She's waiting. She always has.
With her head hanging out a window while someone else's driving.
While laying drinks down for another shmuck who's just avoiding a wife.
While she's bleeding and swearing and tearing a hole right through a monster.
When she's standing outside a motel room watching the orange sun raise over unknown land.
She doesn't always realize it. But she does sometimes.
~||x||~
Drinking whiskey before she can sleep, reminds her of her mother.
Fucking a man against a bar after closing, reminds her of Sam.
Borrowing library computers for data, reminds her of Ash.
Extracting a bullet from her leg, reminds her of Dean.
~||x||~
When it goes bad in Duluth, when she see's the Road House on the news, she runs.
She runs, so far, it's three weeks out before she realizes she's waiting.
~||x||~
She dumps her phone. But she returns to the still, debris mound, of the Road House.
They'll find her. She's neither afraid nor doubtful of it. Their families are tied in a knot.
Her father died, bullet to the brain, from their father, her 'Uncle John'.
Her mother's bar is taken, hundreds refuge, for the grandest secret of Sam.
She's shoved up against a bar, and tied to a pole, to be used as bait for Dean.
Her mother will find a way to help them, even having lived.
They'll find her even though she's off the radar.
~||x||~
Her mother knew he was under her skin before she did.
Her mother knew more than she wanted to know, always before. She had to leave to know that.
He said wrong place, wrong time, and slipped into her respect with a confused, tired smile.
He apologized for being an ass, and used her at her own willingness, complaining.
He took her back and probably would have taken her away, if she'd asked.
She thinks she recognizes herself in him.
Recognizes the parts of her past and future she can't see.
~||x||~
It took eleven years between an uncle and his loyal sons.
It took four years between a mother and her wayward daughter
Every time she hears the chug of an old car park at the bar, or motel, she's crashed.
Every time someone smirks or looks like a puppy dog or swears with a shot gun crowing.
Every time they joke about what real monsters are or think they know what family ghosts are.
She never stops moving.
But the whole time she's just waiting.
~||x||~
They'll come sooner or later. There isn't any other way.