Supernatural - Whatever You Do, Don't Look Behind You (1/4) - Gen, Sam/Ava
Title: Whatever You Do, Don’t Look Behind You (1/4)
Author: Tonya (
_fullofgrace)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The usuals. No own, no sue.
Timeline: up to and including episode 2.10 "Hunted"; takes place in the universe created in my fic “Headlights on Dark Roads” but reading that beforehand is not a necessity
Chapter word count: 3703
Summary: A deadly urban legend leads Dean, Sam, and Ava on a new case.
It was amazing the amount of knowledge the brain could process and gather in the span of sixty seconds.
One, silver bullets may slow down a succubus, but they also pissed one off. A lot.
Two, when a succubus grabs, nails ripping through tender skin, it burns in ways no cut ever can.
Three, even with the extra cushion of being hurled into your big brother first, falling down stairs--even a small flight--hurts like a bitch.
Dean and Sam hit the bottom of the stairs with grunts of pain. Dean pushed himself to his feet first, his gun hand braced on the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. “Bitch!” he yelled up the stairs.
“Let’s not piss her off more, huh?” Sam frowned, getting to his feet, his gaze focused on the staircase where his machete balanced on the edge of the top stair.
He made a move to run up the stairs to retrieve it, but Dean’s hand on his chest stopped him. He looked towards his brother, ready to protest that they needed the machete to finish the job, but Dean cut him short with a simple warning.
“Bad idea, Sammy.”
When Sam’s gaze traveled back up the staircase, she stood at the top.
She looked innocent enough-- all milky pale skin, feminine curves, and long flowing dark hair. But then her wings unfolded, translucent with the exception of the dark veins running through them, and the feminine façade was extinguished. Her wings flapped once in irritation, and a deep snarl escaped her lips. She reached down and grabbed the discarded machete--the one thing needed to behead her--and her lips curled in a wicked smile.
“Missing something, boys?” she asked, her sweet, flowery voice a complete contrast to her creaturely form.
“You know what?” Dean fumed, his gun raised and ready if the succubus decided to make any move he didn‘t like. “Fuck this. Time for plan B.” He motioned with his head for Sam to follow as he started backing out of the cabin, his gun never leaving its mark.
“There’s a plan B?”
“Ava!” Dean yelled as they backed out the front door of the cabin.
“Someone call for a plan B?” Ava’s voice responded.
Sam turned to see Ava standing at the far corner of the cabin’s porch, a gas can at her feet. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a matchbook. She raised an eyebrow at them as they continued to linger near the doorway. “Um, you may want to back up.” She struck the match and dropped it against the edge of the cabin. The gasoline-soaked wood went up instantly, lighting up a previously poured trail of gasoline across the entire front of the porch.
The three quickly made their way off the porch as the building slowly burned. Over the crackling of the burning wood, the succubus could be heard shrieking in anger.
Sam looked at Dean, who had a wide satisfied grin on his face, as the building went up in flames. “How come every time you have a plan B, there’s fire involved?” Sam asked him, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Dean shrugged. “She’s tied to this cabin. If there’s no cabin, she can’t kill anymore unsuspecting men.”
Sam placed a hand gingerly to his still bleeding arm. “I guess if it gets the job done.”
“So, boys….”
Dean and Sam turned to see Ava perched on the hood of the Impala. She looked innocent enough dressed in jeans and a light blue hoodie zipped to the collar, almost like an unsuspecting bystander to the illegal festivities happening if not for the gas can resting in her lap.
“You two planning to roast marshmallows, or can we get out of here before we’re arrested for arson?” she asked, sliding down from her seat.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean said, smacking Sam in the chest as he made his way towards the Impala.
Sam pulled his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans, preparing to leave an anonymous tip for the local authorities. By the time they'd respond, the place would be nearly, if not all the way, burnt to the ground.
“Next time, dude?” Sam said, placing the phone to his ear. “You’re bait.” He threw one last glance back at the burning cabin before sliding into the passenger seat.
*********
Dean pushed open the motel door, sighing heavily and rotating his left shoulder. “In the morning,” he said, perching on the edge of his bed as Sam and Ava entered behind him, “we put this place in our rearview.”
Sam nodded, his hand still held to his injured arm. “Gladly.”
They’d spent a week in this town, drawn in by the mysterious death of a healthy young man in a cabin by the local lake. Six similar deaths had occurred throughout the decade-- all young men, all apparently healthy up until the point when they died in their sleep from causes unknown. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out they were dealing with a succubus, and it took an even shorter amount of time for Dean to formulate a plan that involved Sam being used as the bait.
