Rosemary's journal

Bobby Singer took my hints and asked me to move in. All that's left in my apartment is one change of clothes anyway. I think I can be useful here - the man can do anything but ruffle his own hair, cook a decent meal and stich up wounds on his back. He doesn't want me to be in danger he says, but I highly doubt there's a safer place in the world than Bobby's guest room. I'll be happier here.

The Winchesters were welcome guests, very welcome, more so than any other hunters. Of course, that didn't spare them Bobby's grumpyness, but she wasn't spared either, so when he snarled at them pretty much 2 hours straight the first time she met them, she was happy. Least the old bastard was fair.

She came home from a long shift, a really fun one, too. So she was drunk and overjoyed when she walked in and saw there was light in the kitchen, running in and practically jumping Bobby.

"Captain, I brought rum! Enough world-saving! Let's be pirates!"

...when she noticed two rather confused-looking sets of eyes look at her. Oh and some eyes they were. Some freckles and some shoulders, too.

"Well damn right Santa, I've been very good."

The prettier one looked amused, the taller one looked mostly weirded out from what she could tell. So she just extended her hand (weirded them out even more - what's with those bad manners on them hunters?) and introduced herself.

"Rosemary. Bobby's maid. Slash damsel in distress. Slash drinking buddy. Slash cook. And you two fine gentleman are..."

"Sam and Dean Winchester."

Oh.

"Well lemme fix you pretty, pretty boys something to eat. I've got steaks and if Bobby left anything, pie, and I can make hash browns, I guess. Or cereal. Steaks? I'll make steaks. I'd hate for you to go to bed hungry. My bed. Any bed. Steaks it is."

With that, she jumped off of Bobby's lap (Grumpy McGrumperson had only been looking grumpy the entire time she'd been making a fool of herself) and while bustling around in the kitchen, she heard the prettier one whisper to Bobby:

"Woah firecracker!"

and Bobby reply:

"Off-limits."

Damn you Gramps.

The night she began her courtesan-lifestyle, Sam had been needing something else, other than Bobby's advice and her patching up and a hot toddy. When she'd come back from the bar she'd seen him resting uneasily, twisting and turning, while his brother snored serenely next to him. She'd made herself a drink and sat down on the armchair to look at the boys, which, she figured, was probably crossing over into stalker territory, but she was drunk already and it was late and they were heroes in oh-so-pretty exteriors, she didn't care about the lines she crossed. Bobby had shouted down "Rose! You good?" The man needed her to be noisy when she got home. He usually woke up from her car pulling up, but she'd had the brains to leave it at the bar tonight, and now he didn't know whether that creaking sound downstairs had been her or some uninvited guest. She'd gone to the stair case and whisper-shouted up "Rough night gramps, I'm just having another drink!" He grunted something and she heard his footsteps heading back towards his bedroom.

Sam had been startled by that, she could make out his worried eyes in the dark. Dean had reflexively grabbed the gun under his pillow, but not woken up. The man was a phenomenon, from everything she'd heard. The man who'd saved the world, the boy with the demon blood staring right at her. She handed her drink, a stiff gin and tonic, to Sam. "You okay love?" she asked. He smirked. Apparently, her accent was funny to most of the hunters who came through, and Sam had said before that it reminded him of some chick they'd dealt with before. He took a sip of her drink and said "Yeah. I can't really sleep." Rosemary figured something out, then. She hadn't known the Winchesters long, hell, she hadn't known about the existence of demons and ghost and fucking vampires hunters long, and if she had ever suspected anything, she'd hoped it'd be more like a Buffy-kinda-scenario. A chosen one with superpowers. Not mere men throwing their lives away. Bobby talked about the boys a lot, when they did inventory, when he took her out to teach her shooting, when she cooked for him while he crunched over his books, sometimes interrupting himself to ask things like "Hey what's that mean?" and showing her a word in cyrillic. And Sam, well, he was all sturdy and kind and pretty, but his big brother was watching out for this rhino, and he'd lost everything in the metaphorical and real fires that had made up his life, and maybe, she thought, it was hard to sleep when you feel that powerless. That's gotta suck.

"Me neither." she'd said. "Scary night, isn't it? Yellow sky, blue clouds." He'd only looked at her. She wasn't known for being scared easily. After all, she'd practically forced herself into this life. Bobby hadn't wanted her to be around the monsters. But back when she met him, the prospect of dying had been the only thing to give her any kind of relief, and so she'd chosen the darkness and the danger over the plane ticket. She even thought herself that she sounded ridiculous. "You don't have to be afraid. We're all here." Sam said, sleepily pointing over at Dean. "Go to bed Rose, call down if anything weird happens." She'd taken a step forward and sat down snuggled into the curve of his belly. "Maybe, you could hold me?" She didn't look at him but she'd felt his glare on her neck. Oh boy this was wrong. She didn't fancy Sam, well, not more than any breathing woman naturally would, but maybe he'd go to sleep once he'd have something to hold on to. All her bandages and all her sandwiches wouldn't make him strong if he worried through the night. "For a while?" She forced his arms open for her, and pressed herself into the warmth of his enormous, hairless chest. Sam hesitated to close his arms around her, but eventually, his breathing evened out, his hand fell down to the dirty couch and he slept fitfully curled around her. There, she thought. You can protect someone, too, big boy.

Nothing ever happened between Sam and her. She'd figured out what he needed, a little sister to take care of, a girl that was close to him and didn't die. From then on, she snuck up to him when Dean was in the shower to hug him so tight neither of them could breathe, and she drunkenly stumbled right into his embrace at night, her back turned to him, his sleep deep and quiet. Of course, there was a downside: now she'd have to actively try and stay alive.

Rosemary's journal

My newly developed care-program for hunters is going well, the only way of keeping track of the guys would be crossing off names in Bobby's phone book. New rule, though: no judgement, ever. Mark likes to be whipped. It's harder than it looks. Next day, he went and killed 12 vamps on his own. So, he can have a good whipping anytime he wants. Bobby walked in on me and Grey making out at the bar. Fifth time, fifth hunter, if I'm correct. Never says a word about it, bless his grumpy soul.

Bobby had saved her life, that night at the bar, and she was repaying him porkchop by potatoe salad by swept floor by stitched up flesh wound. But now she knew there were more like him, and every time one left their house, for the whole two years the two of them lived like this, she stared at them driving off in awe. Had she ever known there were men fighting for ordinary people like her, people probably not worth saving, people so blissfully unaware of the things in their closets, she'd have stopped voting at once. Gathered her strongest friends. Gotten herself a crossbow and melted her engagement ring into silver bullets. She'd have burned everything she had and sought exactly the life she had now: the life of the keeper. The woman giving them some comfort, some joy, a hot meal and a kiss goodnight. But, shit had had to hit the fan first, her taking that new-agey trip stateside, meeting that weird guy whose name she didn't even remember now, working at that bar, being attacked by a fucking vampire (although to be fair, she'd kinda asked for it) and Bobby Singer riding in with that ridiculous trucker hat saving the day. And what had been left of her will to live.