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Feb. 17th, 2009 01:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elderwittyFandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,171 this chapter/11,124 total
Warnings: Mentions of past violence. Violence. Discussion of a suicide. Shifting POV.
Spoilers: None
Pairings/characters: No pairings. Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC. Gen.
Summary: Not your usual after hunt occurrence.
Chapter One http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7079.h
Chapter Two http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7278.h
Chapter Three
Something is very wrong. ‘Cause, yeah, Dean can be mocking…and cutting…and sarcastic. But he’s not mean; not usually and never without provocation. Now he knows he’s in the wrong, and he’s ready to handle it his usual way – dig in deeper and douse it in gasoline. But he also looks confused, like he’s not quite sure what’s going on either. Time to play peacemaker. Motioning him to be quiet I walk around to my side of the bed.
“Millicent?”
“Lee.” And, “Sorry,” when she realizes I have no room. Scoots back far enough to make space but careful not to touch Dean at any point. It’s kind of impressive – done without looking. I get comfortable, and then ask if she’s alright.
“I’m fine, thanks,” but she looks tired and sounds resigned.
“Lee, I can see that you’re not.” She flinches down and goes still, not even breathing. Ten long seconds later, she looks up again; past me and at the nightstand, searching for something.
Down at the pillow, then back to me. “I am as fine as it’s possible for me to be.” A rueful smile. “And the amount I’m not -- Is nothing to do with you guys. So you don’t have to worry about it, ‘kay?”
“Maybe we can help.”
A soft snort and disillusioned smile – she’s heard that before. “You can’t fix it. It can’t be fixed. So I’m gonna ignore it,” closing her eyes, but not before I see the shine of tears.
Nothing like a challenge. “How do you know unless you tell us? You don’t know what we can do.” Apparently she’s ignoring it and me both now. “I know you’re listening and I promise we won’t laugh – whatever it is. C’mon.”
“He’s relentless. He won’t stop, so you might as tell him,” Dean volunteers. Thanks. I think.
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With a sigh (and who knew Sam had a rival in the “put-upon sigh” division?), she says, “I was raised by wolves.” What the hell? I sit up and start a mental weapons inventory. Real wolves, werewolves, what? Is that even possible? She looks at me, and I see a gleam of humor in her eyes. Another scoff, “Two-legged.” Rolling her eyes back to Sam, “Human. “ Barely a breath, “Still.” Sam looks ‘be patient’ at me. I shoot back, ‘wolves?!’
“I wasn’t properly socialized as a child.” She pauses, staring a thousand yards through Sam’s chest. “68.” Random.
“What?” in stereo.
“I said I moved here a few months ago – more like 68.” Wait, she’s made no friends in over five years? Actually, that sounds about right, if she’s always this judgmental and annoying.
“Why? Are you demented or a thief or something?”
“Dean!”
“No, though I’ve been accused of thieving; along with trying to steal boyfriends and deliberately breaking stuff. I have no problem making friends, but something always happens to sour it.” She’s looking at Sam like he’s her last hope, “Are curses real?” Then, so softly that I can barely make out more than the c’s and t’s and s’s, “‘Cause I’m starting to think I’m cursed.”
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I can’t believe how stupid that sounds out loud, but Sammy just looks thoughtful. I can almost hear wheels turning behind me, too. “When did it start?” “Not ‘properly socialized’ how?” No unison this time. They exchange glances while I look from one to the other, and I can’t help smiling. They both think they’re in charge.
Sammy first. “It’s been going on as long as I can remember. As for socialization, my mom was way over-protective. Too sunny, too cold, windy, rainy, whatever; there was always a reason to keep me home instead of going to the playground. We moved around a lot, that didn’t help. New kids don’t fit any clique, so I mostly kept to myself. When I didn’t, it was like I had the wrong rule book – something always pissed them off and drove them away.”
“And after a while you stopped trying,” Mean Dean says in what I’d accept as a sympathetic tone from anyone else.
“Yeah. Why have the hassle again? So I have lots of acquaintances instead. That’s enough, right?”
Sammy shoots a look at Dean that I can’t interpret and says, “No.”
Great. Now I feel better.
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“Nice. Way to make her feel better, Sam.” I thought he was supposed to be the one with all the people skills. He might as well have slapped her, from the look on her face. And what’s with the holding her breath? That can’t be good for the brain cells.
“You want me to lie, Dean? Friends are better. Don’t worry, Lee, if it’s a curse we’ll do what we can to fix it.”
“And what if it’s not a curse? What if it’s just me?”
People skills fully re-engaged, Sam assures her, “It’s definitely not you.”
“How can you be so sure?” even as she relaxes slightly.
Giving her the full Sammy grin, “We wouldn’t have slept with you otherwise. We have very good taste. Or, I do, anyway.” Blush is a good color on her, I notice as I start thinking about how Sam’s gonna pay for that last remark.
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I’m not sure which is funnier, the blush on her face or the look on Dean’s. He’s plotting already; I’m gonna have to watch my back. “Hey!” she interjects. “What about your vision?” I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open as I stare at Dean. He told her – a complete stranger?
And then went off on her.
And is now being protective.
Something is going on here. Maybe a curse isn’t all that far off. “It was just a nightmare; nothing to worry about. Um, we’re not going to sleep, right? Let’s go get some food and try to figure this out.”
“I hope y’all like tuna casserole. Oh, and we’ll have to stop if you want beer. You look like beer guys.” Dean, getting up, looks a little mutinous at her assumption that we’re going home with her, but relaxes when she follows up with, “Or I could thaw out some steaks. I know it’s presumptuous, but I reek, and home is where the shower is. And the clean clothes. And the steak.” OK, she absolutely has Dean’s number.
“Baked potatoes?” Dean asks as he disappears into the bathroom.
“Sure. How many ya want?” turning to me with a smile that morphs into a yawn. “Sorry. Sour cream?” And, “OK, it’s on the shopping list,” at my nod.
As I stand up and grab a clean shirt I see her eyes are shut. “Hey, get up – we’re going.”
“Hey, dude, fully dressed. Just need shoes.”
“So get ‘em.”
“C’mon, Ma, five more minutes. They’re slip-ons.”
The unexpected laugh comes out mostly as snort. She’s pretty chipper for someone getting emotional whiplash from Dean. “OK, but only five – no more. Got it?”
She burrows into the pillow with a sigh and a smile, “Best Mom ever.”
CRASH!!
Chapter Four http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7879.html
