Hello everyone!

Long time no see, I am the worst I know. Uni has finished but there's been so much going on, so I can only apologise for the long delay in uploads!

I've had this story in my head everyday, I didn't forget it at all, but writers block is a real thing. I just couldn't figure out how I wanted to progress, as I feel like this portion of the story is starting to drag on a little too much. So, for anyone getting tired of taking a stroll down memory lane, you can rejoice! Next chapter may feature a few more but it should be over soon! I don't want to reveal everything.

I hope you like this one, and I'm sorry if it's God awful. There's hardly any editing in here beyond spell check, as I didn't want to delay it any longer so if the quality is down I apologise, I hope to be back to normal and posting regularly again!

Hope you enjoy, it may be beneficial to skim last chapter if you're all a bit confused on what's happening, a little refresher.

Enjoy! :)

18: Changing Tides

They return, of course they do. I'm here to be observed now, and the knowledge sours my mood with every visit.

Now that I'm aware of the fact that they're peering into my head, now that I know that they're delving into areas of my past that even I try to forget, my rage is an almost constant presence.

I refuse to cooperate, smirking and jerking away whenever they approach. Cold and resolute, but they still force the liquid down my throat. I can't really stop it but with each forceful slumber the urge to kill rises.

Not just Dean now, too.

Sam and Cas, they've invited a mark of death upon their heads that has nothing to do with the curse, but is most definitely fuelled by it. The anger urges it onwards, and I am perilous to its advance.

They have to pay in some way, and with each forced nightmare my resolve strengthens.

I see what they see now, and I curse my woefully naïve ways before. The nightmares were not just a by-product of the drink they gave me, nor where they conjured up by the dark. The memories were not a coincidence, and they've been observing every sordid moment from the start.

Each memory they evoke dirties my thoughts for a long time afterwards, it muddles them into a weird amalgamation of sadness, emptiness and despair.

Yet… They also manage to find the ones that are not so bad, the ones that kept me sane during those – ahem – trying times. These memories I treasure above all else, and I don't know whether to thank them for breaking up the monotony of beatings or curse them for intruding upon moments that were meant for no one else.

When the beatings come to a close after I suffered down in that basement, the one they watched transformed into something different, something horrifyingly beautiful.

It was the first time I saw my sisters face down there, a small round head appearing from behind the door. Two big eyes regarded me curiously, before they teared up. I remember being angry, I remember the initial rush of hatred that eclipsed all else when I saw her tears. I didn't cry, so she shouldn't either, not anymore.

But her tears were for me, and so was the shred of food she hid within her clothes, too.

The realisation that she came down there, knowing the potential consequences of such actions erased every ounce of hate I had for her. She was barely old enough to even understand what was happening, and she brought me food that she'd been given for herself, forgoing dinner that night.

I woke up quietly after that memory, refusing to speak. They left with a solemn demeanour, and Dean was the last to leave. I could feel his presence even as I stared up at the ceiling, face bereft of emotion.

He leaves the light on permanently after that.

So many memories swim back into existence with their visits. Things that I thought I forgot, probably forcing them into the back of my mind to spare my own sanity. Those nights are the hardest, especially when they repeatedly dwell on the actual aspects of my transformation.

They watch on as I suffer, as a new unlucky SOB is brought into the basement with me to become my mother and Algernon's new plaything. Their visits are brief, and so is their survival down there.

I still don't know what or how she did it, but after each session I gained a new ability. Those abilities then transformed as something new was introduced, mutating further and further with each cut of a knife.

I assume they watched the pathetic attempt of escape I made on my sixteenth birthday, aided by someone that I thought I could trust. The boy from the village… each time I recall his face my stomach rolls. The Winchesters probably watched as my sister and I raced across the fields, a pitiful bag of food and clothes strapped to my back as I tugged her along behind me, growing frantic when her small legs couldn't keep up with my own. They couldn't keep up with the new speed I had gained from their experiments.

The most recent ability up until that point was the straw that broke the camel's back. It changed me irrevocably, but it also made me strong, strong enough to attempt an escape that he was so insistent upon. I remember his face clearly despite the nausea it invites, the dark locks that seemed handsome at the time, the boyish face that I thought oozed kindness.

The same boyish face that greeted me on the road we agreed to meet up on, flanked by the two people in the world that I feared the most.

I nearly died that night, so did my sister. And that's how they knew they had me, seeing her broken, seeing her crying for help… it broke something in me too.

