Hey guys! This is Dark Winds, sorry for all of you who wanted it to be Dark Miami; this was my original idea and I really like it. But Dark Miami does have a nice ring to it, if I can get anything new, I'll think about using it. Anyways, back to business, I know I just finished Dark Grounds the other day but I've had this chapter typed and ready to go for about two weeks and I couldn't wait to post it anymore. This is the longest 'intro' chapter I've written for any of the Dark Queen stories; its like seven pages in Word. I really like it and still have no idea where the idea for this came from; watching way too much TV. So I'll shut up and let you guys read. Oh! One more thing before I forget, I promise I will, as soon as I get something new, update Meeting in the Dark, right now its just one of those things I can't wrap my head around. But I'll start updating it soon. Okay, now I'm really shutting up; keep reading and reviewing.
Over Cast
Palm trees swayed slightly in the warm sea water filled breeze, the Bermuda grass under foot was still stiff and sturdy, no matter the weight pressed down upon it or the wind. A crowd of black clothes filled the small grassy area, absorbing the warm rays given off by the blinding Florida sun; it was too warm for February. A loaming black storm cloud hovered over head, just one, and almost seemed fitting; matching the somber attitude of the day. Under the cloud tears and sobs were choked on, some in attendance looked down to hide tears and water logged eyes while others just looked off, at something and nothing all at the same time. Sam sat straight backed in his chair, his eyes refusing to meet the sight in front of him. Next to him sat Dean, Sam was afraid to look that way too, not knowing if he'd see Dean crying or doing nothing at all. Fancy came next, her sobs joining the chorus in the rows behind them; her black make-up streaked down her face and held her head up high, proudly displaying the loss etched into her features. Serena sat next to her, her hands folded neatly in her lap and with a stiff movement, brought a tissue up and dabbed at her eyes; an air of elegance and professionalism still hanging around her. Ben wasn't there, but that wasn't a surprise; if the man could he wouldn't show up for his own funeral. In the seat behind Sam sat Richard Kirk and his mother Pat, her hand wrapped tightly around her son's. Richy sat there, stone stiff, in his dress blues with his police hat resting silently in his lap and Pat next to him in a simple black dress; nothing she could've picked out would have upstaged the impressive appearance her oldest son made. The wrinkles around her eyes caught the dripping remains of her make up and shadowed her reddened eyes. Co-workers, friends, college acquaintances, an old room mate or two and fellow hunters filled the rest of the chairs behind Sam and the rest of the front row. In total, about fifty people; that was the way it should be, a small service.
"I will now open the podium to friends and family close to the deceased." Pastor Jim said, moving away from the microphone and waving his hand to whoever wanted to step up first. Placing his hat in his mother's lap, Richy stood and walked numbly toward the podium, giving Jim a slight smile as a 'thank you' when he gave him the floor.
"I met her about six years ago when my brother Jake brought her to our mother's house for Thanksgiving. She literally breezed in the door like she owned the place and took over. She sat down in my father's chair, or what was my father's chair before he died, and kicked her feet up onto my great grandmother's coffee table that was given to my mother as a wedding present. I didn't like her at first and I never really told her how much I cared about her. But she grew on me, the way an annoying younger sibling grows on you and I learned to love her. I respected her and protected her. Sure, she broke Jake's heart when she didn't agree to marry him, but I know she still loved him. At least now, I know she's up there watching over my baby brother." Richy said, tears collecting in his eyes.
As Richy went back to his seat, a young man who looked a little older than Sam; wearing a slate gray suit, brushed past and up to the podium. Before he said anything, he cleared his throat, rung his hands nervously together and let out a deep breath. Sam recognized him from a few pictures, Micah Rockwell from the Boston Herald.
"She was the one who always spoke at meetings, press conferences and all that stuff, as you can see I'm not good at speaking in front of people. What can I say about her? She was my friend, threatened my life one too many times to count but I loved her. I mean, I really did. She was a ball buster that's for sure; she handled things like no one else I know. A real fighter, I know that's how she must've gone; fighting the entire time. Never a dull moment when she was around either, you'd walk into our office and there would be AC/DC or Black Sabbath blasting. And at office parties, you'd think they'd be the most boring things ever, nope. Not with her around; it went from high society months in advance planned event to all out chaos. She was something else. I'm gonna miss her." Micah ended softly before covering the mic with his hand and whispering something to Jim. Jim nodded and when Micah stepped down off the platform, he placed something thin on top of the coffin.
"It's the CD she played in the office." He said with a smile and then went to his seat. Behind Micah, a few seats back, another man stood and as he came up, he walked over to Fancy and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Up at the mic he smiled and bit down on his lip.
