A/N: I'll make it short...this was my original plot bunny for "Family isn't always blood..."; that was supposed to be a short introduction into Sophie and it sort of took on a mind of it's own. That being said, this was completely written because of all of your amazing comments and support. So, I hope you like it!
The bitter late fall air seeped through the window that refused to close all the way-causing the loose papers on the desk to flap feebly before they finally broke free and fluttered to the floor, joining the array of papers and books that already littered the ground.
Bobby scowled at the paper. Snatching up a book from his desk, he propped it up against the window. It didn't do anything to stop the air from coming in, but at least it altered the direction so his research would stay on his desk.
Taking a long pull from the whiskey bottle on his right, Bobby fought his exhaustion and continued to stare at the wealth of information in front of him. Somewhere in the pile of books, there was an answer; he just had to keep looking until he found it.
To say that he had fallen into his work would be putting it lightly. It was either dive back into hunting or the bottle and he'd like to think that he was balancing the two...just the right amount of hunting to keep the alcohol in check.
He may have been keeping everything in check, but he wasn't walking on sunshine. It was nearing Thanksgiving and the only contact he had with Sophie was in the form of a letter that arrived four days ago. The letter wasn't long, only a few sentences explaining that Sophie was going to Bria's, her roommate, for the Thanksgiving holiday. The only thing that kept Bobby from driving the store and stocking up on whiskey was that she had called his place home. It gave him the small spark of hope necessary to keep his promise of letting her figure out everything without interference.
He suspected that she might be feeding updates through Alex's parents because they would periodically stop him in the grocery store and mention something that she was doing or how her classes were going. She even seemed to be getting along with her roommate. Alex's parents didn't know her name, but a quick search gave him Bria Callaghan. First generation Irish-American, no discernible skeletons in her family's closet.
Rubbing an ink-stained hand across his face, Bobby dragged himself out of the squeaky chair and let his feet lead him to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Once the sweet sound of coffee dripping into the pot could be heard, Bobby dug through the cupboards, pass the green beans and creamed corn he didn't know why he bought, until he found the loan can of chili. The chili wasn't exactly homemade, but he wasn't trying to impress anyone. It also signaled that it was time for another trip to the store...unless he wanted to experiment with what green beans and creamed corn tasted like mixed together.
"So, how come I've never seen you around here before?"
Caleb rolled his eyes as Dean leaned into the blond, not crossing into her space, but suggestively pressing against it and waiting for permission. He didn't know why the kid was waiting-the chick was obviously interested. But, maybe Dean had a method; he'd certainly been successful enough over the past few weeks that Caleb couldn't find fault.
"Ah, I'm on a business trip with my good friend, Erwin." Dean jerked his head in Caleb's direction and grinned when he caught the unamused expression before Caleb got control of it and turned it into agreement.
"Yep," he supplied simply.
"What business brings you to Fairview?" The blond asked curiously, her fingers toying with the cuff of Dean's jacket.
Dean turned his hand so that he could tap her fingers playfully, "Boring business stuff, so let's talk about you."
Dean's muscles tightened and he froze as a beer bottle that was left on the coffee table rattled before tipping over. Glancing over his shoulder, he made sure that he could sense no movement and then rubbed his hand over his shin briskly. Snatching up his jacket off of the couch, he used the street light that was filtering in through the blinds to guide him to the door. Thankfully, he escaped from the small house without any detection.
Dropping into the driver's seat, Dean glanced into the rear-view mirror and then pushed it away so it wasn't facing him.
...What was he doing?
Ever since the road trip with Sophie had ended in disaster, he had thrown himself full-heartedly into the life. Sophie grounded him and if he couldn't be friends with her, then he might as well.
His dad certainly appreciated the change. No more evenings spent on the phone-they were now devoted to research or training. John didn't think Dean had gone on as many runs over his entire life than he had in the past couple of months.
He was also more focused. There hadn't been any more mistakes like with the spirit in Amherst. Anything that made Dean a better hunter, made him quicker, made him lose the hesitation that he always had, couldn't be a bad thing in his dad's eyes.
...Well, it might not be a bad thing if it was true. But in reality, the extra training, constant researching, the increased alcohol and near constant flow of girls were like a bandaid. A nice cover-up for the gaping wound...the signs of it obvious if anyone looked closely. And if he slowed down for a minute, he would succumb to it.
Compared to the alternative, Dean would take the bandaid every time.
"Have you gone through your drills yet?"
Sam didn't look up from the books he had spread over the rickety table. "Not yet," he replied distractedly.
"Go do them," John ordered, jamming his feet into his boots.
"I will later," he bravely replied. "I'm right in the middle of this project for school and I think I've almost figured it out."
John glanced up to find that Sam hadn't moved an inch. "Now, Sam."
Sam reluctantly pulled away from his books and sent his dad a face that clearly said he didn't have time to be distracted. "I'll...where are you going?"
"Out." John threw he jacket on and moved towards his youngest.
"Out where?" Sam questioned insistently, his eyebrows knitting together and his pencil tapping out a beat that was a sure-fire way to irritate his dad.
"Out." John repeated, stopping near the table, forcing Sam to crane his neck to see him.
Sam rolled his eyes upward with the dual intent of expressing his annoyance and to see his dad. Giving up on trying to get a straight answer, Sam let out a huff of air. "Okay."
Clearing his throat with purpose, John pinned his son with a stern gaze that demanded obedience. "Get your drills done before I come home."
"When's that gonna be? Do I have a few hours or a few weeks?" Sam snarkily asked, his pencil still tapping away.