His arm still throbbing, Sam was officially over being the bait.
He glanced in the mirror on the lone dresser in the cramped room, rolling up the sleeve to see the damage for himself. He frowned at the four deep tracks trailing across the back of his bicep, still oozing blood.
“Dude, that bitch really did a number on my shoulder,” Dean complained, rubbing his sore shoulder and grimacing.
Ava grabbed her small knapsack from the foot of Sam’s bed, rummaging through the contents. “I‘m out of Tylenol,” she said, “but this should do until we stop in the morning.” She tossed Dean a small blue box, and he caught it with his good hand.
He looked down at the box in his hands and snorted. “Dude, no, I am not taking Midol.”
Watching them through their reflection in the mirror, Sam blinked at them before dissolving into a small fit of laughter.
“It’s for cramps and muscle aches,” Ava said, the corner of her mouth twitching, and Sam would have to commend her later for keeping such a straight face during an argument like this.
“No, I’ll take my chances with the pain, thanks.” Dean tossed the box back.
“May help with your mood swings,” Sam snickered, flexing his arm to see if the gashes would need more than just some Neosporin and a good bandage.
“Funny coming from the King of PMSing,” Dean snarled back.
“Stop being a baby, Dean,” Ava said, tossing the box back at him. “All it is is ibruprofen.”
Dean growled under his breath, popping the seal on two of the tablets before tossing the box back to Ava. “Midol,” he muttered incredulously under his breath.
“Probably won’t do much but take off the edge, but it should keep you from pouting all night,” she teased. Sam snorted again at his brother’s misfortune, unknowingly drawing Ava’s attention to him. “That looks like that may need stitches.”
Sam turned from the mirror as she walked over to him to get a better look at his arm. “It’ll be fine,” he replied.
“Yeah,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “let me know how that works out for you when your arm rots off.” She began nudging him towards the bathroom, her knapsack clutched in her other hand. “Just let me bandage it.”
Sam looked to Dean for help, but he’d already kicked off his shoes and settled onto his bed with the TV remote. He smirked at Sam, made a shooing motion with his hand, and turned his attention back to the TV.
******
It had been six months since Ava had joined them, since they had found her and officially brought her into their world of weird. She still wasn’t the world’s best hunter--they didn’t expect her to be--but they’d seen her improve before their eyes on a daily basis.
No longer squeamish about grave-digging, she picked up a shovel alongside them when the job called for it. She still didn’t handle a shotgun well, the kick still too hard for her to control, but she’d become competent with a handgun with their training. Dean had even given her one of his favorites to keep as her own, her piece of security when they weren’t able to watch her back.
In the beginning, Sam had feared that Dean would regret not sending Ava away to parts unknown, but to Sam’s surprise, he’d actually taken the girl under his wing. He still had his moments of being Dean, where he pushed her off on Sam when he thought fit, but overall, Sam couldn’t help but be amazed by his brother’s willingness to teach Ava how they survive day to day. He could only imagine that if they had had a little sister, Dean would have treated her like he treated Ava.
They had brought her along originally just to protect her from The Demon, but with training, she’d become an asset to them as well. It amazed him the little things that she could pick up on that they couldn’t. She joked that it was women’s intuition, but Sam knew that sometimes all it took was a warm female presence for people to really open up and share their thoughts and opinions. Where he and Dean could sometimes seem intimidating to people with whom they spoke, Ava? She was as welcoming as one person could be.
And sometimes it helped having a third set of hands, a third pair of eyes in the circle. Just like they watched her back during hunts, she watched their backs just as readily, saving each of their asses on an occasion or two. When it came to loyalty and protecting her own, the girl had become a Winchester through and through.
And then there were times like these.
When it had just been him and Dean, they’d taken care of themselves the way they had been taught. They treated their own cuts and gashes, got stitches at the local emergency room if it wouldn’t draw too much suspicion or stitched themselves when times called for it. Fortunately, Sam had only needed to be casted once, and it had been easily explained by Dean as his “clumsy little brother tripping over his own feet and falling down the stairs.”
They always managed to get by, but Ava, a self-proclaimed infection-freak? She made sure everything looked good enough under her inspection. Dean accepted her nursing with a grumble, a curse or two, and an occasional swat at her hands (which she rightfully returned to the back of his head), and Sam usually put up little fight simply because he knew the girl would have her way eventually.
