Chapter 60

The window was cold against the side of her head. The seatbelt, stupidly bright red and padded, was digging into her neck at quite an angle. The car bounced a little, causing her head to bang against the glass. She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the body-hugging sport seats. She huffed silently, trying to hide herself away from the entire world.

I hate everyone and everything

Four hours. Alone. In that hospital. All by herself. Four goddamn hours. She tried to cry again. But she had run out of tears. There was nothing left inside. Just the empty feeling. What was that Pyrrha had said about inner strength? What a bunch of garbage. There was no way any of that shit about 'loving yourself' and 'being brave' was going to help her now. She just wanted to pass out and die.

"Uhh..."

Even her lungs wanted to just go away. That was the extent of her feelings. Her new driver pulled the car into the left lane, passing a slower car. This is how it had been for the last hour or so on the road. Sorry silence, and overtaking. Just her awful luck it was. The one person she could have called, who was the furthest away, she might add, came for her to collect her. She could have called Blake again, but she didn't. She could have called Yang, but she hadn't. She had called Dean. Like an idiot. He was a whole other city away. But he had driven all this way to collect her. And now, she was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, being rocketed along the freeway, towards the airport.

Pathetic.

There was a small ding from over on the driver's side of the console. Her chauffeur let out a sigh, and let off the accelerator. The powerful supercar slowed, pressing her into her harness-like seatbelt. The free-breathing motor howled like a choir of wolves just over her left shoulder as it decelerated down from the blistering speed they had been doing.

"We are out of fuel, Schneeflocke. Thought I'd let you know."

His voice was soft, and sweet. Quiet, too. It sounded like he was a little defeated, if she was honest. She sighed her response to him, just as defeated. He tapped a finger against his car's racing steering wheel.

"Not the most economical car, no?"

Well. At least he was trying to engage her in some sort of conversation. To his credit, he seemed genuine enough, with a heartfelt tone about him. Weiss tried to respond as well.

"Ca...va...llo..."

Guess not. Her brain had quit the words about a quarter of the way out her mouth. Her eyes still refused to open. They refused to cry, as well. All she wanted was to cry. Curl up in a ball in front of her TV and cry until she stopped existing. Maybe she'd watch something foreign. Then her parents would find an empty blanket and a strange film in her place when she evaporated. That would be weird. Or funny. She couldn't bring herself to care. Her lip trembled again.

Weak.

She tapped her head against the window in mock protest. It didn't hurt. But she didn't want to break his window. Of course, if she did, he would just brush it off and ignore it and not make her pay for it because that was just the way he was. Nice. For no good reason. He wasn't interested in her that way. Why would he be? She had told him she wasn't into men, gosh what was it, yesterday? He had certainly hugged her with more affection than just a 'regular' friend would nevertheless.

Maybe he wants you. No one else does.

Weiss gave a sob, quietly so Dean wouldn't hear. She felt stupid. She felt tired. Not so much exhausted from being awake for very nearly twenty-four hours, however. She was over that. She just felt... done. No more angry, depressed, regretful thoughts filled her head. Just one thought remained, quietly repeating over and over in her empty frame.

It's over.

And it was, to the thought's credit. It was indeed over. There would be no more casual Saturdays, watching movies on the couch. No more driving to the beach in her truck with the roof and doors removed. No more playing those infernal racing video games in the basement and sitting in piles of PLG cans and potato chip bags. No more Weiss and Ruby. And just that thought alone remained, silencing her entire being. She could barely breathe, it was so devastating.

Years ago, she remembered hearing a very similar story about one of her uncles. Albion Schnee. Her mother's eldest sibling. He had been a Hunstman. One of his missions had him away in Anima, protecting a small countryside village she didn't care enough about to even remember the name of. Back in Atlas, in the shadow of the foreboding Mount Totenspitz, Albion's wife Violet and their daughter, Weiss's cousin Xena patiently awaited his return. The mission itself was a great success, as Albion had dealt with the Grimm threat in the tiny village with great ease. It was upon his return that he found out why he had been apprehensive of leaving in the first place.

There had been a landslide. Of epic proportions. It had wiped his hometown clean off the face of the earth. Only a vast field of rock and dirt remained in the place his house had been. His home, his wife, his daughter, his everything had been completely erased. He was left with nothing. And now, Weiss knew exactly how he felt that day, as his Bullhead had crested the hill to reveal the vast emptiness that had once been his life. Not even in a figurative 'I know what it's like to lose people like that time my sister moved away' sort of pity. Weiss now knew precisely what it was like to have someone you love taken away forever, without even an inkling of warning. Pyrrha had died. Ruby had ran away. And Weiss was now alone.