The promises I made that night sealed both of our fates, the agreement we settled upon to ensure her survival.

The worst ability of all occurred at around my eighteenth birthday, and of course the trio manage to conjure it up.

The change is something I recognise now, the taste of dream root bitter in my mouth. As the brothers become hazy, I lose the present version of myself.

The wind is frigidly cold tonight, a force to be reckoned with. The only light is that provided by the pale moon, an omniscient presence that creates a sense of serenity despite the circumstances that seem to have brought me here. It highlights my pale skin, covered only by the white shift I have on. It's the only thing that's keeping me from freezing to death.

Algernon and my mother stand to the right, bundled up enough to stave off the cold and I shiver once again, feet bare. The grass is harsh, nearly frozen and it does little to calm my nerves.

Perhaps my fright is due to the fall that awaits below, a familiar sight that seems altogether unfamiliar now. The sea is as black as oil now, only interrupted by the froth that rises whenever the waves crash against the cliff.

They're talking, about what I don't know but I'm completely aware of the control they have now. It causes a cold sweat to adorn my already clammy hands, to dot at my forehead. Nausea seems to be a constant presence, and it does little to stop the shaking my muscles insist upon doing.

"And what if she dies?" Algernon finally says, his voice breaching the deafening silence.

"Then we have Abigail to take her place," she replies, lifting an indifferent shoulder. I stiffen at the name.

"You promised," I say, looking over my shoulder, "You said that if I did what you said, if I never tried to escape again you wouldn't touch her.

My mother's brows rise, "And we will keep that promise, but death is also an escape. You die, she takes your place."

Every inch of my soul burns with the need to do something, to wipe the condescending expression off of her face. But… she dangles Abi in front of my face and I concede, because what else am I to do.

I won't allow history to repeat itself.

"What is it that you want me to do?" I breathe, eyeing the water below. The wind stings my eyes.

"We want to see if what I did last has actually worked," she replies, moving to the opposite side of Algernon as he closes in. Her eyes land pointedly on my side, just below my ribs.

I know what she's referring to and the scar twinges, a reminder.

"Now we want to see the full extent of your ability to… recover from your injuries."

My chest feels tight, heart stuttering before beating harder than ever. On instinct I step back, but the sharp point of a knife embedding into the skin of my back stops any movement. It doesn't break the skin, but it stings enough to clearly state its intent.

"If you know what's good for ya' girl, you'll jump," Algernon growls.

Jump? They can't be serious.

I peer over the edge, throat tightening impossibly so. It's… they've gone mad.

"If you don't jump, I'll push you in myself, and then I'll drag you out and make you regret hesitating."

God. I can't. I can't do it.

Seconds tick by as I waver, toes kissing the edge and the breeze swirls up, throwing my hair into disarray. I feel paralysed, each time I glance down it's like the air is sucked out of my lungs, inhaled by the ravenous mouth of the ocean below.

I groan, the point of the blade digging in even more.

And then the choice is taken away.

Hard hands punch into my back and the edge disappears, my own screech piercing the cacophony of noise below. It rips out of my throat, raw and uninhibited as air rushes past, harsh and blinding. I scramble for purchase as the feeling of weightlessness rolls and lifts my stomach, and then it's over as quickly as it began.

The blinding rush of sensation collapses with a distinct and painful smack with the water, and the icy embrace robs whatever breath I had left.

I sink far, the dark absolute. Water burns my eyes, and it's beyond cold. The surface wavers up above, the distance growing.

An instinctive inhalation brings a scalding cascade of water down my throat and I yell into the abyss, the noise consumed. Drowning is… it's pure agony, red hot as it lances through me.

And then the struggle reaches its epitome and my vision, already hindered by the dark begins to cobweb over. Tranquillity overthrows panic.

I don't know how long it lasts – the cold dark feeling that steels my muscles and swallows me whole – it feels almost instantaneous, a floating mass of nothing and no one.

The agony returns abruptly though, a violent cough wrenching my eyes open. I sputter, water spilling out of my lips as I stare up at the night sky.

I'm a little frantic as I take in my surroundings, throat raw as an endless amount of water funnels out of my mouth. I barely even taste it, but it's warm.

Algernon's face eclipses the moon, his hair dripping down his face, his shirt clinging to his chest.

The usually stoic face cracks into a wide smile, a malicious one that suggests that he's not happy with my safety.

