whining and lashing out at everyone to respond.
"You don't actually think that shit would've worked, do you?" Alisa's eyes widened slightly as she hadn't even considered that the ice bath thing had been a real attempt at purification.
"You all need to stop wasting time." Ellen slapped her palm against the table repeatedly, drawing attention to herself, trying to rein in the chaos that had erupted. "Sit down."
"But she hit me in the nose-"
"Sit down."
"Ellen, that thing almost broke her nose-" Sawyer didn't get to finish.
"Sit. Down." She ordered again, still barely raising her voice, but with a sharp finality that made it clear she wouldn't repeat herself another time.
Alisa, to be fair, had no intention of sitting. She wanted to go for all their throats and end it right there, right then - but at the same time, that woman still had the power to make her feel like a child desperate for her approval.
And that tone was enough.
She stepped forward, moved back to the chair she had occupied before, and sat down right to the left of the devil with a fucking chignon perched on her head.
The table was long enough to keep at least a meter between them, but it didn't make the situation any less suffocating.
"Go back to your corner and don't move." Malcom ordered Dylan sharply. The boy obeyed without a word. Shortly after, Malcom himself, along with Cassandra and Sawyer, reluctantly returned to their original seats.
"As for the rest of you... I'm the one giving orders here." He tapped his chest, shooting a glare at his mother in law. It didn't last long, though; the moment she answered with that same cold, empty expression, he looked away. "And I order you to put aside all your petty little grudges, because I've been waiting for this moment my entire life, and none of you filthy peasants are going to ruin it for me." He straightened slightly, almost giddy. "So let's enjoy this, shall we? Because tomorrow, some of us will have eternal life…" His smile widened, unsettling and childish all at once. "…while for others, well." He tilted his head. "This will be their last supper."