And it's what you deserve.

She slid her head rearward across the window, letting it come to rest against the seatbelt strap. In the last four hours, she thought many times about coping with the loss the same way her uncle had. But no one would attend her funeral, would they?

"Weiss? We've stopped for the moment. Do you need anything from the gas station?"

Her eyes opened. The harsh lights from the fuel pump made her want to close them again immediately. They were indeed at a gas station. She rubbed her good eye with her sleeve.

"Mmm..."

With neither an affirmative or negative reply, she pulled on the tiny carbon-fibre door release, popping the lightweight panel open and letting the cold in. Perhaps she needed some air. With great effort, she hoisted her tired frame out of the very low-slung supercar into a standing position. The door swung shut by itself the instant she let go of it. It didn't have the same weight or substance to it that the big red truck had. Granted, the door itself on this car was worth likely more than all of that truck anyways.

The gas station smelled like gas. Quite badly, actually. The smell permeated her nose and up into her sinuses. The smell made her want to faint. She came around to the back of the aerodynamic car, leaning against the light-blue carbon bodywork. Her fingers traced the outline of the raised chrome nameplate of the back fascia. Cavallo 408. The car itself was nice, she supposed. Mid-engined, eight cylinder, and quite agile for its wide stance. It was certainly pretty. For a car.

"You like the new car, Schneeflocke? I remembered you suggesting this to me when we were children. Well, certainly not anything this new."

Weiss sniffed, not looking over. Of course he would have done something she recommended. What a joke this was. Was this a subtle way of confessing? No, he wouldn't dare do that. They hadn't seen each other in ten years. Ten whole years. That would be long enough to forget about someone. But clearly Dean hadn't forgotten about her. She sighed, dropping her chin onto her chest. Her hair fell down around her face like a floor-length curtain, hiding her from view. This was the advantage of having long hair, as she had discovered long ago. Quick camouflage.

"I-I mean, it was this or the Donckerwolke. And I did not want the stigma of driving one of those."

She just wanted him to stop trying to be so nice to her. She mumbled her response. That seemed to be the end of it. The gas pump whirred loudly as it pumped litre upon litre of the rather expensive high-octane fuel into the blue machine. The smell of the ethanol-blend was worse than just the regular civilian-grade stuff. It made her want to sneeze. But she kept her nose quiet for the time being. The air was cold. Colder than it had been every single other morning in the last week. It felt like the air was out to get her, like a giant's cold fist crushing down on her body. Her breath pooled around her face as she exhaled, and immediately froze to the thin lenses of her glasses. Her sour expression cracked just the tiniest of amounts, as she realized she was now blind.

Blind to everything.

Just as quickly as the feeling had left her, it was now back. And it was worse. She hated that she was right. Blind to Pyrrha's deterioration, blind to Dean's seemingly rather apparent feelings for her, blind to all of Ruby's problems. It was as if she never knew the poor, frightened huntress even a little bit! Nine years they had known each other, and she had never once known the real story, the real problems that the girl was having. Did she not trust her? Did she think Weiss couldn't handle the truth? Why had it taken so long for her to work up the courage to even admit the smallest thing? Surely it couldn't be because of love or anything like that bullshit. Love, as stupid a concept as it was, was supposed to be about mutual trust and the sharing of feelings and all that petty nonsense. And yet sharing and feelings had never been present in their relationship.

What right did she have to feel betrayed. It had all been carefully hidden from her. Everything. She had barely known the woman she loved at all. Ruby had kept her at arm's length the whole time. It stung like a knife to the stomach. The same kind of slow, aching death that she was currently wishing for. She didn't deserve such a kind treatment. If anyone didn't deserve the kind of pleasant treatment that was a brutal death it was her. No, she deserved the slow burn of torture that was consuming her at present.

"Schneeflocke..."

She jumped, not expecting the sudden voice from the other side of the car. The pump stopped whirring with a loud click that permeated the silence of the air. She glanced over, through the thick silvery-white curtain that was her hair. His face had a very saddened expression plastered upon it. He seemed like he was dissappointed in something. Or perhaps someone. Maybe her.

