a horrifying concept
The knock comes at a quarter to three. Dean, of course, is still awake. Drinking in the library. Ashamed as he is to admit it, his heart still lurches with hope at the sound.
He wipes off his hands and tries to convince himself that he’s not rushing up the stairs, heart pounding all the while. He opens the door and his face hardens into a frown.
“What do you want?” he spits.
“You know why I’m here.”
Dean shakes his head, wiping a hand down his face. It’s still cool with the condensation from his bottle. “Yeah, well, you’re too late. Sorry.”
He abandons the front hallway and walks back to the library, not caring if he’s followed. Judging by the quiet sound of tinny footsteps on the stairs, he is. His eyes follow his guest as she takes the seat across from him at the table, eyeing his bottle of liquor. He doesn’t offer her any.
He’s hit with an idea, sitting here and staring at her. It’s all but a shout. “Teach me,” Dean blurts.
“I can’t,” she says. “You know what it does.”
Dean grits his teeth. “I don’t care. I want you to teach me.”
Dean’s fists unclench, his shoulders drop. “Because I lost someone too. And I need to do something.”
A chair slides back from the table with a quiet squeak. Dean doesn’t raise his eyes, sure that this is the end. His last resort slipping through his fingers. But war-hardened hands take his and he does look up, right into the vacant stare of someone too far gone down the road of revenge.
Lily Sunder nods. “I’ll help you.”
Dean doesn’t feel afraid. He’s very good at making deals.