Pain with Company

Hey ya'll so this is actually a story from my fanfiction account, it's going to be a little different. But let me know what you think, thanks :)
PJ


Something smelled. It was a musty thick smell, like too much dust and damp air in an enclosed area. She turned her head away from the offending smell and curled closer to the warmth next to her, she sighed. Danny must have slipped into bed with her again, those nightmares really freaked him out. But what was that smell, she crinkled her nose and snuggled closer to her little brother, maybe petit Singe climbed in with his dirty socks on again. Petits garçons y les pieds puants. She smirked and moved to scratch his head only to find a firm, warm chest where her little brothers head should have been. Everything crashed down on her as she took in the man beside her and the ratty motel bed they had slept in. Her little brother, Danny, the funeral. “Oh god.”
She ran to the bathroom barely making it to the toilet before her stomach revolted. Her heaves were hard and dry, she felt as it her throat was trying to come out of her mouth. Her body was racked with shivers, sobs, and heaves. The warmth of a heavy hand felt like heaven on her freezing skin as it rubbed circles on her back and pulled her heavy, midnight hair away from her sweaty skin. A rough voice whispered that it was okay, but she knew it wasn’t, her baby brother was dead. He’d died in her arms, gasping and crying, bleeding out painfully and slowly. She turned back to the toilet and heaved up the acid in her stomach, the bile burned everything as it came up, causing her sobs to be rough and painful and her tears to come faster.
Sam stood in the doorway watching his brother try and comfort the distraught girl. She looked so old sitting on the floor, curled over in pain, but at the same time she was so young crying her eyes out as she clutched at the toilet seat. There was something in the way Dean stroked her hair and rubbed her back that made Sam think that they’d be staying around longer. He smiled, it was about time someone caught his brother. Sam stretched and yawned checking his watch for the time, he and his brother had jerked awake when she slammed into the bathroom, it was only 5am. Sam groaned and started putting his clothes on. “Hey Dean, I’m going to go out and get some food and coffee. Maybe some toast for our guest.” He waited for his brothers nod, then grabbed the keys and left. Hopefully they would find out who this girl was and what had brought her sobbing to a cemetery, but first coffee.
Dean listened to his brother slam the hotel door and start up the Impala. He hadn’t wanted his brother to leave but at the same time he hadn’t wanted to share his time with the mystery girl. He looked down at her, her eyes bright and red, her skin pale and damp. She looked sick and withdrawn. She didn’t even flinch when he pressed a cold, wet rag against her forehead and wiped away her sweat. Brushing back her damp hair he clicked his tongue and thought over what to do with her. “Hey.” He shook her shoulder lightly, pulling her up away from the toilet and against his chest. “So I don’t even know what your name is. And I’d say holding your hair while you heave is something that requires a first name bases.” He was babbling not even sure if she could hear him in the fog of grief that surrounded her. He was still half asleep and unsure of his movements. He gathered her closer trying to warm her icy skin and stop the shivers racking her body. He rubbed her arms and lifted her into his lap, he leaned back against the tub and stretched his legs out. “My name’s Dean. That dark haired sasquatch is my little brother, although he’s taller, Sammy. He really hates to be called Sammy though, but maybe he’d let you get by with it.” He didn’t know what to say to her, he felt slightly awkward even after holding her while she cried and dreamt all night. He continued rubbing her arms dragging his fingers against the smooth, cool skin of her arms, tracing the inked symbols at her wrist.
“Loupe.” Dean jumped at the hoarse voice and hot breath against his neck.
“Lupay?” She snuffled against him pushing closer to his warmth.
“Loupe.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m cold,” she cocked her head to the side, “Dean.” It was like she was tasting his name, trying it out for size.
“Beautiful.” He pulled her closer and balanced against the tub using it to leverage himself up onto the side so he could stand with her in his arms. She was so damn tiny. “So Loupe,” She inhaled sharply at the sound of her name spoken in his gravelly tones. God he smelled good, like whiskey, sage, and gun oil.
“It’s my nickname, all of us have one. My brother’s was Singe. Or monkey, mine means wolf. Our nanny was a Creole witch woman. She watched my brothers and I after Papa died.” She took a deep breath drawing in Dean’s scent, now SHE was babbling. “He use to come into my room at night, Singe, he’d have nightmares, horrible ones that would drive him to hide under my bed and ask for me to sing him to sleep. He ended up sleeping in my room most nights.” He set her down on the bed and watched her curl up against the head board, distancing herself as the pain flashed in her eyes and coursed through her veins. “I went to school. I le-left him. He was 12, when I. I.” She was crying again, but this time she reached for Dean and his warmth. “I left him and he had no one to run to any more to chase away the nightmares. So he ran away from the nightmares, he didn’t sleep, he barely ate.” She pulled him down beside her and curled close, wrapping herself around him, seeking the comfort that he’d never given anyone. “I came home and heard him screaming, terrible, throat ripping screams. He said the nightmares had found him, that they were tormenting him. I didn’t know, I couldn’t. There was something there, I think. I think, b-bu-but, I didn’t, how could I have.” She took a deep breath letting the quiet swallow them, she held him close soaking in his warmth. “He’d already gouged out his eyes when I reached him, there was too much blood, too much—“ She broke off no longer able to relive the horrifying moment.
Dean held her as he thought, wrapping her in his arms and tracing designs along her arms and back. This thing with her brother sounded like a haunting of some sort or a curse. She’d said there was something there, could she have sensed a angry spirit or had the curse moved to her as her brother died. They needed to get information, luckily they’d already done a background on the town, during the last case. He searched his mind for any other possible deaths that would be a haunting or curses that he and Sam had discovered during their earlier research. He tried to think of town lore or history, history… “Shit.” He looked down at the girl curled up around him, “Loupe, you said that was your nickname? What’s your real name?”
There had been a family, the Moreau’s, that had kept popping up during their research. Apparently the head of the house had an affair with a maid and when he found our she was pregnant he had sent her away. His wife had found out though and it was said that she sent her son out to kill the girl. The maid could be haunting the family, if this was Loupe’s family, she could be coming after the son’s because that was who killed her, or the children because she was taken from hers. Or all the Moreaus could be cursed because of what their ancestors did. He looked down at Loupe again, her eyes were drooping closed and his question had gone unanswered. He shook her lightly, and asked his question again and on quiet whisper more like a mumble she said “Moreau, Sabine Moreau.” Dean shut his eyes and groaned, he’d probably brought it upon himself thinking ahead like that, before even getting her answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let his head thump back against the headboard, where was Sammy with that coffee… lord were they gonna need it.