"Please talk to me, Weiss... This bitter silence really isn't like you."

Her eye twitched.

"I'm fine."

Dean shut the fuel door on his car with a little more force than was necessary. Even from the distance she was away, Weiss could see that his knuckles were white from strain.

"No, you are clearly not. I wish you would tell me what's wrong."

What was wrong? Well, that was a complicated matter. There was a lot of things wrong. The underlying problem, however, was that Weiss didn't know where exactly to start. Her brain was fully scrambled from the day's events.

" What can I do? How can I help you?"

Spoken in Atlesian, his voice was soft. Restrained. She responded in the same language, the words flowing out with little difficulty despite the many years it had been since she had used it.

" I don't think you can. It's not something-"

"That's not going to stop me from trying, Schneeflocke."

Weiss clenched her fist, hidden by the car's bulbous fenders.

" Look, Dean, I don't need your-"

He cut her off with a hand raised before him.

" Okay, forget about what you need. Tell me what you want."

Weiss opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Her mouth was dry, and her voice seemed to be trapped in her throat. What did she want? Well, the most obvious thing that came to mind was a certain brown-haired girl who used to be her friend. But that had just become unfeasible. Completely and utterly hopeless.

Why not take advice from your mother?

"A drink."

And down the rabbit hole you fall, little girl.

Dean sighed seemingly with his entire body, a very clear expression of disappointment on his face. His opinion didn't matter to her at present. She just wanted a drink, and to be on a plane home. Of course, she knew there would be alcohol on the flight, but she needed something now, rather than in an hour and a half when the plane would take off.

" A drink? You're certain?"

Why was he giving her attitude? She made a face, hidden by her hair so he wouldn't see.

" I am."

He nodded slowly, hanging the fuel nozzle back up onto the pump. His keys jingled in his hand as he spun them around his index finger, catching them in his palm.

" Alright. There's a good place just down the highway another exit. I'll take you there. Sound good?"

Weiss nodded and made an affirmative-sounding sigh.

" I guess so."

Dean's voice became more upbeat.

" Excellent, Schneeflocke. Do you want to drive?"

A small smile formed on her face.

" Sure. Why not?"

Without looking over, and using only the sound of the keys leaving his hand, Weiss extended her arm and caught the little polished silver-plated key mid-air. Pushing herself off the car with a tiny groan, she moved around to the driver's side of the car and dropped down into the low racing bucket seat. It was a lot further of a fall than she was expecting, but that was to be expected as Dean drove with the seat justifiably far back against the firewall. The door pulled shut with a lot less force than she was expecting, given the size of the large panel. Her hands fumbled for the seatbelt tucked behind the seat's thick shoulder bolstering, pulling it tight over her chest. Her finger poked into the bright red START button on the steering wheel, turning the small, tightly-wound eight cylinder into life with a shriek. It brought a smile to her face automatically.

" Hello, my friend."

She slid her seat forward so she could reach the pedals, hearing Dean's door close and his seatbelt latch click closed just out of her peripheral. She gave the long aluminum throttle pedal a few test blips, watching the oversized tachometer spin up to six-thousand. She could feel the vibration of the motor directly in her heart. This car felt like a very powerful coiled spring. Pulling the slick aluminum paddle behind the right side of the steering wheel, the car lurched forward away from the gas pump.

You're a piece of-

Weiss cut off the voice in her head with a copious dose of boot to the accelerator. The motor opened up with a violent aggression, breaking the car's expensive snow tires loose from the wet pavement. The wide blue supercar slid sideways out of the gas station, and she held the car in an easy powerslide.

The car rocketed forward, ripping up to a blinding pace. Weiss tagged the right paddle again, and the onslaught of speed started all over again. The rear-wheel drive car tried a few times to slip out of line on the wet pavement, but the complicated computerized traction systems stopped it from doing so. She pulled the paddle again. And again. The tiny speedometer in the corner of the gauge cluster was flipping through numbers faster than they could be displayed and read. She let off the accelerator, holding speed at around two-fifty. She banged the transmission up into seventh gear, letting the revs fall and settling in for the short journey.

" Why are you driving so slowly? The bar will close before we even get there!"

