So day four. Supernatural fan fiction. And sappy Supernatural fan fiction at that.
Whatever. It was bound to happen eventually within this challenge.
Without further ado.
This was
my decision.
This was my decision.
This was my decision.
Wendy repeated the phrase over and
over in her head, pulling her raincoat even tighter around herself.
Raincoat. “More like raincatcher,”
Wendy mumbled to herself.
She was soaked through to the bone.
She always thought that was an odd
expression, as if rain could get through your skin and into you.
She knew now that the expression was
real.
She felt the cold and the wet in her
insides, as if the rain was running through her veins in replace of her blood.
This was what miserable looks like.
But it was her decision.
It was her decision.
It didn’t matter how many times Wendy
repeated the phrase to herself, she knew that it really wasn’t her decision.
It hadn’t been her decision to feel
ostracized in the town from the moment she stepped foot over the city line.
It hadn’t been her decision to have
weird things happen to and around her, things she couldn’t explain.
And it hadn’t been her decision to
leave the town, not really. She was pushed out of town from their glaring looks
and disapproving draws of their breath when she walked in a room and cruel
words disguised as politeness.
So Wendy did what it was beginning to
feel like she did best – pack up her hiking pack and hitchhike to another town
to try all over again.
She slipped in the muddy grass and
nearly toppled over, catching herself with the palm of her hands, catching them
on the gravel.
She hissed in pain as she picked out
the smaller pieces of road from her palms, holding them up to the rain to have
the blood washed away.
She was so busy trying to patch
herself up she didn’t even notice the old truck pull over to the side of the
road next to her.
“You lost?”
Wendy looked up at the sound of a
voice and squinted in the rain.
A smiling face.
Now there was something she hadn’t
seen in awhile.
“Not yet,” she replied.
The man chuckled. “Where you headed?”
“A coffee shop?” she offered. “Or
maybe a cheap hotel if you know of any. Anywhere dry, really.”
“Afraid there’s nothin’ for awhile.”
Wendy cocked her head to the side. She
could have sworn the sign awhile back said it was only three miles to the
nearest town.
The smiling man seemed to read her
mind. “There’s nothin’ in Agumenta ‘cept a post office and a general store. No
hotel, that’s for sure. Not till you hit Helasse, which is about another 45 or
50 miles north.”
“Oh.” Wendy felt like crying at his
words. He was the first car to pass her in ages, meaning the chances of her
hitching a ride to this other town were slim to none.
The man took a breath as if to say
something, then hesitated before smiling again. “Get in. I can’t talk to you
standin’ there like a wet cat.”
Wendy didn’t even hesitate; she
practically ran to the other side of his truck and hopped in.
“Thank you kindly,” she said, slipping
the hood of her coat off and ringing out her hair.
“Those look nasty,” the man said,
gesturing to her hands.
Wendy offered a weak smile. “Not my
finest moment.”
“I have a first aid kit at my cabin.”
Wendy froze.
“Sorry, was that creepy?” the man said
quickly. “You just look like maybe you could use a warm meal, and some
bandages. And I don’t fancy driving 50 miles to drop you off at some
grasshopper-infested motel. My cabin’s about 4 miles east of here.”
Wendy took a deep breath.
This man didn’t look like a serial
killer.
But she hadn’t really had much
experience with serial killers, so for all she knew, he was.
“I’m Bobby,” he said. “Bobby Singer.
I’d offer to shake your hand, but, well.”
“Wendy Harrelson,” she said, smiling
again. She knew she didn’t even know this man from Adam, but for some reason,
she liked him.
He smiled at her again, and Wendy felt
peaceful. There was something about this man.
“Well, it would keep you outta this
rain, leastways for a little bit. I could get you a hot meal, some dry clothes,
fix up your hands, then at least drive you back into town. There’s a truck stop
in between us and Helasse, maybe 15 or so miles away. I could drop you off
after that, ‘n you could try your luck with a trucker.”
Wendy smiled again. “That would be
great, Bobby.”
* * *
She knew she should be leaving.
Maybe she shouldn’t have even accepted
the offer to get warm and eat at his cabin.
But she had still been cold. And a
warm meal and a hot shower had sounded too good to pass up. Even from a
stranger.
So she had agreed, trying not to
answer his casual questions too awkwardly on the drive to his cabin. It was
mostly just chit chat, and Wendy was grateful for that. It meant she didn’t
have to think too hard about her answers.
When they got to his cabin, he had
taken her to an upstairs bedroom, directing her to the bathroom.
“Water gets hot after about two
minutes,” he said before leaving her alone.
She had stayed in the shower until
nearly all the hot water was gone, then stepped into dry clothes before
following her nose to the kitchen, where Bobby was scooping out the most
delicious looking stew Wendy had ever seen.
“My specialty,” he said with a grin,
handing her a bowl and spoon.
Wendy scarfed down the first bowl, and
the one after it, and the one after that.
Bobby had just sat smiling at her,
chuckling a little as she ate with conviction.
After dinner, he had sat her down on
his back screened in porch with a first-aid kit and bandaged up her hands,
talking to her the whole time.
He wasn’t shy, she had to give him
that. He talked about how he moved out to the cabin seven years ago after his
wife died, how he missed his basically adopted boys Dean and Sam who only
called him these days when they needed help with their job.
“What do they do?”
Bobby had stiffened a little at the
question, then answered, “Hunters. Professional,” in a somewhat gruff voice.
Wendy was quiet after that, but
shortly after, Bobby opened her up and got her talking.
She wasn’t sure how he managed to do
it, but somehow he got her talking so she couldn’t seem to shut up.
She told him all about the last town,
about how cruel people could be to her, about how she sometimes felt like she’d
never find a place where she fit in.