Having Ava along for the ride definitely made life a bit more interesting.
In the end, Sam was glad they had brought her along. He would have probably worried himself about her, about her safety, if they had dropped her off in Peoria or at her mother‘s in Palm Beach. He needed her there with them as much as she needed them.
“I’m amazed you two never lost body parts to gangrene,” she said, lowering the toilet lid and motioning for him to sit. She dropped her knapsack on the edge of the sink, rifling through its contents again until she pulled out her first aid kit.
Sam grinned. “We did alright. You’re just more…”
“Naggy?” she said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused look.
“Well, I was going to go with particular, but now that you mention it.”
“Cute,” she smirked. She rolled up his sleeve, hissing slightly at the ragged marks in the flesh on the back of his arm. “Ow, she did a number on you.”
Sam tilted his arm upwards to get a better look. “She didn’t care to be surprised.”
“Well,” she said, gingerly cleaning the cuts, “she did expect to totally get some, and you reneged on the deal.” Sam smiled, his nose crinkling for a moment when the ointment she placed on his open skin burned. “I’d be a little upset too.”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with my brother,” Sam laughed, glancing up at her.
She grinned, but she was focused on the task at hand, her gaze never meeting his. He watched her use the back of her hand to bat away a few stray strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail before carefully placing a large gauze pad over the area. She taped it in place before rummaging through her bag again for an ace bandage to hold the gauze in place.
“I need to restock,” she said, trying to wrap the ace bandage snugly but not too tightly around his arm. “Between the lack of pain meds and real bandaging material, no one is allowed to get hurt until we hit a store.”
“Noted,” Sam replied with a quiet laugh as her fingers smoothed over her makeshift bandage. “So, will I live?” He stood, flexing his arm a bit to see how it felt with all the bandaging.
Ava smiled, rolling her eyes and patting his arm. “You’ll live to annoy another day, it seems.” She readjusted the ace bandage, her fingers tickling his arm as she smoothed the material again.
“Thanks, Ava,” he said sincerely.
She smiled up at him, her hands still on his arm. “No big deal.”
Sam looked up at the sound of a throat clearing.
Dean leaned in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed across his chest and a shit-eating grin across his face. “You and Nurse Nightingale almost done? Cause I need to take a piss.”
Ava rolled Sam’s sleeve carefully down over his bandage before gathering her first aid kit and placing it back in her bag. “Yeah, we’re through.” She zipped up her bag and grinned at Dean. “That Midol is a bitch on water retention so you’ll probably be using the bathroom a bit more than normal tonight.”
“Ha ha,” he said dryly, his previous grin falling into a disgruntled look.
“Night, you two,” she smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you bright and early.”
“Night, Ava,” Sam said, and she gave him a small smile in response before starting out of the bathroom. She punched Dean in his sore shoulder, and he grunted out a good night in response.
“You got your gun?” Dean called over his shoulder.
“Nightstand, armed and ready as always,” she said, not missing a beat. “Night.” And with that, she was gone through the door, heading next door to her own room.
At first, they had all felt better about sharing a room. Safety in numbers and all, but as the months dragged on, the rooms seemed to become more and more confining. Finally, they had decided that they needed the space, Ava especially (Sam could only imagine it wasn’t fun bunking with two men), but they had waited until she could at least hit a target before splitting up. That way if trouble came up unexpectedly, she had her piece, and she could use it until they could come and help.
Sam raised an eyebrow at the look Dean was currently giving him, lips curled in an amused smile. Sam pushed by him with a roll of his eyes, hand placed on the bandaged arm. “What?” he asked.
“Dude,” Dean said, turning in the doorway to face him again, “when are you going to make your move?”
“Shut up, man,” Sam grumbled, sitting down on the edge of his bed and pulling his laptop out from under the bed.
“That back there?” Dean pointed over his shoulder into the empty bathroom. “That? Was your moment.”
“Funny,” Sam said, settling into the middle of his bed, legs folded under himself and laptop balanced in his lap. “But there was someone clearing their throat during my supposed moment.”
“Cause I know you, man. You were sitting there overanalyzing everything instead of just kissing the girl.” He shrugged. “And I really do have to take a piss.”
“Then please, don’t let me stop you.”
“Dude, just go next door and--”
“No,” Sam said pointedly, cutting Dean off before he could even finish whatever lewd thought was about to leave his mouth.