Was he trying to evoke a reaction? Her hands gripped harder on the car's button-covered steering wheel. His chipper attitude was abrasive at best, she thought. Letting her drive a car worth more than most suburban houses? That in itself was suspicious of him. She never let even her own family drive her cars. Not being upset when she got a little aggressive with the gas pedal? That screamed that something foul was afoot. She remembered only allowing one person ever to get after her car a little; a certain brown-haired girl. And now he was encouraging her to go wild with it?

Seems like he's in lo-

Her left fingers yanked three times on the left paddle. The car's double-clutch transmission blipped down instantaneously to fourth gear. Her right foot found the bottom of the footwell through the gas pedal. The car sank back on the magnetically adjustable shocks, firing up even harder than before as the motor found its sweet spot. Up past nine thousand the tach read through each of the car's upper gears. Light poles, concrete barriers, and the lines on the road had faded to a vivid blur through the windshield. There was nothing left coherent in the world. If there was any signs or other cars to be read or seen, Weiss wasn't going to see them. She pulled the right paddle again, but the transmission didn't change up. The little indicator in the corner of the gauge cluster indicated she was in top gear already. The speedometer had stopped increasing. At three-hundred and twenty-four. A short laugh from the passenger seat was a momentary distraction.

" That's more like it! Also, next exit in two kilometres."

She held her foot down for a few more fleeting moments, her thoughts and the world around her drowned out by the massively loud engine screaming over her right shoulder. She lifted off, and the exhaust backfired and boomed through the very short titanium pipes sticking out the rear bumper. The car carved effortlessly around the off-ramp, pulling to a stop under the force of carbon-ceramic brakes at the stop sign at the top of the hill.

It didn't take a genius to know where the bar was. The brightly-lit building just up the road was probably visible from space. Weiss heaved a sigh, turning the blue supercar to the right, pulling calmly up the street. The parking lot was packed with large, obnoxious diesel trucks, as was the usual crop at any bar at any time of day. Bunch of hicks, she figured, locals from the more rural area that surrounded the airport. She managed to squeeze the wide car into and end spot, next to a curb and a lifted Sanus P-250 turbodiesel.

The door was heavier than it had been twenty minutes ago when she had gotten in. Perhaps that had been because she was standing next to the door, and the low-slung seat had her almost sitting below it. It didn't matter. Her body sighed as one as she stepped out of the car and back into the frozen night air. There was no snow in the parking lot, however, and only the dull din emanating from the bar made any indication of life in the area. Everything else was dark and gone. She took a wary step forward, letting the car door fall shut behind her, her feet like lead as she approached the building. Dean was but a shadow behind her. Her hand hesitated on the long brass handle that lead into the building. Dean almost bowled over her.

" Schneeflocke, you shouldn't stop so suddenly. Didn't you want that drink I promised?"

Her brain hesitated on the answer. Yes, she wanted the drink. No, she didn't want him to buy it. And no, she certainly didn't want to be here right now.

"Yeah... sorry..."

She pushed the door open. Her nose was immediately flooded with the smell of alcohol and cheap food. Mostly fried fish, she thought. Typical pub fair. The conversations around the room quieted down as she stepped into the large, open room. The eyes of the patrons followed her around the room as she moved towards the bar itself. They all bored into her. Like a pack of hungry animals. She sat down on one of the tall stools, her white jacket tucking under her rear as she sat on it. Her short, pyjama-covered legs dangled freely off the edge of the high perch. The bartender peered over at her, polishing a glass with a microfibre cloth. Dean sat next to her, garnering a few jealous glares from some of the patrons.

" What would the two of you like?"

Weiss sighed deeply, so hard she managed to cut off Dean's possible order.

" My best friend back. True love. I don't know, a world without Grimm?"

Dean smiled, snorting through his nose from over her right shoulder. Did he find something about this funny? What a huge, incorrigible, selfish dick. The bartender stopped scrubbing his cup, placing it down in a rack behind the counter. His large, muscled hands flexing as he picked up a tray of heavy pint glasses.

" I meant to drink. I didn't need a philosophical story about your life."

Weiss stared, her eyes fixed on the bartender with a viscous intent. Her left hand lowered down to her hip, where her sword used to be strapped. She gripped the hem of her pyjama pants in vain. She answered with a touch of venom in her voice.

"Scotch. Whisky. Something strong."

She held the man's eye, not wanting to break eye contact. It was a very long ten seconds before the man reacted, blinking and recoiling a half-step. She gave a small smile.

" If you'd be so kind."

