Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: The timeline might be fudged a little, but its set vaguely pre-show for "Supernatural" and towards the end of s3 of "Roswell." AU. Focused on Dean and Maria. Thank you for reading!
It was always pouring when you needed to unload boxes, always. It didn't matter if you were in the middle of a three month drought, if the DeLuca women had to unload supplies, it poured.
Maria DeLuca stared out the windshield willing the rain to stop; times like this being an alien would be so much better than just knowing one- or three. She sighed, maybe Frank would help her unload once he knew she was here. After all, it was his shit she was delivering.
She was talented enough to put her umbrella up and get out of the car and carefully open the back door and pull out one of the smaller boxes. Yep. She was talented enough to do that- and to carry it in one hand up the steps and ignore the flashes of lightning and the torrential rain covering her shoes. When she was on the porch she pounded on the door with her foot.
And pounded again.
And put the box and umbrella down so she could pound with both hands.
"Goddammit!"
The bastard wasn't here. The bastard wasn't here.
She stood there staring at the closed door for a moment longer than was necessary because the bastard wasn't here. Then she called her Mom.
Five minutes of intense arguing later, Mom insisted Maria leave the boxes on the porch. All the boxes- even the big ones she had no hope of getting out of the car without getting wet.
"GODDAMMIT! God-DAMN-it. Goddammit!" She screeched stomping down the stairs, clutching the umbrella again.
"GODDAMMIT!" She yelled again opening the back door and glaring at the boxes inside.
"Now wha's a 'retty 'irl like 'ou cursin' 'bout?"
The umbrella flew out of her hand, "HOLY SHIT!"
It smacked the guy who'd spoken in the face, "Fuck!" he cried.
The umbrella clattered to the ground.
The umbrella was on the ground and she was getting wet and the guy was holding one side of his face and bending over a little a bit like she'd hit him with a three ton anvil and not a lightweight umbrella.
"Tha' hurt," he slurred and she glared through the rain water cascading down her face.
"Dammit!" She growled at him, "DAMMIT."
She was wet.
"What the hell is your problem sneaking up on me like that?"
"Wasn'a sneakin..."
She glared at him again- through the water, "Look, you're a big guy and all, but you're drunk off your ass and I have no problem kicking you in the balls so stay away from me." She warned.
She was pissed, she was wet for godssake.
She'd unloaded two boxes when she turned around and smacked into Drunk Guy. He stumbled back- holding one of her boxes.
"Seriously man! What the HELL?" She yelled, the rain had gotten hard. It was hard to see now; hard to blink with all the water on your face.
Good thing Alien keychains were hardy.
He grinned at her, water sliding off his nose, "M'helping 'ou." He stated and staggered up the stairs.
"Great, my drunk hero."
She stomped back to the car. The inside of the Jetta was soaked. Two boxes left.
Drunk Guy helped her with them- in a very unsteady, highly drunken way. It didn't matter though because all six boxes were on the freakin porch and she was going kill Frank next she saw him.
"Thanks for the help." She yelled at Drunken Guy. He was staggering away from her already, down the street in an unsteady swagger that made her frown. He raised his hand in the air and waved her off. If she'd been dry and it wasn't past eight o'clock she might've given the entire situation more thought.
But she wasn't and it was and she got in the Jetta because she wanted to go home.
She'd driven less than a block when she came up on Drunk Guy lying by the side of the road.
"I'm not stopping. I'm not stopping. I'm not stopping. It's raining. He could be a psycho killer. I'm not stopping."
The Jetta slid to a stop.
"Dammit." She shivered, it was chilly.
She shoved the door open and made her way over to Drunk Guy.
"Hey you! You wanna get up from there? 's there someone you want me to call?"
He was spitting up water. Leaving his mouth open so it'd fill up and then spitting it out, letting it dribble all over.
Lovely.
She knelt next to him, "Hey! I'm talkin to you! What're you doin out here?"
"... ghost 'ttacked me... wasn' poltergeist..."
She scowled, he was delirious. "What?" She yelled.
"... was wrong... no' poltergei'... ghos'..."
She didn't have time to decipher his babbling.
Especially if it was about ghosts, like aliens weren't bad enough.
"You live around here?" She asked, raising her hand to her face, trying to stop some of the water from getting into her eyes.
"... I 'ive no where..." he told her, then started gargling with the water.
Gross.
"You can't stay here!"
The gargling continued.
"No. I'm not doing it. I'm not... no. I'm not. No way."
Lightning flashed and she pulled Drunk Guy into a sitting position. "Come on."
Ten minute later she'd deposited him into her back seat. He babbled about disappearing roads and tequila and poltergeist and seriously? What guy babbled about movies when he was drunk? She parked in the driveway and turned the ignition off.
"Okay, listen to me."
"... didn' know sand 'ot so 'ard when i' got we'..." he mumbled, head lolling forward, "... it was rea' har'... not 'andy at all..."
"Yeah. Magic-"
"-mmm, know 'bout that..."
"- great. I'm going to leave you here. In the morning when I come out here there are two options, A) you and the car will be here or B) the car will be here and you will not. If the car is not here, I will hunt you down and don't for one second think I can't or won't because you have no idea who you're dealing with here, buddy. Oh and of those two options the better one is definitely option B. If I were you I would totally go for option B, understand?"
Thunder rumbled as soon as she'd finished.
"Tha's loud..." he complained.
"You didn't even hear me did you?"
"Bee... you sai' bee. Bees sting. I go' 'tung once. Did ya know 'hat? They're 'mall, but they 'ting..."
"Yeah. Great. Sleep it off. Christ. The stuff I get into," she muttered, rolling her eyes. With one last look at him she made a dash for the front door. He was probably a psycho, it would server her right if he tried to smother her in her sleep- or if he took off with the Jetta. True, she'd taken the keys, but he had the look of a guy who could hot-wire a car. Worn boots, blue jeans, raggedy shirt; the rain and darkness kept her from seeing much more, but any guy who'd get this drunk was some form of trouble.
And she'd filled her quota of trouble- for a lifetime.
Inside her house she stripped all the way to her room, dropping garments as she went. Grabbing the towel hanging from her door, she wrapped it around herself. She was shivering and for a moment she thought about Drunk Guy and how he must be cold too- or maybe not. Maybe the alcohol intoxication kept him warm.
Back in the living room, she checked to see if the Jetta was still there. It was. Lightning flashed again, followed by thunder... Michael had come to her on a night like this once. He'd come to her when he'd had no where else to go, his port a storm. She'd liked that thought; thought it meant something.
It hadn't.
She hated nights like this one.
.tbc.