After what felt like hours, she sat
back on his porch swing, realizing she hadn’t talked that much probably in
years.
“I guess I should get going,” she
said, starting to stand up.
“You don’t have to.”
Bobby said this so quietly she wasn’t
even sure if he had actually said it.
“What?”
“I mean,” Bobby began quickly, as if
realizing he probably sounded like a creeper, “it’s still raining out there,
even if it has let up. And I have an extra bedroom. And it just seems silly to
kick you out in the rain like a stray cat or somethin’. I don’t mind if you
stay. The night.”
Wendy found herself smiling. She
shouldn’t be, she should grab her back, shake his hand, say something like, “It
was nice to meet you,” and head out the door running.
Instead, she found herself smiling and
saying, “That would be nice.”
*
*
*
“So the extra blankets are in the
closet on the top shelf. And there’re clean sheets on the bed, just changed ‘em
last week and no one’s slept in there in awhile anyways. Oh and uh, if you need
anything else, my room’s downstairs and down the hall.”
Bobby stood awkwardly at the door,
seeming too embarrassed to actually step into the room with her.
“Thanks, Bobby,” Wendy started.
“Really. You, you’re far too nice to let me stay like this. I mean, you don’t
know me from Adam.”
“What you talking about, I’ve known
you for a whole three hours,” Bobby said, trying to play it off as a joke but
Wendy swallowed at the realization that he was exactly right.
“I’ll let you get comfy,” Bobby said
after another awkward minute. “You’re probably tired.”
Wendy watched Bobby turn and start to
walk down the stairs. “Hey, Bobby?” she said, her hands on the doorway.
Bobby turned and looked at her, a
worried, stressed look on his face, as if she was about to call him out for the
creep he felt like he was being.
“How do you feel about Scrabble?”
*
* *
Wendy opened her eyes slowly, enjoying
the sound of rain hitting the window. She sat up dramatically and looked around
the room, feeling confused. Then everything came back – the ride, dinner,
Scrabble.
Bobby.
Wendy curled back down in the bed,
pulling the blankets up tight around her.
Bobby.
She had found herself flirting with
him like crazy during their weird game of Scrabble last night, watching him try
to figure out his next move of words.
He wasn’t exactly what she would call
hot stuff. His hair needed cutting and his clothes could use a wash and his
body could probably use a few less beers.
But there was something about him,
something that drew her in and made her want to be near him. Made her want to
not leave him.
They played their stupid game well
into the night, finally forgetting the game and ended up with a bottle of wine
empty and too many words or maybe not enough words said between them.
But Bobby didn’t seem to mind. And
Wendy didn’t either.
She had finally dragged herself away
from him reluctantly to go to sleep.
But she already missed him.
She laughed at the last thought as she
slipped out of bed and into her now dried jeans and a sweater that Bobby had
lent her that swallowed her whole, walking down the stairs and towards the
kitchen. How could she possibly miss a man she had known for less than 20
hours.
When she reached the kitchen, she saw
him standing over a skillet, frying bacon.
"I thought I smelled perfection.
He didn’t finish the thought, but
Wendy finished it in her head for him: ‘Before I walk out that door and never
see you again.’
“I am a hearty eater,” she said
instead, wanting to break the awkwardness.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like a mummy,” Wendy laughed. “That
bed is far too comfortable.”
“I’m glad,” Bobby said, dishing out
the bacon and eggs and putting a few pieces of toast on her plate.
They ate in silence. Wendy wanted to
say something, say a lot of things, but nothing made it out.
“So,” Bobby finally said as they
finished. “Thought I could take you into town later, you know. When the rain
let up. It’d be a pain to get out in this weather.”
Wendy smiled.
She could stay a little longer.
* * *
“You don’t want it to get too cooked
on the skillet because you’re going to mix it in with the noodles and
vegetables and then stick it in the oven,” Wendy directed.
Bobby nodded in affirmation and kept
pushing the steak pieces around as they sizzled.
The rain still hadn’t let up, so it
only made sense for Wendy to spend the day with Bobby.
They had found a chess board and Bobby
had been aghast that Wendy didn’t know how to play, so the morning had been
spend teaching her the ins and outs of the game.
And the rain still pelted down at
noon, so they made an easy lunch and sat out on the porch, eating sandwiches
and drinking lemonade and talking about their favourite books.
And the rain still poured in the
afternoon, so they had dug out Bobby’s collection of old black and white movies
and spent the afternoon watching It Happened One Night and Bringing Up Baby and
Every Girl Should Be Married.
And the rain still came down in sheets
in the evening, so Wendy had decided to teach Bobby her favourite recipe; her
own take on pasta puttanesca with steak. When the dish was done, they sat at
the table and laughed as they swapped stories and drank more wine.
And the rain still didn’t look as if it
would ever stop that night, so they sat out on the porch getting a little tipsy
on another bottle of wine they found in Bobby’s basement and talking about
Bobby’s wife and Wendy’s ex boyfriends until the rain turned into a storm and
forced them inside to stay dry.
And the storm continued as Wendy
rested her head on Bobby’s shoulder as he slipped an arm around her as they sat
on the couch listening to swing music on Bobby’s old record player until Bobby
could tell she was starting to nod off.
“You should get some rest,” he told
her, moving his arm so she could get up.'
Wendy raised her head and looked at
Bobby.
Bobby didn’t know what the look was
she was giving him, if it was sorrow or hope or desire or confusion or maybe a
combination of all of them. So he did the most natural thing in the world; he
tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rested his hand on her cheek.
Wendy sighed and lifted her own hand
to hold over his, closing her eyes.
“I don’t want the rain to ever stop,”
she whispered, then closed the gap between them and kissed him.
Moose, there are too many good moments for me to just pick one. :)
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