He nodded, grabbing a tall glass bottle filled with a crystal clear liquid. He pulled the stopper, pouring it into a thick-bottomed cup. He slid it across the counter at her. The glass thudded into her hand and she immediately pulled it to her mouth and shot it back. The familiar burn of vodka flowed into her throat.

Can you feel it? Can you feel the pain? Good.

Weiss wrenched her eyes shut, trying to block out the feeling. Her lungs ached. Her stomach tried to revolt. She held it back, grimacing.

" Another."

A second glass was slid loudly to her side of the bar. She sent it back to follow the first. It burned, with an intensity that didn't quite match the first. But it still hurt. It felt good to feel so bad. She tapped the cup on the table.

" Keep it coming..."

The bartender poured a third, hesitating before he sent it to her side of the table. Before he let go, he levelled a glance over to Dean.

" You think she needs another, sir?"

She could feel his eyes rolling at her as she tried to reach out for the glass. But Dean's nod caused the man behind the bar release his grip on the rim of the glass. Weiss picked up the glass. Her reflection stared back. The lone tear streaks from her right eye shimmered back at her in the foul liquid.

Fuck you.

The glass clattered against her teeth. The horrible fluid did nothing to calm her. Her whole body shook from the inside out. It was like she had been set on fire.

" Let me guess. Another?"

She gestured for another cup. The pain in her mouth and throat was more than she realized she could speak through. If she tried to talk, she would throw up. And right now was alcohol time. The, gosh what was it, fifth shot? She had lost count, and the pain was very close to becoming too much to handle. She remembered vaguely seeing the alcohol percentage on the bottle being over forty percent. Weak compared to some of the booze in her cellar at home, but far too strong to be knocking back like apple juice.

Pain, without love...

A song she remembered learning to play years ago bounced around her skull. Like a ping-pong ball in a paint shaker. It was a fitting song, she figured, her left fingers subconsciously making the right chord positions on the outside of her glass as her brain hummed along. The song itself was about a person's internal struggle with depression, how they could only cope with with life by feeling pain. Specifically, the overbearing pain of just being alive.

Being alive sucked, didn't it. Weiss sniffed, sending another glass of the pain-juice into her body. Being alive was a constant stream of problems, interspersed with brief periods of calm and quiet serenity. The problems, she could deal with. The bright moments? Fuck 'em. Problems were easy because problems, by there inherent nature, could be solved. If she had issues at work, a few phone calls, a few meetings, a little wine, and poof, the problem was solved. Whenever her father dared yell at her or chastise her, she would go quietly to her side of her mansion, and have a little wine, turn on the TV, and ignore him. The more difficult problems, like when she had to make billion dollar decisions that would impact the course of her entire company, well, those were dealt with using the same efficiency and calm attitude she had grown up with, plus a little wine. And it usually all worked out!

You do a lot of wining...

More alcohol. More pain. More sadness. She tried to open her eyes. They refused. She coughed, placing her cup down on the counter harder than she had wanted to. The vodka was doing horrible, wonderful things to her insides. Her limbs felt like they were made of jelly. Her head fell forward, and the bar jumped forward and smacked her in the face. She recoiled.

" Shit fuck ass dicks..."

A low breathy rumble came from all around her. It sounded kinda like a laugh... One she recognized! One she hadn't heard since... gosh, fencing lessons ten goddamn years ago.

"Left foot for...ward... Rights arms back..."

That was the stance, right? Body turned, dominant hand forward. Not to tight a grip on the handle, just below the guard. All movements made forward, all steps taken forward. Advance, thrust, parry, remise. No, wait, that was wrong. Riposte? Remise? Weiss's brain felt muddy. Her feet swung under her in a terrible approximation of the steps she though she remembered. No, a riposte followed a parry, cutting below her opponent's guard and landing a hit on the chest. A remise always followed an attack, not a parry. The amount of times she forgot this in the past was astounding. Her right hand rubbed her chest, in the spot she used to have a bruise from the astonishing number of times her partner stabbed her.

"Schneeflocke? Are you okay?"

Speaking of. She turned in her seat to meat the boy responsible for the lifetime supply of ice-packs and Bruise-B-Gone in the gym's medical cabinet. She tried to focus on his face, but the blur was almost like trying to look through clouded glass. She could barely make out his features through the fog. Even the usually callous inner monologue was struggling.

Cheek...bones? Face? Shide Woulders?