Dean rolled his eyes. “How are you my brother, Sammy?” He didn’t wait for an answer--though Sam wasn’t going to give one anyway--and turned into the bathroom and shut the door. Sam rolled his own eyes at the closed door before going back to checking his email.
**********
Becky leaned against her car as she watched the numbers on the gas pump climb gradually higher. She frowned, stopping at thirty dollars. Next time? She wasn’t taking her cousin’s supposed shortcut home. “Shortcut” apparently meant sixty miles out of the way, which was starting to disagree with Becky’s wallet as well as her patience.
The nozzle back in place, Becky leaned through her open driver’s side window, retrieving her denim jacket. She shrugged the jacket on against the cooling night air and pulled her wallet from the inside pocket as she made her way across the gravel and pavement to the small shop to pay for her gas.
The bell above the door jingled loudly as she walked into the shop, the young man behind the counter barely glancing over the edge of his glasses to acknowledge her. She gave him a small smile before making a beeline for the line of fridges in the back. She grabbed two of cans of Red Bull--for the energy needed to stay awake for the rest of the ride--and made her way back to the checkout counter.
She placed the cans, and a pack of gum she had randomly picked up from the stand right beside the register, on the counter with another small, awkward smile.
“That it?” the man--Kyle, she saw on his nametag--asked, finally putting aside his car magazine to give her his full attention. He adjusted his sliding glasses as he began to enter her purchases.
“Yeah, and, uh, gas on pump two,” she said, fishing a couple of twenties out of her wallet.
She handed over the cash as the total appeared on the small display of the register, and she pocketed her gum as he slowly counted out her change. “Here you go, ma’am.” Kyle handed her the money and moved to get her a tiny brown bag for her drinks, but Becky waved off that gesture, instead tucking the cans against her body with her arm.
“Thanks,” she said, quickly making her way out of the shop.
“Drive safe, ma’am,” she heard Kyle call out to her, but the door was already closing behind her before she could even acknowledge that she had heard his well wishes.
Becky quickly climbed into her car, turning the engine over and raising her window, the warm heat of the early day now gone with the sun. She tossed her Red Bulls into the passenger seat and nearly jumped when her pocket vibrated against her side.
“Chill out, Becky,” she scolded herself as she fished out her cell with one hand and put her car into gear with the other.
Driving by herself always made her a bit paranoid and jittery, and normally she would never stop for gas at night alone, but this unexpected longest shortcut ever made that impossible tonight. She couldn’t wait until she pulled into her parents’ drive and officially put the road behind her.
Using her chin, she flipped open her phone and grinned when she saw her best friend’s name on her display. “Hey, Jill,” she finally answered.
“Hey, trouble.”
The voice was small and staticky, but it helped Becky to feel not so alone at the moment.
“Where you at?” Jill asked.
Becky looked out her window for any sort of marker, but instead, she was only greeted by a long line of trees interrupted by an occasional bush or two. “About ten miles outside of nowhere,” she joked, sighing. “I should be home in about another thirty to forty. Just remind me to never again take this shortcut.”
Becky glanced up into her rearview, and she couldn’t stop the surprised gasp that passed her lips. She nearly dropped her phone as a man stared back at her in her mirror. His straggly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, his green eyes seemed to stare right through her.
“Becky?”
Swallowing hard, Becky turned slowly to glance into her backseat. She braced herself, but fortunately, the seat was empty. She quickly turned her attention ahead again before she drove off the strip of road. Her pulse still racing, and her hand gripping her steering wheel even tighter, Becky forgot she had a phone against her ear until she heard Jill’s voice again.
“Becky, you there?”
Becky nervously licked her lips, risking another glance in her rearview.
The backseat was indeed empty.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” she said, adding with a nervous laugh, “I’ve obviously been on the road way too long. I’m starting to hallucinate.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be even better when I get home.”
Jill said something about driving safe, but Becky never heard the words.
The phone slipped from her ear as her head was forcibly yanked back against the headrest by an unseen force. She screamed out in surprise, one hand holding to the swerving steering wheel and the other grasping blindly at the feeling of pressure against her forehead. Struggling against the invisible hold, she silently prayed to anyone listening as she tried to keep the car on the road. The car swerved dangerously to the right as she felt another point of pressure starting just under her earlobe, and it wasn’t until she felt the warm flow down her neck that she realized she was bleeding.
She screamed louder, the pain finally registering in her brain, but the screams soon turned to inaudible gurgles.