"I know not a lot of people know who I am and I really haven't kept in contact with her in a while, but I was her room mate back in college. She was the first person I actually showed any of my work to and I was the first person who actually saw that she was damn good photographer. I've never met anyone with such an eye like her; she could look at anything and see art in it. I remember one time, after a party we had, we were cleaning up and someone had set up empty beer cups into a tower and stuck a little plastic umbrella through the bottom of the top one. She yelled 'Max you touch that and I'll kill you!' She ran and got her camera. I think she took an entire roll of these cups. It was amazing. She was amazing to watch work. The dedication and determination that just rolled off of her, it made you want to work better. I promised her, last time we spoke on the phone, she'd be a model for my newest painting, but umh…yeah. I'm so very sorry." Max said, tugging at his ear ring as he looked at Sam and then over to Dean. Sam nodded and smiled back warmly in return.
For the first time, from a seat a few seats away from Richy stood a young woman with fiery copper colored hair and black wire framed glasses. Trish had worked at the news paper as her assistant; she brought in new reports and articles and would sometimes smuggle in new CDs for the office. She smiled as she passed Sam and then with her finger nail, gently tapped the mic.
"Hi. I worked with her at the paper. She actually hired me…." The words all began to blur in Dean's mind and he seemed to 'space out', far away from where he sat in between Sam and Serena. He went somewhere where he knew Sam couldn't reach him if he tried and stayed there, just collecting his thoughts.
"Jesus Christ Tate, why'd you leave? Why the hell did you leave?" While emotions were running high around Dean, the internal battle waging within his mind was nearly more than he could handle.
"How could you leave me Tate? How could you leave me and Sammy alone again? Who the hell is going to calm me down after a fight with my dad? You always knew what to tell me when he pissed me off. My god... Tate... "Dean blinked a few times, and felt a hot tear stream down his face.
"We had some good goddamn times Tate. All those times when we'd just look at each other and laugh. You were the only one Tate. You were the only one who did that to me, but I never told you. I loved- love you so much Tate and I'm never going to stop loving you. I would have married your crazy ass Tate." Dean took in a sharp breath and swatted at a stray tear.
"Remember that time you said you'd haunt my 'sorry ass' if you ever died? I laughed at you because I thought it would never happen..."
Dean came back into his own body, his mind filling the space that he floated away from, when he heard Bobby's rough voice come through the speaker in front of him. Looking up at the platform he saw the older hunter fidgeting in the suit he had been put in at Serena's orders and bit back a laugh when he tugged at his tie.
"I hate this outfit, I hope you know that Serena, but I'm only doing this for Tatum. I'll tell you one thing that everyone who's already spoken forgot to mention, sure she was sweet when she wanted to be, fun, artistic, but she had one hell of a temper; she got that from her father. Tate didn't like to be told no or when to stop or when enough was enough. She was a hell of a fighter, I remember she beat up Dean once, knocked him out and just stood back and laughed. You said something she didn't like, wasn't it about her hair or something?" Dean nodded and Bobby laughed. "That was our Tate; don't insult her in any way shape or form. I've seen her do things no one else saw, when she was thought she was alone and I was behind the corner. She had a fierce temper and when she loved someone she loved them with all her; every part of her heart, every muscle and fiber of her being, she must've gotten that from you Serena. I've seen her kick holes in walls, run cars into things, punch, slap, kick, bite, you name it, she probably did it and I saw it. She had a foul mouth too, filth that came out from those pretty lips. She got that from hanging around all us guys; she just picked it up. Tate was a firecracker, a bitch, a lover, a fighter, a friend, a child, a girl, a woman, an artist, a sister and a pain in the ass. She was everything, she was Tate. Sure, there were times when she stayed at my house with the boys and her brother that I wanted to sneak into her room and smoother her in her sleep, but I think everyone wanted to do that to her. It was the only way to get her; in her sleep she was quiet and you could sneak up on her. But I watched her grow up and I wouldn't change her if you paid me a million dollars. She was a pain in the ass but she was the only daughter I ever knew. I loved her like my own." Bobby roughly swiped away a tear and as he stepped down, looked back toward the parking lot where he found John Winchester leaning back against the bed of his truck; his hands jammed in the front of jeans. Bobby just rolled his eyes, hugged both boys, Serena and Fancy and then went back to his seat. Pastor Jim came back to the microphone and cleared his throat, his eyes already red with tears.
"I know, not many services have the pastor saying personal things about the deceased, but I knew Tate too. I remember meeting her when she was eight; this tough attitude balled into a little girl with pig tails, shorts, a pink shirt and Velcro sneakers. She was the cutest little girl I had ever seen and I was one of the few, like Bobby and John Winchester, who had the privilege of seeing her grow into a brilliant young woman. I miss her already." Pastor Jim stepped down and reached out for Serena's hand, gently leading her up to where he had just stood.