His face was recognizable. It came into focus slower than pretty much anything else. His dirty-blond hair, the razor-sharp cheekbones. His well-muscled arms filling out the sleeves of his tight jacket. Her cheeks flushed, and at this drink in the night, she didn't care. She let the redness flow into her face as she stared the attractive man down.

"You know... you're really p...pretty, Dean."

He choked on his soda, a little dripping down his chin as he whipped it on his sleeve.

"Excuse me, Schneeflocke?"

Weiss continued, unabated.

"No, you don't understand..."

She took another swig of vodka, switching between languages again.

" You're like, super attractive. I think if I was straight, I'd do you first!"

" And I think you are too drunk to-"

Weiss's glass hit the table like a hammer.

"M'not finished! You're like... perfect in every way... and it's not fair to the rest of us!"

He glared at her. With an unrestrained venom. Her face drooped.

" What, am I not attractive? Is that what it is?"

His drink was placed carefully on the counter. It landed with no sound, as if made of air. Or perhaps it was the booze, silencing out everything around her.

" No, Weiss, that's not what I-"

"So you're saying you don't want to have sex with me? Is that what you're saying? Given the opportunity you would not bend me over and fuck me until I couldn't stand up?"

"No, that's-"

"Fuck, nobody wants to have sex with me. Not you, not Ruby, not anyone who I like even a little bit! Fucking bullshit!"

She drowned another glass. Dean seemed at a loss for words, as he was shaking his head, a bewildered look looming over his face. Weiss scoffed loudly at him.

" Fine. If you want to be that way..."

She turned, gesturing to the room of people with her arms wide, a half empty glass of vodka in her left hand. Before he had the chance to speak, she loudly shouted to everyone, but no one in particular.

" Does anyone in this room want to have sex with me?"

The room, as you might have expected, fell suddenly quiet, with only the hum of the bar's air vents and the almost silent television behind the bartender. Nobody dared move a muscle. This bothered Weiss. She stumbled ever so slightly.

" I'm waiting!"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but she sent him a glare, causing his mouth to close slowly. A group of three burly, rural-looking men approached the spot she sat. The one in the middle, a larger middle-aged looking fellow with wiry black hair and a stupid, awful moustache that made him look like a Mistralian plumber. He sneered, his bared yellowed teeth evident of a lifelong smoking habit. Dean stood off his chair, turning to face the group.

" I'd back up, gentlemen."

His face was certainly stern, commanding, and a little frightened. He kept his eyes level to the leader of the pack's daring him to speak. Weiss sniffed, finding the bottom of her most recent cup of pain. The fat man snorted like a hog, his voice gruff and aggressive like a having a rasp jammed in the ear. He also sounded very clearly drunk.

" Izzat so? Didn't you hear the lady's request?"

He tried to take another step forward. Dean didn't let him, placing one of his wide, muscular hands on the fat man's chest.

" I'd move that hand, sonny-boy. If ya know what's good for you..."

"It's not about what's good for me. It's about what's good for my friend here. And you aren't that, sir."

Dean kept his voice level and restrained, trying his hardest to not make anymore of a scene than had already been made. Everyone in the bar was looking their way. From their perspective it must have looked like a fiasco waiting to happen. A drunk woman, a body-guard, and three drunk assailants. The tension in the room was immense. If it was going to happen, it was going to happen now. The fat man cocked his head to the side.

" Buddy, I'm trying to be polite. I think myself a gentlemen, offering the lady what she asked for, don' you?"

"I think you a nuisance. Turn around, and walk away."

He sneered, showing more of his disgusting teeth.

" Look pal, I've had it up to here with you. Get outta my way."

He pushed forward. Dean didn't let him move.

" You aren't coming any closer."

"Oh yeah? I think we are. From where I stand, there's three of us, and one of you..."

The fat man gestured to his accomplices. The one on the left, a tall fellow with glassy eyes spat onto the bar with a fair bit of force.

"...Doesn't that seem like an unfair fight?"

Dean nodded, not lifting his hand from the man's chest.

" It does. For you."

The man laughed, spritzing Dean's face with beer and spit. His laughs heaved a few times, before he took a few steps back, a wicked smile still on his face. Much to Dean's dismay, he didn't retreat back to his table.

" So much arrogance. Take care of him, boys."

The man on the right, shorter with jet-black hair, snorted and stepped forward. His voice was young-sounding, clearly inebriated, and full of confidence. A pity it was.

