justprompts - Follow Her Down
(For enjoythe_ride. Bela = enjoythe_ride. My AU fic, with her as my Bela. Because she said so. Bobby = maninflannel. Fic, nothing binding. Spoilers for the end of Season 3 of Supernatural.)
We stop waiting and I start going home//You don't have to follow//You don't have to follow//Take this call as a hint we're moving on//You don't have to follow//You don't have to follow ~This Conversation Is Over by Acceptance
Michael was fast asleep in his bed. Senses always alert though, he awoke with the feeling someone was in the room. He turned on his futon and saw a figure in the corner of the room with it's back to him. His hand slid under his pillow to quickly draw out his gun. On soft feet, he jumped up and moved behind the person, pressing the gun to the back of their head.
“Turn around slowly,” he commanded. They did so, and Mike's eyes cleared in the darkness enough to notice the face. “Bela?” It looked like her, sure, but...she didn't look the same. She looked troubled and ill. Her eyes met his quietly and he dropped the gun to his side. “What are you doing here?”
“I-,” she stopped and shook her head. “I was just leaving, I'm sorry.” She started for the steps that lead down to the rest of the home, but he took her arm to stop her. Bela stopped, but kept her eyes to the floor.
“What is it?” He could tell something was wrong. He hadn't seen her in over a month, and the last time he had they'd argued. Argued because he was still convinced he could help her with whatever she was running from. That was what he did after all, he helped people. His hand moved up her arm to curl around the back of her neck as he stepped closer.
“I can't-,” she shook her head. “I shouldn't have come.”
“Bela,” his voice came gently. Her eyes dropped shut at that. The way he said her name. Just like all the moments they lay together, as close as they could get. The moments she tended to forget who she was and just enjoyed him instead. She tensed slightly as she felt his lips brush to hers.
“I'm out of time,” she finally said. She opened her eyes to look at him and took a breath to control herself. She had to be her own Bela, not his Bela. Her eyes turned stony as she looked into his. “I have something I have to do.”
“Let me help you.”
“You can't help me, Michael,” she shook her head and pulled away from him. She couldn't deal with him touching her or being so close right then. “I had something I wanted to leave you. That's why I came.”
“Are you saying goodbye then?” His head tilted slightly as he stared her down.
“No,” she got her voice back, strong. “I'm saying...I have to be somewhere.”
“Damnit, Bela! Let me do something!” His eyes darkened. “In case you forgot, helping is kinda my thing.”
“What I'm doing has no place for you to help,” she snapped. “You would only be in the way.” His jaw set at that and he took a step back. They kept glares on each other for a long time, before she moved forward slowly. She stopped in front of him and touched his cheek, before softly kissing his lips. Without another word, she started to leave. He followed quickly and caught her at the door. She sighed before turning to look up at him.
“Take this,” he said, moving close to slide his gun against her stomach. Her breath caught, but she kept his gaze.
“I don't need-”
“Take it,” he growled. “If it's all I can do to help...”
She looked down at his hand still against her and nodded, then carefully pulled his fingers from where they rested on the gun. The seconds ticked between them. Their eyes refused to meet. Neither wanted to be the last to speak. Her head nodded slightly and she turned for the door. His fingers jumped out and wrapped around her wrist tightly. She stopped and looked down at his hand. She kept her eyes on his hand. She didn't want to see anything his face had to offer.
“I'll figure something out,” he said. A few different emotions flickered across her face in a matter of moments, before settling on mock. She finally lifted her eyes to his and tilted her head slightly.
“After everything I've tried I highly doubt there's a thing you can do, Michael.”
“I can try,” he said, his voice taking a firmer stand. She rolled her eyes and yanked her wrist from his grip.
“You can't fix everything. The only help I need...you can't provide.”
Deep down he knew it was true, but it didn't matter to him. He wasn't the kind of man to give up easily. Especially not--- “Bela,” his voice came out softer than before. More than he intended. His fingers found hers. She didn't pull away. Not completely. The tips of their fingers curled together and he looked down at her.