"Did you resuscitate her?" My mother's voice pierces the night.

Algernon shakes his head, "No, I didn't touch 'er. She was dead, no pulse or nothing."

I scramble away as soon as I am able, clumsy and shivering. I feel wrong, sick. Cold.

"Stay away from me," I hiss as Algernon reaches out, voice raw.

His face grows darker, eyes narrowing as he moves to stand.

"Leave her be, she has done enough tonight."

Algernon nods after a few tense seconds of staring one another down, and just like that they walk away. They leave me behind, they leave me to freeze on the grass. As if nothing happened at all, like I didn't just tumble to my death.

Did I just die?

He said I had no pulse…

The hushed footsteps of someone running drags my attention upwards, and my sister stumbles down the hill leading to the sandy bank we're on. I barely register it as her small, pale arms encircle my shoulders. She's crying I think, but I'm not.

She helps me up and she walks me home, having provided a change of clothes that whilst they provide little warmth, they're a far cry better than the sodden ones I've left behind.

We return to house, return to the basemen and one last sad gaze from her is all I receive, before the dark returns.

I wake with a start, swallowing past the heavy feeling in my throat. It's hard to do so, even harder when I feel three sets of eyes land on me.

That moment… that particular moment changed the game. It changed the way Algernon saw me, how he approached me. I was no longer destructible. His friends, the ones he found to train me in areas he knew nothing about also became aware of that too.

It became a living hell, and they're making me relive it.

They leave one by one, occasional glances thrown my way and I clench my jaw, teeth grinding together almost painfully.

And when they return they see even more. They see the time I had to survive out in the forest starved half to death, they see all of the twisted ways she tested how much shit I could take and still survive through.

I don't understand what they're doing. I don't understand how any of this helps them. I think this is what pisses me off the most. I don't understand.

The break in the monotony of their visits occurs rarely, but when it does occur I find that I'm actually starting to welcome the moments.

Dean enters the dungeon without his usual swagger, his trademark smirk barren from his face. This alone should worry me, but lately the man has adopted a sullen way about himself.

He addresses me with a serious glance, pulling up a chair and asking the usual questions. What does this mean? What could that mean? Why did they do the things they did?

I answer each one with a silent glare, refusing to respond. Eventually he sighs, evergreen eyes no longer betraying his agitation.

No, instead the depths of his gaze harbours something else, something that if I didn't know any better I would hazard a guess to say it was pity, and I resent it.

"Eve…"

And all of a sudden it's just a bit too much. This entire thing. It was a little funny at first, a little annoying maybe. Mostly, it was something that occurred because of my own hesitation, and I think I allowed this to go on for too long. The boulder sitting on my shoulders has been growing with each passing day, and seeing their gazes shift from outright hatred to still contemptuous, but also pitying… I just, I can't deal with it.

"Don't," I say, thumbs rubbing the sides of my index fingers, "Just… Don't."

"We can help you, if you let us."

I don't laugh at this anymore. His tone has changed drastically in the time that I've been here. He still regards me with a certain degree of revulsion, I can see it in the way his face tightens the longer he looks at me, but beneath the hate lies dare I say it, empathy? It's colouring his tone with a kindness that's at odds with his usually gruff demeanour. Dean is brash. I've seen him in action and both of them can be cruel to be kind. He's a hero like his brother, and I know that he's seen horrors too, sometimes I think those horrors rival my own.

He is a brutal force to be reckoned with, one that I will eventually put down. He knows this, yet now he's preaching the same shit his brother did in the alley that day.

We can help you.

"You can't help me," I finally say, "We've been over this time and time again, it's impossible. And you're forgetting one very important thing."

"What's that?"

I lean forwards, removing the mask that keeps my emotions at bay. I let them rage forwards, eyes burning, "I don't want your help."

He's quiet as his eyes trace my face, his own features barely acknowledging I said anything at all, remaining aloof to the layer of disgust that roughens my voice. His hands rest loosely on his knees and I sit back too.

"I don't believe that."

I don't reply, instead I snort and look away. When the silence stretched on for a little too long he speaks again, mouth pulling up at one side, "I've seen the change."

"What change?"

He looks away, almost smirking, "The change in your relationship with your sister."

I raise a brow, "So?"

"You hated her."

I incline my head, "At first, yes." There's no point in lying, he's seen it all anyway.