" You made a mistake, blondie."

"Did I?"

The shorted boy took a heavy swing, a wild left hay-maker for his head. A predictable shot, really. Dean's right arm came up, catching the wide punch on the outside of his forearm. The man's arm slapped loudly against the tweed material, bouncing harmlessly off. The first punch was followed by a confused second one. Clearly the boy hadn't expected his first hit to not be a one-hit wonder. His right arm came around, aimed squarely for a spot a few inches to the side of Dean's head. Booze did wonders for this boy's aim and sense of balance, it seemed. He turned his body slightly, moving fully out of the way of the swing, while bringing his right arm up and catching the poor fellow's fist.

" What th-"

Hooking his left hand over the boy's bicep, he forced him against the bar, smacking the boy's face down on it and twisting his arm at an awful angle. The already very drunk man was knocked entirely out from the sudden bar-nap, collapsing to the floor as he released his arm.

" Oh, you're going dow-"

Dean grabbed the man with the glassy eyes by his collar with one hand, sending the crook of his other hand into the man's throat. He tried to stumble backwards. He didn't make it very far. Dean pulled him forward, cracking the top of his head into the man's nose. He went down like a sack of bird seed dropped off a roof. Weiss snickered at the speed to which the two grunts went down.

" Now..."

Dean turned to the fat man, the only one who remained still upright. His cocky sneer remained. Odd.

" Turn around. Walk away."

He laughed. Laughed. Dean's unflappable glare wavered for the briefest of moments.

" I'm afraid...not."

The fat man stuck one of his hog-hands into his jacket. In her inebriated state, she didn't see exactly what he pulled from under his arm. It was small, metal plated, hand-held. Dean made an inaudible gasp. There was a click.

" Outta my way, blondie."

Everything stopped. Like someone had pushed a giant pause button. The bartender had retreated into the back, most of the other customers had moved behind the concrete retaining wall across the room. Dean ever so slowly moved his body in between her and the fat man. He had made himself into a shield.

" Do it, little man."

The fat man raised his arm. Dean's hands moved as a blur. The fat man made a loud grunt, followed by a pained noise as the small object in his hand was ripped violently from his grip. He made another pained sound, cursing loudly in Atlesian. Dean slammed the man into the bar considerably harder than he had the first grunt, holding him down. The fat man struggled, but his bulk was no match for Dean's overbearing strength, even with the one-handed grip he had on the man's skull. His other had was busy, disassembling the tiny trinket into its many metallic parts that fell to the table. Some of them slid to Weiss's slab of bar. She picked one up, bringing it to her face so it wouldn't be so blurry. A small brass capsule, with a tiny ball of lead on the end. Odd.

" Baratta Piko, thirty-eight calibre, eleven ounces of composite and aluminum. Nice choice for a conceal and carry. Too bad that's against the law in this country."

"Let go of me, you motherfucker!"

Dean dropped the remaining parts

" I asked you to walk away. I gave you plenty of chances. Now you I'm telling you."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit!"

He dropped a fist onto the side of the man's head, stopping his tirade of expletives and struggling in one fell swoop. He crumpled to the ground like a discarded beer can. Weiss stared at him. She could only look for a few seconds, as Dean grabbed her by the arm, pulling her from her chair.

"Hey!"

"Come on. We are going. Here."

He placed a small steel pin into her hand. She brought it up to her face.

"Is this a...?"

" Yes, it is. That problem is no more. Let's get you on a plane."

"O-oh...okay."

She let herself be dropped back into the low and wide supercar. Her head was spinning violently. Something about that whole ordeal stung.

She shivered.

The vibration of the tightly-wound motor wasn't as soothing as it had been earlier. Dean clicked the car into reverse, getting them out of the spot and back onto the road with haste. As they accelerated away, Weiss could tell the air in the car was different. She elected to remain silent about it. She was much too drunk to think about making another scene. The seats were even more uncomfortable now, not made better by his aggressive driving as he weaved between much slower cars.

He had protected her. But why? He was just a friend, they hadn't seen each other in years! And he had no reason to even care. He wasn't a cop, he wasn't a huntsman, he wasn't family. Just a guy she used to know. He had put himself in harm's way in the most literal sense. She rubbed the pin between her fingers. This little piece of hardened steel was literally the difference between life and death. A tear fell onto her wrist. She looked at it with disdain. She hadn't known she was even crying.