"I didn't get a chance to know my daughter as well as all of you did, I was taken away from my children when they were very young by an accident that left my son, daughter and husband, at the time, thinking I was dead. But when we found each other, thanks to some case she was working on in California, I knew everything would start to change. And it did, I got to get to know her; even if it was just for a few short months. She was so different from what I left behind when she was six and as Bobby said, she was a firecracker. She had such life in her, such a spark, a fiery attitude and such passion; she never stopped talking about what she loved most; her car, photography, Sam and above all else, Dean. I wish I had that kind of love in my life, I did but now….I'm sorry. I'm sorry you all have to be here today for this, I'm sorry this happened and I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry." She rushed back to her seat and allowed herself to fall into her husband's arms; he was sitting behind her. Fancy absently rubbed her arms as she stood and walked over to the podium; her legs shaking the whole time, as if they were ready to fall out from under her at any minute. She swept a piece of her hair back behind her ear and sighed.
"I always figured I'd go first, drink myself to death and have Tate be standing in my place; not the other way round. I met Tate her second day in Boston, she was young, naïve, far from innocent and so fun to corrupt. What I didn't know when I started talking to her was the life she had come from, she told me she wasn't too involved with her father, her mom and brother were dead and she had a best friend and an ex she still loved that she left behind. When I asked her why she left she them all behind she told me she wanted 'normal'. Not understanding where she had come from, I laughed but got her a free drink and found myself sucked into her; she was the most interesting person that had ever darkened my door. She came back the next night and the night after, I figured she was bored, not that she didn't have a place to stay. So on the fifth night I asked her what was up; she didn't have a job, apartment and was living out of her trunk and duffle bag. So I gave her my couch. What I didn't realize was that she didn't just take my couch, she took my entire life. She lived with me for a few months and let me tell you, I've never had the chance to get to know someone like that. I can tell you how she takes her coffee, how long she'll be in shower depending on her mood, her schedule when she worked at the paper and then what she'd do when she'd come home from work. When she moved it was like she took the whole place with her, the place empty. I love her; she's my sister, my other half. The light side to my dark and the dark to my light; its cliché but she completes me. I'm still not sure how this happened or why I'm here saying this, but she's gone. I don't know if you can feel it, but I can. I feel like I'm half dead too, like half of me is in that box. Well it is; half of me is in there." Fancy didn't end in tears or a wail; she just moved away from the podium and went back down to her seat. She sat back down in the chair, crossed her leg over her other knee and laced her fingers together, dropping them into her lap. Sam stood once she was comfortable and felt himself pale; he had lost Jessica but it never felt like this. He had felt empty and alone, but it had gone away. But it wasn't this strong after she died, it felt like the hole inside of him was just getting bigger and bigger, eating him and he knew this one would probably eat him alive. He felt sick and this close to throwing every small amount of food he had in his system up right on his rented shoes. But he didn't, he took a deep breath and walked toward the podium; it was the longest four steps of his life.
"I don't know what to say. I can't think of anything right now; how do you do this? I've lost a lot in my life but it never felt this bad. Tate was everything to me; she was my best friend who I told my secrets to, my sister who protected me when Dean couldn't or wasn't able to, my mom when I needed to be taken care of; everything. I can't…this isn't right. I can't…its like I can't function right. I don't know what to do or how to act; I don't know what's the right or wrong thing to say. I didn't even know what tie matched this morning and I'm wearing a black suit. She's always been there, in everything. When I was small and had started going to school, if one of our dads wasn't around and Dean was still sleeping, she'd make my lunch. When I got older, she taught me to drive; if you've seen her drive you know how scared I was. In high school she took me from and to school, even after I got my license, she wanted to make sure I got there and back all right. When Dean told me how to 'get' girls, she told me how he was wrong and told me what girls really liked; I remembered what she said when I asked Jessica out for the first time. When I called her and told her I got into Stanford, she flew out to California just for a day to see me get comfortable. She stopped down at a store and bought a small ice cream cake. And with a tube of icing wrote 'Congrats Sammy' on it; she gave me a party in my first shitty little dorm. She was the only one who did that; against everything my dad, her dad and Dean had said. She taught me so much, not just how to shoot a gun or throw a knife. She taught me things you could only learn from Tate; how to stop and enjoy things around you, even if you're stuck in the back of a car, how to make everything count and not regret a damn thing and how to hold a 35 mm camera the right way. See, she was everything. I don't know what I'm…." And just like that, with looking over to where the flower covered casket lay; violets covering the entire wooden coffin, he stopped and closed his mouth. There was nothing left for him to say; he had run out of words. Taking a deep breath, he walked off the stage, got a fierce hug from Nero, Alana and Griffin; who had probably just poofed in, and then sat back down next to Dean. Dean looked at his younger brother and sighed; reality had just struck home and it was his turn. Pushing up off the chair, everyone around him went silent as he walked to take Sam's place. Standing up there, he adjusted the mic's neck to a height good for him and looked to the casket. He had never seen so many violets in one place before; but even with all that purple they weren't her purple. He looked out at the people in front of him and sighed, raking a hand through his short hair; pausing for a minute to remember she had always done this. He dropped his hand too fast and it landed firmly on the wooden stand in front of him. With a smirk and a broken laugh he cleared his throat.
