Chapter Text
Eileen threw her med kit onto the seat and slumped into the passenger side. She smacked the dome light on, smearing it with blood, rendering the interior light with a pinkish tint.
She braced her knees against the dashboard. Gasping with pain and exhaustion, she ripped her shirt open all the way to get a look at the damage. The kitsune had gotten in one solid upward slash along her side - from pelvis to breast - before she'd been able to get close enough to stab it in the heart.
Numb, shaking hands reached for the lid of the med kit and struggled to open it, her fingers too slippery with her own fresh blood.
She slipped a roll of gauze into her mouth and grabbed the Betadine from the kit, squeezing the bottle over the wound. She grunted and teethed at the gauze roll in her mouth; felt tears sliding down her cheeks when she looked back down. The solution mixed with the rest of the gore, turning the sight of her damaged side into what looked like red-brown mud. Nauseous, sweaty and pale as a ghost, she dropped the roll from her mouth and ripped opened several gauze pads with her teeth. She stuck them to her side, the solution and blood instantly bonding to the pads until she could get the ace bandages to pressure the wound further.
She threw the gauze roll back into her mouth and did her best to use her leverage against the car seat and one hand to push the split skin together before applying the beginning of the ace bandage, putting pressure on it, and struggling to move around enough to solidly wrap it around her body. She clenched her jaw and grit her teeth, closing her eyes and hearing the vibrations of her own tortured groans as she persisted, doing her best to staunch the flow of blood.
She took a second after that, leaning out the open door and panting at the small abandoned suburban street she'd parked on, certain she was going to either throw up or pass out. Falling unconscious would be a relief, but she knew it either meant certain death or life in prison: she was parked just outside the kitsune's townhouse dwelling.
By the time she was done, her breathing was shallow and her heartbeat too fast. White and black static prickled her vision and her eyes rolled as she pulled her phone out, squinted for the icon for her GeoTrack app, and managed to send her coordinates to the first Winchester listed in her contacts.
---
The pain wasn't agony; just a pulsing discomfort that increased to maybe a four or five as she began to reach consciousness. It was the urge she had to get up and move... somewhere... that was gnawing on her mind that disturbed her the most right now. Almost like another force inside beckoning and compelling her that woke her up and, once she had her wits about her, managed to quell. At least for the time being.
She was in a bed - on a spring mattress, she realized when she dug her heel into one of them. It didn't smell like a hospital though: the air tasted stale; the bed and blankets musty. Eileen explored with the tips of her fingers - soft cotton sheet below a thick wool blanket; definitely more comfortable than a hospital bed...
Her eyes were dry, lids stuck together with discharge, and she mustered the strength to blink enough times to break the seal. She squinted in the dim light, patiently and silently waiting and willing for her vision to adjust.
The walls were exposed brick on both sides of the room. The wall she faced was gray - either smooth stone or concrete - with an open metal door directly in front of the foot of her bed. Beyond, a hallway of the same stone or concrete color.
Eileen moved on to sight the antique wooden nightstand with a small lamp less than a foot away from her. A water bottle sat neatly nearby and Eileen immediately reached for it, realizing how parched her throat was.
The pain shot through her side like lightning. She tried to muffle the groan, clenching her jaw shut but feeling it coming out through her throat anyway as she sank back against the pillow.
Huffing with defeat, a thin sheen of sweat coating her face now, she turned her head to look at the water bottle, then tilted it further with a squint when she realized there was a note propped up against it: "EILEEN - CLICK THE BUTTON IF YOU WAKE UP - SAM AND DEAN."
With a sigh of relief, her eyes trailed down to a small device with a single rubber button on it. She reached out - careful not to move her torso - and felt the thing click under her finger then erupt with vibration. She made a face of approval and let the device go to tremble on the table as she carefully reached for the water bottle.
She was calmly taking a sip of the fresh and cool water when Sam rushed in, eyes wide, hands over both ears, and grinning at the sight of her. She smiled back and he gave a single wave and point at the device before ducking to her bedside and reaching to click it off. She smirked at the sight of his body relaxing.
"Loud?" she asked, her expression feigning innocent curiosity. Sam huffed and rolled his eyes as he grabbed a chair to sit next to her. "How long?"
"About a day," Sam said, and she realized he was moving his lips more than he had last time she met him. She appreciated it; lip-reading was difficult when people barely moved their lips.
Eileen nodded, then fixed her eyes on Sam.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
"Don't mention it," he said, his eyes kind, smile soft.
"Where's Dean?"
"Out. Supplies," Sam replied, gesturing to her wound. Eileen hadn't gotten the chance to examine herself yet, but figured they must've gotten to her and patched her up better than the mess she'd left for them. She hoped she wouldn't get a lecture; yet more idiots saying her deafness was at fault for her injuries when they so rarely were. In this particular case, she'd missed the ball during hand-to-hand combat with a kitsune; the only benefit would've been hearing the thing gouging her... which wasn't even a benefit.
Luckily, Sam didn't seem inclined to say anything more and Eileen moved slightly to lift the blankets and check herself out. She saw see the clean bandages wrapped expertly around her torso. She sighed: that kitsune had really done a number on her.