"I saw the way you reacted that night, when Algernon nearly beat her to death after you tried to run away."

I scoff, "Did you enjoy that particular show, Dean? Did the beatings aid your investigation, did they satisfy the curiosity? I mean, you've watched so many of them now."

His jaw tightens, but that's it.

"I know that you're not completely off the deep end. At least, I hope that's the case. I sure as hell don't like you still, and given the opportunity I'd still send your ass to purgatory or wherever it is that you'd go once you croak. You're still a monster, but I think you have a shred of decency left in you."

"Please," I groan, "Spare yourself the embarrassment. Did we not discuss this all those weeks ago when I nearly killed you?"

He swallows, but there's not an ounce of fear on his face. And suddenly I think I get it.

"This is about Sam, isn't it?" I say, voice low, "That's why you're focusing on my sister."

The subtle change in his face is enough, his features tightening once again, hardening.

"It's not about you, it's not about your death," I continue, musing, "It's about him, and probably the angel, too. And that's why you're starting to suddenly push his agenda, one that I think even he's abandoned."

Dean grimaces, "Sam's…"

"Sam," I supply, and he nods, "Even I can see he wants to save you, desperately. As is expected, he's your brother after all. But you… you don't care, do you? Not about your death, you care about what happens to him though, what effect it will have on him."

And in this new light I view him in, it just makes the curse a whole lot harder to swallow.

"Just like you," he says, voice soft.

Just like me.

I submitted to them to save her, just like Dean will inevitably submit to me to save him.

When our eyes meet again the atmosphere changes, a deep sense of sadness swallowing the resolve we both manage to cling to despite the situations we've been forced into.

There's an understanding now, one that wasn't there before.

He loves his brother, I loved my sister.

But the world is a cruel place, and thus it's out of my hands.

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, "I wish I could help you, Dean."

I regret them instantly, because it shows the weakness that's routing its way through my head, the instability they've managed to create with my resolve. But it's not my resolve they have to worry about.

It's not me they have to be concerned with, ultimately. I am as much a pawn in this as they are.

Dean's brows rise just a touch, his eyes widening and I look away, jaw clenched.

"If this… I mean," he rubs a hand across the back of his neck, "If this all falls through, and you do manage to get out of the chains and kill me, can I ask for one thing?"

I turn to him, waiting.

"Don't go after them. Don't try to kill Sam, don't try to kill Cas. Just… walk away."

I pull back, feeling the shutters going down. I don't want to help him, I don't want to see him in a new light.

But… it's his brother, his friend.

It's the least I can do, and I find that I'm nodding before I even truly think it over.

The relief on his face is almost palpable and those shutters are fully down now, and I dismiss any more attempts at conversation.

I refuse to allow him to make this any harder than it needs to be.

I refuse.

"How are you?"

The question hangs in the air, and the small girl besides me deliberates on it for a while. Her small arms fold cross her knees as she stares out across the water.

"Okay, I guess," She finally says, and I turn my head towards her. The grass is nice this time of year, soft and yielding, perfect for the picnic.

"Have you been doing your reading?"

A guilty shift of her eyes is all I get and I groan, sitting up too.

"Why not?"

She huffs, "It's boring."

"Of course it is, but it will help you."

She shrugs and I roll my eyes.

"If we are ever going to make it out of here, you need to know the very basics so you can start school, Abi. Otherwise none of those fancy schools will let you in. And I'm saving up as much as I can-"

"I know," she sighs, "It's just hard sometimes. The words don't always make sense, the big ones anyway, and Uncle Algernon shouts if he catches me doing stuff."

"Then come to me, bring them here on our day and I'll help you."

This seems to brighten her mood and I smile, pulling out the meagre meal I saved for especially for this. When I say I saved for it, I mean that I stole a coin or two whenever they ask me to run errands in the market for them.

So the meal is pitiful at best, but it suits us both just fine. This is our day, the only one of the month we get.

Once we're done we pack in relative silence, the mood dropping with each step that brings us closer to home, closer to reality.

They're waiting for us in the back garden, and I give her one last smile before following Algernon to the centre, aware of her eyes on my back.

She watches now, but only because I think it gives them a sick sense of joy to force her to.

We spar, I'm getting better at it, but it still sends me sprawling onto my back when one hit lands. I groan, especially when a booted foot presses down on my ribs.