Her eyes were cast to the floor again. The barrier she'd been attempting to hold over herself for every moment she'd been there was crumbling around her. The real truth of it all was that...this was it. There was nothing left to try, no angle left to explore. The one person that could possibly help her...she didn't want to call. She didn't want to be at the end of the rope. That would mean depending on someone. It would mean being needy. Mostly it would mean being those things to Dean Winchester. Things were supposed to have been fixed by then. She wasn't supposed to be at the end. She felt his fingers hold hers a little tighter and she brought her chin up. She let herself look into his eyes briefly. It was something that frightened her, because she could almost see herself believing him. Believing that he could save her, that he might possibly be able to. She refused it. There was nothing there to trust in. Her features hardened and she pulled her hand back and wrapped her arms tightly to her chest.
The silence returned. She couldn't think of a proper way to say goodbye, and neither could he. She took a step backwards and turned on her heel again to pull the door open. His eyes moved across the room. He didn't want to watch her leave. He listened to the door close and his eyes dropped shut.
~~~~
It had been weeks since the night Bela had shown up at Michael's place. He continued life, trying to not think about it, but waiting for her to return. The fact of the matter was, it hadn't been goodbye. He would not accept that.
He was home, taking in the peace and quiet, while reading up on a case he was working. He absentmindedly played with the chain hanging from his neck, tugging lightly at it's charm. He had found it that night after Bela left, and he knew it's what she had left for him. After some research, he had learned it was meant for care and protection. He'd worn it ever since.
His phone rang, breaking into his work. He sighed and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Michael Westen?” A man's voice barked out at him, but there was something soft in his bark. With a bit of a southern drawl.
“That would be me.”
“Name's Bobby Singer,” the man replied.
“Nice to meet you. What can I do for you, Mr. Singer?”
“Well...we have a mutual acquaintance.”
“Oh?”
He heard the man take a deep sigh. “Bela Talbot.”
Mike dropped the papers in his hand and his head popped up. “You know Bela?”
“You could say that. Look, I got a note from her, askin' me to contact you. I...I hate to be the one tellin' ya this, but-”
His blood had since froze. His breath stopped. It was achingly clear in his mind. “She's dead?” He asked, somehow able to keep his voice firm.
“Yes.”
“Right. Thank you.” He hung up on the man. There wasn't much more to say after all. A part of him wanted to pretend the phone call never came, but it was impossible. Michael took a solid breath in and out before stepping calmly across the room. Without much thought to it, he picked up his gun and held it out. His jaw was so tight it ached. All he could see was red and blur. He moved his finger to the trigger and fired a series of shots into the lamp before him; firing until he had no bullets left and was pulling an empty and repetitive click click click click...
1407
We stop waiting and I start going home//You don't have to follow//You don't have to follow//Take this call as a hint we're moving on//You don't have to follow//You don't have to follow ~This Conversation Is Over by Acceptance
Michael was fast asleep in his bed. Senses always alert though, he awoke with the feeling someone was in the room. He turned on his futon and saw a figure in the corner of the room with it's back to him. His hand slid under his pillow to quickly draw out his gun. On soft feet, he jumped up and moved behind the person, pressing the gun to the back of their head.
“Turn around slowly,” he commanded. They did so, and Mike's eyes cleared in the darkness enough to notice the face. “Bela?” It looked like her, sure, but...she didn't look the same. She looked troubled and ill. Her eyes met his quietly and he dropped the gun to his side. “What are you doing here?”
“I-,” she stopped and shook her head. “I was just leaving, I'm sorry.” She started for the steps that lead down to the rest of the home, but he took her arm to stop her. Bela stopped, but kept her eyes to the floor.
“What is it?” He could tell something was wrong. He hadn't seen her in over a month, and the last time he had they'd argued. Argued because he was still convinced he could help her with whatever she was running from. That was what he did after all, he helped people. His hand moved up her arm to curl around the back of her neck as he stepped closer.
“I can't-,” she shook her head. “I shouldn't have come.”
“Bela,” his voice came gently. Her eyes dropped shut at that. The way he said her name. Just like all the moments they lay together, as close as they could get. The moments she tended to forget who she was and just enjoyed him instead. She tensed slightly as she felt his lips brush to hers.
“I'm out of time,” she finally said. She opened her eyes to look at him and took a breath to control herself. She had to be her own Bela, not his Bela. Her eyes turned stony as she looked into his. “I have something I have to do.”
“Let me help you.”
“You can't help me, Michael,” she shook her head and pulled away from him. She couldn't deal with him touching her or being so close right then. “I had something I wanted to leave you. That's why I came.”
“Are you saying goodbye then?” His head tilted slightly as he stared her down.
“No,” she got her voice back, strong. “I'm saying...I have to be somewhere.”