By the time the car slammed into the tree, the engine sputtering to a stop, Becky was already dead.
Author: Tonya (
_fullofgrace)Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The usuals. No own, no sue.
Timeline: up to and including episode 2.10 "Hunted"; takes place in the universe created in my fic “Headlights on Dark Roads” but reading that beforehand is not a necessity
Chapter word count: 3703
Summary: A deadly urban legend leads Dean, Sam, and Ava on a new case.
It was amazing the amount of knowledge the brain could process and gather in the span of sixty seconds.
One, silver bullets may slow down a succubus, but they also pissed one off. A lot.
Two, when a succubus grabs, nails ripping through tender skin, it burns in ways no cut ever can.
Three, even with the extra cushion of being hurled into your big brother first, falling down stairs--even a small flight--hurts like a bitch.
Dean and Sam hit the bottom of the stairs with grunts of pain. Dean pushed himself to his feet first, his gun hand braced on the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. “Bitch!” he yelled up the stairs.
“Let’s not piss her off more, huh?” Sam frowned, getting to his feet, his gaze focused on the staircase where his machete balanced on the edge of the top stair.
He made a move to run up the stairs to retrieve it, but Dean’s hand on his chest stopped him. He looked towards his brother, ready to protest that they needed the machete to finish the job, but Dean cut him short with a simple warning.
“Bad idea, Sammy.”
When Sam’s gaze traveled back up the staircase, she stood at the top.
She looked innocent enough-- all milky pale skin, feminine curves, and long flowing dark hair. But then her wings unfolded, translucent with the exception of the dark veins running through them, and the feminine façade was extinguished. Her wings flapped once in irritation, and a deep snarl escaped her lips. She reached down and grabbed the discarded machete--the one thing needed to behead her--and her lips curled in a wicked smile.
“Missing something, boys?” she asked, her sweet, flowery voice a complete contrast to her creaturely form.
“You know what?” Dean fumed, his gun raised and ready if the succubus decided to make any move he didn‘t like. “Fuck this. Time for plan B.” He motioned with his head for Sam to follow as he started backing out of the cabin, his gun never leaving its mark.
“There’s a plan B?”
“Ava!” Dean yelled as they backed out the front door of the cabin.
“Someone call for a plan B?” Ava’s voice responded.
Sam turned to see Ava standing at the far corner of the cabin’s porch, a gas can at her feet. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a matchbook. She raised an eyebrow at them as they continued to linger near the doorway. “Um, you may want to back up.” She struck the match and dropped it against the edge of the cabin. The gasoline-soaked wood went up instantly, lighting up a previously poured trail of gasoline across the entire front of the porch.
The three quickly made their way off the porch as the building slowly burned. Over the crackling of the burning wood, the succubus could be heard shrieking in anger.
Sam looked at Dean, who had a wide satisfied grin on his face, as the building went up in flames. “How come every time you have a plan B, there’s fire involved?” Sam asked him, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Dean shrugged. “She’s tied to this cabin. If there’s no cabin, she can’t kill anymore unsuspecting men.”
Sam placed a hand gingerly to his still bleeding arm. “I guess if it gets the job done.”
“So, boys….”
Dean and Sam turned to see Ava perched on the hood of the Impala. She looked innocent enough dressed in jeans and a light blue hoodie zipped to the collar, almost like an unsuspecting bystander to the illegal festivities happening if not for the gas can resting in her lap.
“You two planning to roast marshmallows, or can we get out of here before we’re arrested for arson?” she asked, sliding down from her seat.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean said, smacking Sam in the chest as he made his way towards the Impala.
Sam pulled his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans, preparing to leave an anonymous tip for the local authorities. By the time they'd respond, the place would be nearly, if not all the way, burnt to the ground.
“Next time, dude?” Sam said, placing the phone to his ear. “You’re bait.” He threw one last glance back at the burning cabin before sliding into the passenger seat.
*********
Dean pushed open the motel door, sighing heavily and rotating his left shoulder. “In the morning,” he said, perching on the edge of his bed as Sam and Ava entered behind him, “we put this place in our rearview.”
Sam nodded, his hand still held to his injured arm. “Gladly.”
They’d spent a week in this town, drawn in by the mysterious death of a healthy young man in a cabin by the local lake. Six similar deaths had occurred throughout the decade-- all young men, all apparently healthy up until the point when they died in their sleep from causes unknown. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out they were dealing with a succubus, and it took an even shorter amount of time for Dean to formulate a plan that involved Sam being used as the bait.