Knowing that no answer was going to satisfy his son, John snatched the pencil away from Sam before he snapped it in half in frustration. "Just get them done."
The slurred curse was the first indication, the slight stumble was the second and the third, entirely unneeded, was the wave of noxious smell that assaulted his nose when his dad neared the beds.
Nervously, Sam checked the alarm clock that sat in between the beds. He had gotten sucked into the book he was reading and had lost track of time-otherwise he would have made sure he was asleep before his dad got home, or at least pretended to be. Usually when their dad would go out, Dean would run interference between them. When they were kids, Sam thought it was because Dean didn't want Sam to see their dad in a bad light. The past few years, it was probably because they butted heads on a good day and Dean didn't want any of the arguments to escalate.
But...Dean wasn't there; he was off with Caleb on a series of hunts for the past couple of weeks. So, it was up to him to walk the tightrope that was a drunk John Winchester.
"Why're you up?" John asked, his words slurred, but there was a stony awareness in his eyes.
"I was reading," Sam explained, his tone defiant.
"Ch'you do your drills?" John bit out while he stalked around the small motel room.
Sam's defiance seeped out of him; Dean was the storyteller, not him. Their dad could almost always tell when he was lying. "Yeah," he tried to keep his tone even.
"Get up," John ordered, stomping over to Sam's bed.
"No, I'm gonna finish this and go to sleep."
Maybe they were too used to Dean being a calming buffer because they were both surprised by John's next move. Moving faster than any drunk person had rights to, John leapt forward and grasped Sam by the upper arm and drug him from his bed.
"What are you doing!?" Sam shouted as his feet clumsily hit the ground and he was yanked upright by his dad.
"Do your damn drills," John barked. He didn't plan on doing this, but now that he had started, he had no choice but to keep going. If he backed down, Sam would see it as a victory and that was the last thing he needed.
"Get off of me!" Sam hollered, trying in vain to regain control of his arm.
John growled low in his throat. Sam didn't see it, he never had. Dean understood. Understood that this stuff was important and could save his life. John knew that one day he might not come home and this was the only way he knew how to make sure that his sons would be okay.
Shoving Sam bodily away from him in his conviction that he was only doing what was necessary, John snapped, "You're not going to sleep until you do what I tell you to."
Sam bit his lip and forced himself to not grimace or rub his arm to sooth the burning ache where his dad had gripped him. And he could ignore the stinging sensation in his eyes, but he couldn't prevent the tears that welled up-part a reaction to the pain and the slight sense of betrayal he felt at his dad's actions.
Releasing a shaky puff of air, Sam let his body fall to the ground and caught himself with his hands before lowering to begin his push-ups...he couldn't wait until Dean finished up with Caleb and rejoined them. Without Dean, he didn't know how much longer he could handle being with his dad.
"Have you never seen a horror movie before?" Sophie's joking question was ruined by the slightly breathless tone that she asked it in.
"Come on, what's gonna happen? We're on campus and it's not that much further."
"Alright, that's it. We're gonna be dead by morning. You've just signed our death certificates!" Sophie exclaimed, holding her arm out to balance herself as she wobbled on the heels she had borrowed from her roommate. "We aren't even going to be able to run…we're like trussed up turkeys on Thanksgiving."
"Oh, shut up. All you've done since you've gotten here is study. I've been begging you to come out with me and now that I've gotten you away from your books, you aren't going back until you've had some fun."
"I like books," Sophie defended. "And they won't kill me."
"Sure they will, you'll die from sexual frustration because you're never going to get some unless you get out of our room more."
"I don't want to get some," Sophie's hand grabbed unto her roommate's shoulder as she stumbled. "I just want to be me."
"Well, being you isn't getting you anyone," Bria unknowingly hit on the same criticism that Alex had of her.
"What is it about me that makes everyone say that?!" Sophie nearly shouted in exasperation. "Do I have something written on my forehead that says 'I'm not interesting, move on'?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it." When Bria apologized, Sophie actually believed it, unlike the all the times Alex had thrown an apology at her. "It's just…I've seen you with Chase…"
"We're just friends," Sophie argued.
"Yeah, friends who flirt. It's like you don't realize that you're doing it and when you do, you panic and run off. Just one date, that's all I'm asking for. If I'm wrong then you can have a full month of uninterrupted study time in our room."
"It's complicated…" Sophie let her sentence drop off as the air shifted around them, stirring up the crunchy leaves beneath their feet.
Bria didn't seem to notice as she interjected, "That's what people always say, but it usually isn't…"
"Hey, I think we should head back," Sophie interrupted nervously, goose bumps breaking out over her arms.
"No, no, no, you aren't getting out of this. You promised me one night of fun."
"I…" Sophie hesitated. Was it her over active imagination, not wanting to go to a party, or a legitimate feeling of danger? "Look, if we go back now, I'll text Chase…but can we please go back?"
Bria spun around, her hair twirling behind her; she was going to tell Sophie to suck it up, but the look of worry was enough to convince her to yield to her roommate's request. "Fine, but you're texting him the second we get back."
"Okay, let's just get out of here," Sophie reached out and tugged on Bria's arm, relieved when they started back towards the dorms. As Bria switched gears into talking up the benefits of guys like Chase, Sophie looked over her shoulder and decided that it was probably just the setting that gave her the chills-the foggy walkway between the old buildings and trees, the wind that cut through her clothes, the flickering lamp post...all of it combined to form the setting of one of the horror movies Dean used to make her watch and it was just the memory of those that made her nervous. But, seeing as it got her out of going to the party, she'd take it.