Hey, if you're reading this chapter, thanks for sticking with me! I'm sorry if I change the story around a little bit. Nothing too major, just enough to make the OC fit. This is kind of an in-between section to give you a little background on Kimber. Please feel free to review! This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic, so constructive criticism is always appreciated!
(I am not claiming to own Supernatural or any of its characters, just my own OC, Kimber.)
I'm Sorry: Chapter 2 – Getting Acquainted
I watch the streetlamps pass as Dean drives us away from Stanford. I feel numb. I can't focus on anything except for the jumbled phrases lingering in my mind, all different combinations of the thought "Jessica is dead." The car ride to the motel is silent except for our quiet breathing and the occasional heavy sigh. The room is small, barely containing the two queen beds covered in the retro-patterned comforters you often see in cheap motels of the like. The fan of the air conditioner is running, circulating the slightly smoky air but making a metallic clang with every rotation of its blades. Even though it's shabby, it's a better place than I'd spend most nights in since the beginning of this semester. If it wasn't for Sam and Dean, I'd most likely be sleeping outside.
"You can have that bed," Sam points to the bed farthest from the window and the clanging air conditioner. "Dean and I can share tonight."
"Thanks, Sammy. I'm gonna go take a shower, I guess," I say, heading to the bathroom. I stop as I turn the loose handle and spin around to slouch against the doorway. "Hey, I'm really sorry. About everything. You shouldn't have to worry about me right now after all of this. But thank you, Sam, so much." I look at Dean, rifling through his bag behind Sam on the other bed. "And thank you. I know you didn't want to let me come along, but you did anyway." I smile half-heartedly to try and show my appreciation, and he smiles back.
"Kimmy, I couldn't leave you. You've always been there for Jess and me. It's no trouble at all," Sam replies. I smile at them again and turn to step into the bathroom. I turn the rusty knobs of the shower, and an uneven spray of water comes shooting through the pipes. I peel off my pajamas, the shorts and tee covered in sweat and grass stains, and step under the warm water, taking a deep breath as it relaxes my muscles and washes over my cuts. I lean my head on the tile and close my eyes which are now burning from exhaustion. Then I hear voices – Sam and Dean softly talking about me.
"Is she always so… apologetic?" Dean's voice. They must think that I can't hear them.
"No, actually. I'm really surprised."
"Good God, 'cause I don't think I can take this sappy, 'I'm so sorry' stuff for too much longer."
Then the voices become more hushed, whispering harshly to one another. First, I'm unable to make out what they're saying, but slowly their volume rises. They were talking about… a demon?
"I saw her, Dean! That wasn't natural!"
"Sam, calm down. I'll check dad's book for some similarities. We'll figure this out."
"This is all my fault…"
"Oh no, don't go blaming yourself for this. This stuff happens to people all the time."
"If I had just warned her, prepared her…"
"Prepared her? Like dad prepared us? That's no way to live life, and you know it."
Silence.
"Go to bed, Sammy. We'll look into it tomorrow."
All his fault? But it was a fire, an accident. And what was this talk about a demon? And preparing? Well shit, I hope I'm not stuck with some Satan-worshipping psychos. But Sam never seemed that way. Sam is pretty normal, if not a little nerdy and worrisome. Then I hear a knock on the door.
"Hey, uh… Kimber?" It's Dean. "I'm guessing you didn't grab any clothes on your way out, so I'll leave you a shirt and some boxers for when you're done." A pause. "We can go get you some stuff tomorrow so you can, uh, go out. With us. I mean. You know what I mean."
"Yeah, thank you!"
"Alright, night, kiddo."
"Goodnight," I say softly.
When I get out of the shower, I open the bathroom door and see a black cotton shirt and white-and-blue striped boxers folded neatly together at the opening of the doorway. I quickly rub a towel against my head to sop up the water from my short hair and dry myself before throwing on the set. The boxers come down nearly to my knees and the shirt is greatly oversized for my frame, really making me feel like a kid. Nevertheless, I comb my fingers through my hair and travel through the dark of the room where the boys are presumably asleep, slide into the bed closest the wall, and fall asleep taking in the comforting smell of the borrowed clothes.
When I wake up, I look at the digital clock on the nightstand to find that it's already past noon. The boys are already gone, and I'm struck with the fear that they had just left me there until I hear the room key jingling in the door.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," says Dean.
"Surprise, we got you some essentials." Sam holds up a brown paper shopping bag with the name of some local boutique on the side. He tosses it on the bed next to me and reaches into a bag of food, pulling out a burger. I look into the shopping back and rummage through its contents.
"I didn't know your size so I kind of guessed. I hope it's okay." Plain black stretch tee; dark wash blue jeans; a pair of work boots, not too bulky; socks; then I reach the bottom of the bag and shoot a questioning glance at Sam. I continue to pull out five pairs of different colored lace-trim cheekies and three lace bralettes.
"Oh, uh, Dean picked those out," Sam stuttered, obviously flustered by the look on my face. I then turn my attention to Dean.
"What? Girls like pretty underwear. It makes them feel pretty. And I don't know your bra size so I figured those were the best choice," he grins and wiggles his brow at me. I can tell that he's trying to piss me off. I smile regardless.
"34C," I tell him over my shoulder as I bring the bag of clothes into the bathroom to find that everything is a perfect fit. Sam has a good eye.
"Hmm. Doesn't look like it," he mutters. What? So he's looked.
We spend the next week doing research. Sam has told me that he thinks that Jessica's death may not have been an accident, but that is all he says. I'm always accompanied by one of the boys, either sitting with them in the library or waiting in the car while they talk to some old friends or professors. They held a funeral for Jessica, but we didn't go. Instead, we visit the afternoon after the funeral has taken place. I can't find it in me to see her name on that slab of marble, so I wait at the Impala with Dean. Together we watch Sam approach the gravesite with flowers, and he kneels, his lips moving, talking to the memory of Jessica.
"Can I ask you something?" Dean asks me.
"Sure, shoot," I say, still watching Sam.
"How did you know Jessica? I mean, you were obviously close, but I know you weren't related to her."
"We might as well be – I mean, have been. My biological father left my mom when he found out she was pregnant with me. He was older, having an affair with her, cheating on his wife. She hated me for that. She was convinced he would leave his wife for her, and I ruined all that. She was obsessed. Long story short, she would drink, do drugs, beat on me, and when I was old enough to realize that it wasn't normal for a mother to treat her child like that, I left. Jessica was a few years older than me, but she always noticed. I stayed at her house whenever things got bad. She was my best friend, and her family took me in for good. She was like a sister."
"That sounds rough. I'm sorry, kiddo."
"Don't call me kiddo. I'm almost nineteen."
"Yeah, well, you also look like the Hobbit, so."
"Ouch."
"Oh, shut up, you know what I mean." Yeah, I do. I've always been pretty short. Sam starts walking back toward us, wiping the tears off his face. He tries to smile.
"Well, you ready, guys?" he asks.
"Yeah," I reply as Dean walks around to the driver's side and I climb into the back seat. "Where are we going, anyways?"
"Colorado," Dean tells me.