His arm still throbbing, Sam was officially over being the bait.
He glanced in the mirror on the lone dresser in the cramped room, rolling up the sleeve to see the damage for himself. He frowned at the four deep tracks trailing across the back of his bicep, still oozing blood.
“Dude, that bitch really did a number on my shoulder,” Dean complained, rubbing his sore shoulder and grimacing.
Ava grabbed her small knapsack from the foot of Sam’s bed, rummaging through the contents. “I‘m out of Tylenol,” she said, “but this should do until we stop in the morning.” She tossed Dean a small blue box, and he caught it with his good hand.
He looked down at the box in his hands and snorted. “Dude, no, I am not taking Midol.”
Watching them through their reflection in the mirror, Sam blinked at them before dissolving into a small fit of laughter.
“It’s for cramps and muscle aches,” Ava said, the corner of her mouth twitching, and Sam would have to commend her later for keeping such a straight face during an argument like this.
“No, I’ll take my chances with the pain, thanks.” Dean tossed the box back.
“May help with your mood swings,” Sam snickered, flexing his arm to see if the gashes would need more than just some Neosporin and a good bandage.
“Funny coming from the King of PMSing,” Dean snarled back.
“Stop being a baby, Dean,” Ava said, tossing the box back at him. “All it is is ibruprofen.”
Dean growled under his breath, popping the seal on two of the tablets before tossing the box back to Ava. “Midol,” he muttered incredulously under his breath.
“Probably won’t do much but take off the edge, but it should keep you from pouting all night,” she teased. Sam snorted again at his brother’s misfortune, unknowingly drawing Ava’s attention to him. “That looks like that may need stitches.”
Sam turned from the mirror as she walked over to him to get a better look at his arm. “It’ll be fine,” he replied.
“Yeah,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “let me know how that works out for you when your arm rots off.” She began nudging him towards the bathroom, her knapsack clutched in her other hand. “Just let me bandage it.”
Sam looked to Dean for help, but he’d already kicked off his shoes and settled onto his bed with the TV remote. He smirked at Sam, made a shooing motion with his hand, and turned his attention back to the TV.
******
It had been six months since Ava had joined them, since they had found her and officially brought her into their world of weird. She still wasn’t the world’s best hunter--they didn’t expect her to be--but they’d seen her improve before their eyes on a daily basis.
No longer squeamish about grave-digging, she picked up a shovel alongside them when the job called for it. She still didn’t handle a shotgun well, the kick still too hard for her to control, but she’d become competent with a handgun with their training. Dean had even given her one of his favorites to keep as her own, her piece of security when they weren’t able to watch her back.
In the beginning, Sam had feared that Dean would regret not sending Ava away to parts unknown, but to Sam’s surprise, he’d actually taken the girl under his wing. He still had his moments of being Dean, where he pushed her off on Sam when he thought fit, but overall, Sam couldn’t help but be amazed by his brother’s willingness to teach Ava how they survive day to day. He could only imagine that if they had had a little sister, Dean would have treated her like he treated Ava.
They had brought her along originally just to protect her from The Demon, but with training, she’d become an asset to them as well. It amazed him the little things that she could pick up on that they couldn’t. She joked that it was women’s intuition, but Sam knew that sometimes all it took was a warm female presence for people to really open up and share their thoughts and opinions. Where he and Dean could sometimes seem intimidating to people with whom they spoke, Ava? She was as welcoming as one person could be.
And sometimes it helped having a third set of hands, a third pair of eyes in the circle. Just like they watched her back during hunts, she watched their backs just as readily, saving each of their asses on an occasion or two. When it came to loyalty and protecting her own, the girl had become a Winchester through and through.
And then there were times like these.
When it had just been him and Dean, they’d taken care of themselves the way they had been taught. They treated their own cuts and gashes, got stitches at the local emergency room if it wouldn’t draw too much suspicion or stitched themselves when times called for it. Fortunately, Sam had only needed to be casted once, and it had been easily explained by Dean as his “clumsy little brother tripping over his own feet and falling down the stairs.”
They always managed to get by, but Ava, a self-proclaimed infection-freak? She made sure everything looked good enough under her inspection. Dean accepted her nursing with a grumble, a curse or two, and an occasional swat at her hands (which she rightfully returned to the back of his head), and Sam usually put up little fight simply because he knew the girl would have her way eventually.