"Is this what I'm payin' those goons for? Is this what I'm wastin' me money on? I thought you'd be better by now, I thought you'd have me off my feet in a second," He presses down again, eliciting another groan, "Have you not been paying attention? Do ya need a little more incentive, eh?"

And then he's not looking at me. I miss whatever happens next, stars are still dancing in my eyes but suddenly Abi's in his arms, and she's all I can see. Her eyes are wide, her jaw shaking as his meaty hands squeeze her biceps. She squeaks, kicking her legs as he lifts her higher.

"Maybe this will help," he says, and the slap is sound, a meeting of flesh that resounds in the empty space.

I don't think. I don't see much, but the haze of rage swallows me whole. One second I'm on the floor, the next I'm upright and my hands are no longer my own. Something evil consumes them, darkening the skin to the same colour as the night and claws stretch into life. I don't have chance to marvel at them, I don't have chance to do anything except stop this.

He drops her and I snarl, slamming both palms into his chest. He's flying, he goes back with a yell but I'm with him, dissipating in a cloud of dark wisps. I don't know how, but I appear next to the house, watching as his frame collides solidly with the wall. His breath leaves him in an explosive grunt, and I pick him up by the throat before he can fall.

"Don't touch her," I hiss, but my voice isn't my own. It's rough and dark, inhuman.

I squeeze, every limb burning with a foreign rage, an entity that didn't exist until now, coating my veins with oil. His eyes bulge, his face turning purple.

"Don't you ever touch her."

And then sensation stops. It just ceases to exist. Muscles lock onto bone and I groan, dropping the man as my legs drop too, shaking as I collapse. The grass welcomes me as I slump down, paralysed.

My mother lowers her raised hand, a cut bleeding freely across her palm and she's breathing hard too, blood pooling on the floor.

"Algernon, do not tempt her like that. I haven't got full control yet."

The man is too busy catching his breath to respond, raking in loud lungful's as I too breathe heavily, staring at the woman on the porch.

Our eyes meet, and I narrow my own.

This is… this is new.

This scares me.

Dean

The memory ends abruptly, and it doesn't end like it usually does. Nope, he's yanked out of Eve's head with a lack of gentleness that only Castiel can manage.

The angel removes his fingers from his forehead, stepping back and Dean rubs the spot, raising a brow at him.

"What are you doing?"

Castiel moves to Sam, pressing his fingers against his forehead too. His brother reacts similarly to him, gasping and waking with a start.

"What?" he mumbles, and Cas steps back.

"I believe we just witnessed a key factor in how the curse controls Eve."

Dean blinks, running through the memory.

"Her mother."

That's obvious enough, they always knew she had something to do with it, but the woman isn't around at the moment so that can't be it. And all she did was raise her hand-

Dean stops, jerking back, "The blood?"

Castiel nods, "Her blood. She cut her hand at some point, and I believe that it has something to do with the way the curse is fuelled. The curse itself no longer relies on her mother's blood - that much is obvious as the witches evoked the curse with the ring. But perhaps…"

Dean leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees, "So, this could be something, or it could be a bust if the curse doesn't need it anymore."

"It's the best we've got though, Dean," Sam says, leaning forwards himself, "So far it's the only thing we've got."

"And I also think I have a bead on Eve's original birthplace. The magic that seems to be blocking me is waning, which may be due to our repeated excursions in Eve's head. We may be exhausting whatever it is that prevents us from truly trespassing into the past, and although I still cannot visit her past I may be able to find where she was born, and perhaps find the house that she was raised in."

"If it's still in one piece," Dean says, and Sam shrugs.

"It might be, England has a lot of old buildings around still."

Cas nods, folding his arms, "I will attempt to follow the bead of magic linking me to her past, and hopefully it's enough to pinpoint the location. If so, if the house is intact we may find something that will end this once and for all."

Dean nods, standing. His legs feel a little shaky, and he thinks it may be due to the fact that Castiel wrenched them out of the dream world without warning. The dream root is probably still coasting through his system, which is great.

They leave Eve to her sleep, and he leaves the light on for her. Castiel disappears shortly after this, and Dean finds himself in his room not too long after, rock music pounding into his ears.

It soothes the nervous energy that has his knees bouncing constantly, and it chases away the memories still lingering in his head. God, they just won't leave sometimes.

But this may all be over soon. If Castiel can find the house, if they can travel to England they can see what's left there, and hopefully something will pop up.

Something may put a stop to this. And Sam will be safe.