Chapter Text
People of varying ages crowded around the rectangular glass display case, marveling at the contents within, a Victorian woman with far-away eyes and a single hand delicately clutching at a heart-shaped locked about her neck. The display itself was fairly new, having been a part of the museum's collection for only a few weeks, and its popularity seemed to grow only stronger as the days passed.
The story was a large part of the allure, as the brass plaque before the closed-off display went on about the young woman within who chose to pay the ultimate price for a mistake her beloved made by taking on a sourcerer's curse, a curse that immobilized her entire being. She would forever be frozen in time, always aware, but unable to move, to speak or breathe amonst the world's living ever again.
The lore went on about a way to free her from her fate, though it would not come without a price. The sourcerer would release the curse, only if her beloved chose something of which he could take from the woman in return for the wrong her beloved had done. He could choose anything of physical, mental, or emotional state, such as her sight, her memory, even her state of fear, yet each choice had their drawbacks.
In the end, her beloved had been so devastated by the prospect of hurting her further that he chose to end his own life in hopes that the sacrifice was great enough to free her. He would never know that she would remain, to this day, unmoving.
Of course, the mystical story wasn't the only thing that drew in the crowd, though it did seem to inhance the experience of those who had already visited and passed along a good word to others.
Some people claimed to have seen the woman within the glass display move her eyes, as if searching for her beloved in the distance. Others had even claimed to see her fingers flex ever-so-slightly over her locket, or her lightly painted lips twitch as if she were about to speak. Most would throw disclaim to such paranormal sites, as the woman within was nothing more than just a realistic wax figure, dressed beautifully in faux silks and positioned just so to create the image of a distant look, awaiting the day she would be set free from her curse.
Oh, how wrong they were.
You couldn't remember how long you had been stuck in that glass case, looking out at the crowds of people that passed by throughout the day. It was almost humiliating, in a way, as if you were being put out in the open like a trophy won in some sick game you didn't even know about, being marveled at by hundreds of people who didn't even know you were real.
However this happened, you couldn't remember. There wasn't much to remember, it seemed, save for darkness, followed by the view you currently had each and every day for the last three or four weeks.
At least the days were busy, with people everywhere looking at all the other displays, talking and laughing as if nothing in the world was out of place. The nights, you dreaded. Even with the night staff that went about cleaning the glass displays and the guards that paced the floors leisurely, the silence was a daunting, mocking reminder of your newfound imprisonment. The thought of no escape from your new life of utter stillness plagued you to no end.
It didn't help that the staff had positioned you just so to where you saw each and every person who entered and left the museum, adding to the feeling of hopelessness deep within your chest. Sure, some noticed your very meager movements, such as the slightest motion of your lashes fluttering as you attempted to blink, or the way the folds in your patterned Victorian Era dress shifted the slightest bit with the tiniest movement of the hand placed at your side. Still, it wasn't enough to cause any doubts to your realism and only intensified the lore behind your pose as well as the multitude of people who came bustling in with hopes to see your tiny movements with their own eyes.
Sooner than you realized, the crowd had thinned around the display you had been locked away in, as had the groups of people gazing at other displays here and there. The day wasn't yet over, meaning the early afternoon rush had finally relented to just stragglers and art students looking for a next piece to base their new projects on. The evening rush would start in roughly two hours, which meant more gaping stares and angry theorists arguing about what actually happened to the woman in the seemingly unrealistic story displayed on a pedestal before your glass casing.
With your position, you couldn't help but notice the two men that made their appearance at the double door entrance, butterflies fluttering anxiously within your stomach at the sight of their familar faces. For the first time in weeks, hope rose within your chest as the two men glanced about themselves in a wide sweep as if searching for something. Then a pair of green-hazel eyes settled on your case, those very eyes widening at the sight of you, and if you had the ability to breathe, you were sure your next breath would have stopped short at the realization in his gaze.
Dean...please....
"Sam...Sam, it's her!"
You watched as he rushed forward, though your eyes could only follow his trail through your peripheral. You were able to make out Sam's shocked expression before he followed his brother and pulled him back just before he could reach your glass imprisonment.
From your right, you could just make out one of several security guards eyeing the duo suspiciously, though he made no move to interrupt them, as they had not passed the red ropes that wrapped around your display as far out as two feet to assure no finger smudges or accidental taps on the glass were caused.
"Dean, no," you heard Sam's voice, distorted through your incasing, "not yet. We can't do anything right now."
"She's right here, Sam! She's right here in front of us, and I'll be damned if I'm just gonna leave her here like some sort of dressed-up mannequin!"
Dean was angry and upset; you could hear the way his voice cracked just the slightest, even as his anger peaked at not being able to do anything about your state of motionlessness.
"Dean...remember what Cas said?" Sam reminded, looking up at you momentarily before he pulled his brother off to the side.
There was a moment were the boys disappeared from your view, as did their voices, and in that moment, all you could comprehend was your anxious worry of what would happen now. They had found you; they had finally come to set you free from whatever had you bound and immobile. They wouldn't leave you...no, no, they would find a way to get you out of there.
Even so, their sudden disappearance left you with a sinking feeling deep within. Your four-week stay as a trophy didn't even compare to your anxiety at that moment and the fear of not only being trapped forever, but also never seeing the brothers again. That was a fear you hadn't been aware of until you had been taken away, and it became more pronounced now that they had found you.
Dean came back within your sight just as your worry began to form into full-on panic. He was just on your lower peripheral as he came as close to the glass as he could manage.
"Tonight; I swear, (Y/N), we'll be back tonight. We're gonna get you out of here, we'll find the son-of-a-bitch who put you in there, and I'll make him pay."
You tried so hard to let him know you understood, that you could hear him and see him and knew he was going to set you free...
Dean gazed at your motionless body, dressed in delicate fabrics and clutching at some sort of locket pressed dearly against your chest, for a moment longer before disappearing behind your display, following his brother with newfound determination. They had to find every possible exit in case things went south later on, as well as figure out the possible locations of the night guards.
Once you were free, there would be hell to pay.