“Damnit, Bela! Let me do something!” His eyes darkened. “In case you forgot, helping is kinda my thing.”
“What I'm doing has no place for you to help,” she snapped. “You would only be in the way.” His jaw set at that and he took a step back. They kept glares on each other for a long time, before she moved forward slowly. She stopped in front of him and touched his cheek, before softly kissing his lips. Without another word, she started to leave. He followed quickly and caught her at the door. She sighed before turning to look up at him.
“Take this,” he said, moving close to slide his gun against her stomach. Her breath caught, but she kept his gaze.
“I don't need-”
“Take it,” he growled. “If it's all I can do to help...”
She looked down at his hand still against her and nodded, then carefully pulled his fingers from where they rested on the gun. The seconds ticked between them. Their eyes refused to meet. Neither wanted to be the last to speak. Her head nodded slightly and she turned for the door. His fingers jumped out and wrapped around her wrist tightly. She stopped and looked down at his hand. She kept her eyes on his hand. She didn't want to see anything his face had to offer.
“I'll figure something out,” he said. A few different emotions flickered across her face in a matter of moments, before settling on mock. She finally lifted her eyes to his and tilted her head slightly.
“After everything I've tried I highly doubt there's a thing you can do, Michael.”
“I can try,” he said, his voice taking a firmer stand. She rolled her eyes and yanked her wrist from his grip.
“You can't fix everything. The only help I need...you can't provide.”
Deep down he knew it was true, but it didn't matter to him. He wasn't the kind of man to give up easily. Especially not--- “Bela,” his voice came out softer than before. More than he intended. His fingers found hers. She didn't pull away. Not completely. The tips of their fingers curled together and he looked down at her.
Her eyes were cast to the floor again. The barrier she'd been attempting to hold over herself for every moment she'd been there was crumbling around her. The real truth of it all was that...this was it. There was nothing left to try, no angle left to explore. The one person that could possibly help her...she didn't want to call. She didn't want to be at the end of the rope. That would mean depending on someone. It would mean being needy. Mostly it would mean being those things to Dean Winchester. Things were supposed to have been fixed by then. She wasn't supposed to be at the end. She felt his fingers hold hers a little tighter and she brought her chin up. She let herself look into his eyes briefly. It was something that frightened her, because she could almost see herself believing him. Believing that he could save her, that he might possibly be able to. She refused it. There was nothing there to trust in. Her features hardened and she pulled her hand back and wrapped her arms tightly to her chest.
The silence returned. She couldn't think of a proper way to say goodbye, and neither could he. She took a step backwards and turned on her heel again to pull the door open. His eyes moved across the room. He didn't want to watch her leave. He listened to the door close and his eyes dropped shut.
~~~~
It had been weeks since the night Bela had shown up at Michael's place. He continued life, trying to not think about it, but waiting for her to return. The fact of the matter was, it hadn't been goodbye. He would not accept that.
He was home, taking in the peace and quiet, while reading up on a case he was working. He absentmindedly played with the chain hanging from his neck, tugging lightly at it's charm. He had found it that night after Bela left, and he knew it's what she had left for him. After some research, he had learned it was meant for care and protection. He'd worn it ever since.
His phone rang, breaking into his work. He sighed and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Michael Westen?” A man's voice barked out at him, but there was something soft in his bark. With a bit of a southern drawl.
“That would be me.”
“Name's Bobby Singer,” the man replied.
“Nice to meet you. What can I do for you, Mr. Singer?”
“Well...we have a mutual acquaintance.”
“Oh?”
He heard the man take a deep sigh. “Bela Talbot.”
Mike dropped the papers in his hand and his head popped up. “You know Bela?”
“You could say that. Look, I got a note from her, askin' me to contact you. I...I hate to be the one tellin' ya this, but-”
His blood had since froze. His breath stopped. It was achingly clear in his mind. “She's dead?” He asked, somehow able to keep his voice firm.
“Yes.”
“Right. Thank you.” He hung up on the man. There wasn't much more to say after all. A part of him wanted to pretend the phone call never came, but it was impossible. Michael took a solid breath in and out before stepping calmly across the room. Without much thought to it, he picked up his gun and held it out. His jaw was so tight it ached. All he could see was red and blur. He moved his finger to the trigger and fired a series of shots into the lamp before him; firing until he had no bullets left and was pulling an empty and repetitive click click click click...
1407