You're pathetic.

She coughed, rubbing her eye on her sleeve.

Yeah, I know. Nobody cares.

Her heart thumped loudly, audible over the raucous scream of Dean's ridiculous car. Why couldn't she have been normal? Why couldn't she have just been into guys? And furthermore, why couldn't she have been a better friend to Ruby? Years wasted not even being there for her. All the air left her body in one slow sigh. She held it out, feeling the slow burn of her lungs questioning the lack of oxygen. She wondered how much longer she would need to hold it before she passed out. Minutes? Seconds?

Her stomach burbled, releasing a burp from her throat. On instinct, she inhaled, returning air to her body, which her hurting chest was very grateful for. The car bounced around her, its much too stiff racing suspension feeling like she was being kicked repeatedly in the kidneys. A punishment she felt she deserved. No, she deserved far worse. Maybe an acid bath. Or perhaps some base jumping without a chute.

Such a fickle thing, life was. Filled with too much hate. Prejudice. Anguish. Or maybe not enough. The little voice in her head was certainly an advocate for more angst. She just wanted it to stop. Out of protest, she smacked her head on the carbon-fibre window sill. It didn't hurt as much as she wanted it to. Damn alcohol. Ruining all her fun.

"Weiss?"

She lifted her head from the sill. Dean pointed out the windscreen. The airport loomed into view, filled with light and sounds. Airplanes hung loudly in the air around them, suspended by invisible wires as they landed and took off to far off places. The green direction signs that hung above the highway whizzed by overhead, completely illegible at this speed. Dean seemed to know where he was going though, as he manoeuvred the agile car onto an off ramp and around the concrete roads that guided them around the city-sized airport. The car slowed, coming down to a more reasonable speed for the taxi-laden roads between terminals.

They slowed to a stop, right below the large black and white sign reading DEPARTURES. The motor was shut off. Very briefly, Weiss found herself in complete silence. No ambience from the people milling about in the terminal, no sounds from taxis racing around them, and no loud obnoxious voices in her head.

"We're here. Let's go."

The silence was shattered. She blinked a few times, before reaching for the door release, swinging it open on the silent hinges. Her legs didn't want to move. At all. She swung them out of the car regardless. Standing up wasn't much better. The car's front-trunk popped open, rising up automatically. She looked down into the deep cavity that sat between the car's front wheels. Her two oversized suitcases had fit almost perfectly in the cargo compartment, with literally no room to spare. Dean yanked them out, sitting them both nicely on their little wheels before slamming his hood shut. Weiss jumped from the noise.

"There. Now get on a plane, and go home."

That seemed abrupt.

"Dean, I-"

"No. Right now, you need to go home and sleep."

He pushed the handles of the two bags into her hands. They felt limp in her grip. She tried to make eye contact, but her vision was far too blurry to even make out the subtleties of his face. She could, however, still see the disappointment in the way his shoulders were slumped. He shook his head.

"You shouldn't have called me."

What?

"I-"

"No. I shouldn't have come. I don't know why I did. I'm sorry."

Her whole body sobered up at once. Her nerves, fried, were on end. His words cut through her like a knife, as if all those years of fencing practice with him had caught up all at once, and he had run her through with a real sword.

"Go, Weiss. Make peace with whatever you have inside."

She sniffed.

"O-okay."

"Auf Wiedersehen."

With that, he climbed back into his car, pulling away from the terminal, the previously raucous car slipping silently away into the night. The cold air of the terminal hit her suddenly, whipping into her jacket and up the legs of her pyjama pants. Her level of sobriety went violently from 'a little tipsy' to 'sober as a brick wall' in an instant as her body convulsed from the cold.

At this hour of the morning, there was very few other people actually out on the terminal with her. The sun cracked over the edge of the building, bringing the frozen air with it. She puller her coat a little tighter. The nature of her situation was slowly building in her gut. She looked at the ground through breath-fogged glasses. Black, tailored leather riding boots blanketed by slightly-too-long pink flannel pyjama bottoms. Such a waste. A tall clock tower on the road median struck the next hour, dinging out seven tones on the electronic klaxon.

Seven a.m.

And what was she?

Alone. Again.

For the third time that day.

For the third time, someone had said goodbye to her and left without a second word.

Is this what her life had come to?

Pathetic.

She cried.