elderwitty | (no subject)

Title: The Gift 5/8
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,574 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.html

Chapter Two http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7278.html
Chapter Three http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7471.html
Chapter Four http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/7879.html

The Gift

Chapter Five

What the hell was that? ‘Cause I don’t hit chicks. Well, okay, a possessed chick, sure. Or armed. A biker chick once, but she was giant, probably Russian. Pretty sure she had a knife, too. But I don’t hit chicks from any category this sad, soft, weak woman would find herself in. Wait - weak? Climbing into a dumpster to rescue bones she didn’t know for the principle of it? Not weak. I liked it, and her for doing it. The grabby part started off annoying, but the petting after? Fantastic. So what changed?

Well, she was judgmental. No, I thought it was judgment. The hair - what do I care? There’s plenty of uses for really long hair. Calling Sam mom – was pretty funny, actually. So why the overreaction? Why any reaction at all?

And she didn’t seem surprised. At all. Or resist when I made her empty her bra. Or react to any of my sarcastic… fine, okay - mean comments. Like it’d happened before, many times. Just like she described.

Shit.

Whatever ‘it’ is - I’ve got it. Suddenly, I realize… Crap, I left Sam with her. But he didn’t seem affected, even stopped me from smacking h... Jesus. I was gonna hit her. What the hell?! Okay, okay, think. Not proximity, ‘cause Sam’s fine. Not permanent, ‘cause I’m over it now. I think. Nope, no urge to hit her. Not a demon – couldn’t have come in over the salt. Same for ghosts - besides spirits don’t smell of dumpster. Werewolf? Moon’s in the wrong phase. What, then? It’s either a curse or she’s putting the whammy on people. Dammit. I need more info on this chick.

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“And when she set the house on fire and left, she blamed that on me, too.”

“What?” I look up to see his shocked expression. I’m glad he’s shocked. I can’t fully believe…or maybe don’t want to. And I was there.

I really don’t want to spill my secrets to this guy, nice as he seems, but my mouth didn’t get that memo. And who knows, maybe he can help. Wow, I am bitter and cynical.

“I was at the diner. When the fire truck went by. A bunch of us followed to see if we could help. And, y’know, watch, ‘cause - small town. Boring. We were on my street. My block.” The feeling of disbelief as fresh as ever in my mouth. “My house…was on fire. And, Mom! And I’m running, ‘cause they can get her out if they know she’s sitting in the hall by my door. But…it’s burning, and now I get that phrase, ‘like a house a-fire’, ‘cause… And there’s no way. And I can’t breathe. But, oh.” The relief still sharp as new, too. “Thank god. She’s out, she’s OK and talking to the fire guy.”

Smile as I share the last purely happy moment I remember. “I can see her, in her good coat and checked slacks; waving her arms, frantic, yelling at him, ‘She pushed me out and said she was sorry. She locked the door and I couldn’t get in.’”

I furrow my brow in remembered puzzlement and invite him to join in mocking my stupidity. “I couldn’t figure out who she was talking about. The neighbors stopped visiting a while ago. Then fire guy, who’s Carl, actually, saw me and pointed. She turned.” Just as clear as her fur-collared coat, I can see her expression. “She was shocked. And pissed. Just for a flash. Then relieved and happy and hugging and all ‘Sorry, I had to tell…’ But. I saw it.”

“What did you do?”

“I got arrested.”

“What?!”

I bark a quick laugh at his shock. “Oh, yeah. For burning down the house.” And now I have that song in my head. “Took me to the sheriff’s, put me in a room. Took turns asking. Why? What I hoped to gain? Didn’t I know she could have been hurt? How do I think she feels now? Back to why - always why.” My throat clutches shut, and I have to push to say, “I couldn’t tell ‘em. I couldn’t say it.”

I realize suddenly that he’s rubbing my arm in slow, calming strokes. It’s nice, almost hypnotic. And his continued silent sympathy both allows and compels me to continue.

“Finally, took me back to a cell and left me alone. Said call when I was ready to talk and they’d do what they could for me. After a while a doctor came. Said, no reason I couldn’t talk - guilt, maybe. Made sure I heard him.