"Stitches?"
"About fifty," Sam wavered his palm, his expression full of sympathy. Eileen's eyes widened and she blew air out through her mouth. Sam laughed and nodded. "Hey, you hungry?"
"Starving," Eileen grinned.
"I'll be right back," Sam said, still facing her and making sure she saw his lips. Eileen signed a quick 'ok' and Sam returned the sign which made the smile reach her eyes.
Just as Sam left, that urge she'd had from earlier slammed into her again, magnified and strong, drawing her in some direction that she didn't know or understand. All she knew was that she had to get out of bed - had to stand on her own two feet. And then from there, she'd know what next somehow.
It wasn't like a possession. She knew she was in control. It wasn't just an outside force pulling her but something inside her also: something telling her that she needed to do this. That if she did this, she would understand her purpose - her own personal meaning of life. It was that special; that significant. And the curiosity and desire built inside her until she couldn't hold back from acting on it right then and there.
The practical application of movement with a body so damaged was a problem... but it was one she knew she could solve. She rolled over onto her uninjured side and bent her knees before angling them over the side of the bed. Slowly, she lowered herself down to a kneel, clasping her side and breathing heavily. She let the pain wash over her and then settle.
She realized she was wearing a man's sleeveless t-shirt with the widest armpit holes she'd ever seen. It billowed over her body like a hospital gown, running down to the middle of her thigh. She took a second to comically appreciate the brothers' rather failed attempt to keep her modesty intact, considering she'd needed stitches along the side of her breast & her bra was no where to be seen.
She took a breath and managed to get up to a crouching stand. It was as good as she was going to get and that feeling told her to take a right at the door. She stumbled to the threshold of her room and turned, heading down the way, moving her upper body as little as possible.
At the end of the hallway stood a small table with a lamp on it. Without knowing why, she turned the lamp on, then off, then on again and watched a hidden door slide open to her left. She shuffled forward into the dark, cobwebbed room, and slowly - with no warning - the sconces along the walls began to glow and illuminate the room.
Eileen surveyed shelves upon shelves of dusty books and artifacts. In the center of the room stood a low, sturdy wooden table with matching stools pushed underneath, like a lab work station before metal had become the preferred platform material.
That feeling came back at her, desperate and urgent, and she gripped her side too tight. She felt moisture on her fingers and knew it was blood but she couldn't stop now. She hobbled past two aisles of shelving before going down the one she wanted. She stopped at a glass display case with nothing more than an old black Bell rotary phone inside.
The latch to the case wasn't locked.
Almost in a trance now, Eileen reached for the receiver and placed it to her hear.
---
Dean stomped into the kitchen with groceries and the med kit supplies while Sam was at the stove.
"Hey," he grumbled, setting things on the table.
"Hey guess what - she's up," Sam said cheerfully.
"Good news, for once."
"Yeah, right?"
"So she's good? No infection, fever...?"
"She's good - hungry. I'm making her grilled cheese."
"Nice," Dean sidled over next to Sam, "Make me one with bacon," he ordered, throwing the new package of bacon down on the counter.
"Uh, no," Sam huffed and Dean chuckled as he moved to leave.
"Put the stuff away - I'm gonna go check on her."
"Yeah," Sam agreed casually, flipping the grilled cheese over to make the other side golden brown.
Sam eyed the package of bacon on the counter, considering.
He moved to get another fry pan.
---
Dean walked down the hallway to the spare bedroom they'd put Eileen in. He found himself really looking forward to seeing her again (conscious, that is, and not torn up) and showing her the bunker. She was just as much a Men of Letters legacy as they were; it was her birthright to see this place and even treat it like home if she wanted. It'd be up to her, but by the way things looked she was not only still hunting, but hunting solo. That she'd texted them her coordinates was another notch in the 'not many friends' category, and so he and Sam had talked about it while she'd been out. They were ready to extend her the invitation that she was always welcome here, on whatever basis of permanence she wanted.
Pleased with the resolution they'd come to, Dean was excited to introduce her to all of it when she was ready. First things first though - saying 'hi' to the person you spent hours sweating over and suturing would be a good first step.
He knocked on the frame of the door before coming in, then realized that wouldn't do her any good, and stepped into the room. The smile on his face fell into confusion, seeing an empty bed with messy rumpled sheets.
"Eileen?" he said into the room, then shouted her name again before catching himself again. He moved into the room, checking the corners and under the bed to make sure she was definitely not there. He entered the hallway and saw the lamp's light was on at the end of it. He jogged towards it and stopped, eyes wide at the sight of the open, dimly-lit room on the left - a room he had never seen before.
"What the hell," he murmured, stepping hesitantly inside. It was another hidden archive room, obviously, that somehow Eileen had managed to find barely an hour after having regained consciousness here. Fantastic, Dean thought as he stepped inside.
Dean heard movement and quickly made his way towards it. He lit upon the right aisle and it was almost in slow motion, watching the receiver land against her ear.
"No!" Dean shouted, and Eileen, seeing him out of her peripheral vision, turned to look at him with alarm before her eyes glazed and she just stood there, listening.
Listening.