Having Ava along for the ride definitely made life a bit more interesting.
In the end, Sam was glad they had brought her along. He would have probably worried himself about her, about her safety, if they had dropped her off in Peoria or at her mother‘s in Palm Beach. He needed her there with them as much as she needed them.
“I’m amazed you two never lost body parts to gangrene,” she said, lowering the toilet lid and motioning for him to sit. She dropped her knapsack on the edge of the sink, rifling through its contents again until she pulled out her first aid kit.
Sam grinned. “We did alright. You’re just more…”
“Naggy?” she said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused look.
“Well, I was going to go with particular, but now that you mention it.”
“Cute,” she smirked. She rolled up his sleeve, hissing slightly at the ragged marks in the flesh on the back of his arm. “Ow, she did a number on you.”
Sam tilted his arm upwards to get a better look. “She didn’t care to be surprised.”
“Well,” she said, gingerly cleaning the cuts, “she did expect to totally get some, and you reneged on the deal.” Sam smiled, his nose crinkling for a moment when the ointment she placed on his open skin burned. “I’d be a little upset too.”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with my brother,” Sam laughed, glancing up at her.
She grinned, but she was focused on the task at hand, her gaze never meeting his. He watched her use the back of her hand to bat away a few stray strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail before carefully placing a large gauze pad over the area. She taped it in place before rummaging through her bag again for an ace bandage to hold the gauze in place.
“I need to restock,” she said, trying to wrap the ace bandage snugly but not too tightly around his arm. “Between the lack of pain meds and real bandaging material, no one is allowed to get hurt until we hit a store.”
“Noted,” Sam replied with a quiet laugh as her fingers smoothed over her makeshift bandage. “So, will I live?” He stood, flexing his arm a bit to see how it felt with all the bandaging.
Ava smiled, rolling her eyes and patting his arm. “You’ll live to annoy another day, it seems.” She readjusted the ace bandage, her fingers tickling his arm as she smoothed the material again.
“Thanks, Ava,” he said sincerely.
She smiled up at him, her hands still on his arm. “No big deal.”
Sam looked up at the sound of a throat clearing.
Dean leaned in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed across his chest and a shit-eating grin across his face. “You and Nurse Nightingale almost done? Cause I need to take a piss.”
Ava rolled Sam’s sleeve carefully down over his bandage before gathering her first aid kit and placing it back in her bag. “Yeah, we’re through.” She zipped up her bag and grinned at Dean. “That Midol is a bitch on water retention so you’ll probably be using the bathroom a bit more than normal tonight.”
“Ha ha,” he said dryly, his previous grin falling into a disgruntled look.
“Night, you two,” she smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you bright and early.”
“Night, Ava,” Sam said, and she gave him a small smile in response before starting out of the bathroom. She punched Dean in his sore shoulder, and he grunted out a good night in response.
“You got your gun?” Dean called over his shoulder.
“Nightstand, armed and ready as always,” she said, not missing a beat. “Night.” And with that, she was gone through the door, heading next door to her own room.
At first, they had all felt better about sharing a room. Safety in numbers and all, but as the months dragged on, the rooms seemed to become more and more confining. Finally, they had decided that they needed the space, Ava especially (Sam could only imagine it wasn’t fun bunking with two men), but they had waited until she could at least hit a target before splitting up. That way if trouble came up unexpectedly, she had her piece, and she could use it until they could come and help.
Sam raised an eyebrow at the look Dean was currently giving him, lips curled in an amused smile. Sam pushed by him with a roll of his eyes, hand placed on the bandaged arm. “What?” he asked.
“Dude,” Dean said, turning in the doorway to face him again, “when are you going to make your move?”
“Shut up, man,” Sam grumbled, sitting down on the edge of his bed and pulling his laptop out from under the bed.
“That back there?” Dean pointed over his shoulder into the empty bathroom. “That? Was your moment.”
“Funny,” Sam said, settling into the middle of his bed, legs folded under himself and laptop balanced in his lap. “But there was someone clearing their throat during my supposed moment.”
“Cause I know you, man. You were sitting there overanalyzing everything instead of just kissing the girl.” He shrugged. “And I really do have to take a piss.”
“Then please, don’t let me stop you.”
“Dude, just go next door and--”
“No,” Sam said pointedly, cutting Dean off before he could even finish whatever lewd thought was about to leave his mouth.