“Fire investigator said gas was poured throughout the house. Point of ignition was the front door. Full involvement in under 15 minutes.”

“And that let you out?”

Nodding, “Twelve people including the mayor swore I’d been in the diner for an hour.”

“How long were you in jail?”

“They said it was a week. They arrested her and took me up front for out-processing, so now she has a roof and I’m homeless. Sheriff came and talked to me, again with why. Why’n’t I say anything? Defend myself? Tell ‘em?”

I look at him hard; trying to make sure he gets it. “My mom tried to kill me. She meant me to die. To burn. And threw the blame at me. What’m I supposed to do with that? How’m I supposed to say those words?”

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Ten minutes of driving around aimlessly puts me in front of the town’s tiny diner. The local hot spot for gossip, I bet. Better than a bar anyway if what you need is a citizen’s personal history. Or pie. The door moos when I walk in. Huh. I guess you get tired of hearing a bell after a while. The counter’s better for information so I head down to the far end, where the Flo look-alike is filling salt cellars. “Hey, honey. What can I getcha?”

“Coffee, black. And pie.”

“Any preference?”

“Whatever’s your best.” Always ask their opinion – opens the floodgates.

“Blackberry it is,” she says, hip-swaying down the counter.

“I saw the strangest thing today.” Straight in when she sets the wedge down and pours the coffee, ‘cause I don’t have time for subtle tonight. Or patience for it, ever. “A woman pulling a skeleton out of a dumpster. That a local custom?”

“Oh, no. That must’ve been Lee. She’s our town eccentric – save the planet, recycle, pet rescue, respect the everything. She’s harmless.”

Sounds pretty boring to me. Civic-minded, hardly rage-inducing. “Huh. Are there a lot of skeletons lying around town?”

“Nope. Brett was in here earlier bragging he threw those bones out and she was gonna have a hissy. I don’t know why that man has it in for her, but he rags on her every chance he gets.”

“Just Brett?”

“Now you mention it, she does seem to be the one they all pick on. I swear, some of these boys never got up past middle school mentally. Mind you, Lee’s a strange one herself.”

Progress. “How so?”

“Well, she blows hot and cold. She’ll be your best friend for a while, then make with the cold shoulder. Like you offended Her Nibs and she can’t be bothered. We had a town football tournament four years ago. Even let her play quarterback. She didn’t hardly talk to anyone for about a month after.”

“Why not?”

“Who knows? Just walked around looking like she was sucking lemons. We figure it’s something to do with her mom.”

“People don’t like her mom?”

She laughs, delighted to have a brand new audience, “Honey, her momma was six kinds of crazy. Talked to herself in public, spent thousands of dollars buying stuff for a husband who’d left years before, burnt down their house and told everyone Lee did it. Ended up killing herself. Stuff like that can run in a family.”

Great. I left Sam alone with a pudgy, middle-aged maybe crazy lady. I’ll go ‘rescue’ him as soon as I finish my pie. It’s that good.

Wait, I thought Lee moved around all the time. “How long has she lived here, Polly?” checking her nametag. Always know their name – makes ‘em love ya. And spill their guts.

“They came about 25 years ago. Lee would have been, let’s see, 12 or so. She left town after her momma… well, you know. Came back about 6 years ago, been here ever since. Hey, why you so interested in her?” suspiciously, small town gossip giving way to finally remembering that I’m a complete stranger.

“Oh, just wondering what kind of person rescues puppies and dumpster dives for skeletons. Hey, can I get a couple pieces of this pie to go? It’s awesome. Thanks." Hey, woohoo, look over there! Shiny! Pay no attention to the man behind the… Whatever.

Start to call Sam while she’s packing up the pie, but realize I left the cell on the bedside table. I hope Sam doesn’t get ‘hot and cold shoulder’ed by the crazy woman he brought home. ‘Course, maybe that would cure him of wanting to help every stray he sees. Nah, never gonna happen.

Drive (direct, this time) the three blocks back to the motel and open the door just as Sam snags Lee across the neck with his giant paw and slams her back onto the bed, standing up to get more crushing leverage.

Chapter Six http://elderwitty.livejournal.com/8232.html