"I loved her, I loved Tate very much. I have since I was fourteen." He cleared his throat a second time and started to speak again "I...Tate...thank you all for coming." Ducking his head, he walked off the same way he had come and sat back in his seat. Sam felt the hole in him flare up with anger as he watched Dean adjust his tie. Serena flew into another round of body wracking sobs and he swore he saw the fires of Hell erupt in Fancy's brown eyes. Everyone around them were in shock, murmuring to their neighbor about what Dean had done but it all stopped when Fancy advanced on him, scalding hot tears rolling down her face.
"What the hell is wrong with you!?" She yelled, her voice breaking down into a shriek.
"Nothing Fancy, that's all I had to say."
"That's bullshit and you know it! You were with Tate for almost fifteen years and all you have to say is that you loved her! You bastard!"
"Fancy what do you want me to do? Cry? Break down? Loose my fucking mind? No, I'm good. Thanks." He said getting up and turning towards the car.
"You're a heartless bastard Dean, I know Tate heard that. Out of all of us, she's probably the most disappointed, the most upset. You just said you loved her, you didn't say a damn thing about anything else. Real nice Dean!" Dean didn't turn around; he kept his back to her.
"Ya know what, how she feels about me is our business; not yours, not Sammy's; ours. So that means, I'll say what I want to say and you'll shut up."
"Dean…"
"Stay out of this Sammy. I'm leaving. I have things to do." Sam watched him walk off to the Impala and past the truck where for the first time they both saw their father. Dean stopped for a second and saw Ben, in a suit and tie, sitting in the front of the cab; starring out the window. He felt his stomach churn, he might not have had said much but he was at least there. Shaking his head, he walked toward the Impala and yanked open the door. The damn car even smelt like her. Rolling down the windows, he put the key in the ignition and turned the radio on full blast. Out of the speakers Steven Tyler screamed 'My Girl'; Tate loved that song.
Sam, working up the nerve, finally walked over to the Impala; leaving a still hysterical Fancy with Serena and leaned in the open passenger's side window. 'My Girl' blared from the speakers and Sam remembered listening to this song all the time when Tate had control of the music. Listening to the words, he watched Dean's face and for a minute, thinking it was a trick of the light, he swore he saw a tear fall. Sam kept listening and soon Steven Tyler's famous screams turned into a high pitched beeping slamming into his ears from somewhere not too far away.
"Oh for God sake's!" A voice came from somewhere else and then the sound of a door opening hit Sam; opening his eyes he saw he was in the guest room at Tate's apartment. Opening them all the way, he let everything around him sink in; the bed below him, the pillow under his head, the sheets and blanket on top of him and the hurried pounding in his skull. The telltale pain brought everything into focus; what he had just seen was a vision, a vision of Tate's funeral. If he could barely handle it there, how could he handle it if really played out?
"Dude, turn that damn thing off!" Tate snapped, her glasses resting on her nose, long hair pulled into a messy bun and still was running around in her pajamas. "Sam, did you hear me?" Sam came out of it when she clapped her hands together in front of his nose. "There ya go. Wake up; its almost ten in the morning. I don't like this new thing you've got going on Sam, sleeping late. It creeps me out a little. Fancy's out of bed already. And why didn't you wake up with the alarm?" He just starred at her, watching her make the noise stop.
"Sam? Sammy? Kiddo, look at me." She said, sitting in front of him. "Sammy?" She let out a shriek when he lunged at her and pulled her into his arms; hugging her tighter than she liked that early in the morning. She didn't know what it was, a nightmare or what, but whatever it was, he was holding onto her as if life depended on it.
"I can't breathe Kiddo!" She gasped out, flicking him behind the ear. He let her go, only to push her back and look her straight in the eyes. "Rough night Sammy? Have a nightmare? What happened, me and Fancy switched places?" She asked, tugging at his hair.
"Yeah, a nightmare."