Dean rolled his eyes. “How are you my brother, Sammy?” He didn’t wait for an answer--though Sam wasn’t going to give one anyway--and turned into the bathroom and shut the door. Sam rolled his own eyes at the closed door before going back to checking his email.
**********
Becky leaned against her car as she watched the numbers on the gas pump climb gradually higher. She frowned, stopping at thirty dollars. Next time? She wasn’t taking her cousin’s supposed shortcut home. “Shortcut” apparently meant sixty miles out of the way, which was starting to disagree with Becky’s wallet as well as her patience.
The nozzle back in place, Becky leaned through her open driver’s side window, retrieving her denim jacket. She shrugged the jacket on against the cooling night air and pulled her wallet from the inside pocket as she made her way across the gravel and pavement to the small shop to pay for her gas.
The bell above the door jingled loudly as she walked into the shop, the young man behind the counter barely glancing over the edge of his glasses to acknowledge her. She gave him a small smile before making a beeline for the line of fridges in the back. She grabbed two of cans of Red Bull--for the energy needed to stay awake for the rest of the ride--and made her way back to the checkout counter.
She placed the cans, and a pack of gum she had randomly picked up from the stand right beside the register, on the counter with another small, awkward smile.
“That it?” the man--Kyle, she saw on his nametag--asked, finally putting aside his car magazine to give her his full attention. He adjusted his sliding glasses as he began to enter her purchases.
“Yeah, and, uh, gas on pump two,” she said, fishing a couple of twenties out of her wallet.
She handed over the cash as the total appeared on the small display of the register, and she pocketed her gum as he slowly counted out her change. “Here you go, ma’am.” Kyle handed her the money and moved to get her a tiny brown bag for her drinks, but Becky waved off that gesture, instead tucking the cans against her body with her arm.
“Thanks,” she said, quickly making her way out of the shop.
“Drive safe, ma’am,” she heard Kyle call out to her, but the door was already closing behind her before she could even acknowledge that she had heard his well wishes.
Becky quickly climbed into her car, turning the engine over and raising her window, the warm heat of the early day now gone with the sun. She tossed her Red Bulls into the passenger seat and nearly jumped when her pocket vibrated against her side.
“Chill out, Becky,” she scolded herself as she fished out her cell with one hand and put her car into gear with the other.
Driving by herself always made her a bit paranoid and jittery, and normally she would never stop for gas at night alone, but this unexpected longest shortcut ever made that impossible tonight. She couldn’t wait until she pulled into her parents’ drive and officially put the road behind her.
Using her chin, she flipped open her phone and grinned when she saw her best friend’s name on her display. “Hey, Jill,” she finally answered.
“Hey, trouble.”
The voice was small and staticky, but it helped Becky to feel not so alone at the moment.
“Where you at?” Jill asked.
Becky looked out her window for any sort of marker, but instead, she was only greeted by a long line of trees interrupted by an occasional bush or two. “About ten miles outside of nowhere,” she joked, sighing. “I should be home in about another thirty to forty. Just remind me to never again take this shortcut.”
Becky glanced up into her rearview, and she couldn’t stop the surprised gasp that passed her lips. She nearly dropped her phone as a man stared back at her in her mirror. His straggly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, his green eyes seemed to stare right through her.
“Becky?”
Swallowing hard, Becky turned slowly to glance into her backseat. She braced herself, but fortunately, the seat was empty. She quickly turned her attention ahead again before she drove off the strip of road. Her pulse still racing, and her hand gripping her steering wheel even tighter, Becky forgot she had a phone against her ear until she heard Jill’s voice again.
“Becky, you there?”
Becky nervously licked her lips, risking another glance in her rearview.
The backseat was indeed empty.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” she said, adding with a nervous laugh, “I’ve obviously been on the road way too long. I’m starting to hallucinate.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be even better when I get home.”
Jill said something about driving safe, but Becky never heard the words.
The phone slipped from her ear as her head was forcibly yanked back against the headrest by an unseen force. She screamed out in surprise, one hand holding to the swerving steering wheel and the other grasping blindly at the feeling of pressure against her forehead. Struggling against the invisible hold, she silently prayed to anyone listening as she tried to keep the car on the road. The car swerved dangerously to the right as she felt another point of pressure starting just under her earlobe, and it wasn’t until she felt the warm flow down her neck that she realized she was bleeding.
She screamed louder, the pain finally registering in her brain, but the screams soon turned to inaudible gurgles.
By the time the car slammed into the tree, the engine sputtering to a stop, Becky was already dead.