The first rule of bus stops is that no one talks at bus stops.
Except for when it rains, of course. Which was quite frequently, as it turned out.
Waiting for a bus in the rain seemed to bring out some random conversations. All it took was a bit of wet weather, a back log of traffic and the normally reserved brits chatted away to each other like they were best buddies.
On his way to work each morning he would often see the same people waiting for the same bus at the same time, and a typical conversation would be something like:
"This bloody weather. Can you see for me love…is the bus going to be long?" one old lady would ask, peering at the electronic display at the end of the bus shelter.
"Which bus, ma'am?" He would ask politely.
"D8. Tsk…" She would tut and shake her head that he didn't automatically know where she was headed off too that day.
"I'm on that one too…it says 9 more minutes." Sam would hope that the conversation would end there. But no. These things almost always carried on.
"What do you think of this rain eh? Gets worse every year. Global warming, it's a disgrace."
Sam would nod politely, put his hands in his overcoat pockets and make a show of looking for his Oyster card.
"And you would think the busses would hurry up a bit when it's pissing down, get us poor sods out of the rain? Look at this queue. Disgraceful."
Sam, not wanting to argue that perhaps busses shouldn't speed up in the wet, would cough awkwardly and attempt to turn away. Then, invariably, either the homeless man who drank a can of Special Brew every morning, or the young mum with a baby in a stroller would join in. "And there won't be any room on the bus when it gets here. Rush hour's fucking joke".
"Too right" agreed the old woman. "The bloody money we pay for this service is a disgrace..."
Sam would step out of the conversation at his point, and look around for Lara. She always seemed to know when Sam had enough social awkwardness for one morning and would swoop down to save him. He had only known her a couple of weeks, and they only ever saw each other at this particular bus stop, but he looked forward to their morning talk.
It was still only light superficial chit-chat; forgot my umbrella, tubes on strike next week, that sort of thing. But she had a smile that was so warm and friendly, he forgot for a few short moments how lonely he was. And she had such soft hair. He had accidentally brushed against it once as they got on a crowded bus, and since then he felt like a total pervert for having to force himself to not reach out and touch it again. Lara seemed close to his age and worked at the same building at Canada Square, although around 30 floors above him for a different firm.
They first got chatting when Special Brew man's dog knocked her arm, and she dropped her bus pass under a taxi. The cabbie wouldn't move so she could get it, and Sam ended up arguing with the asshole until he moved his cab. She had laughed as he picked up her sopping wet Oyster card, and thanked him for being so chivalrous as he flapped it about in the wind, to try and dry it off.
They always sat next to each other on the bus, but the intimacy of being squashed next to someone on a crowded space was awkward, and they didn't really speak except to say 'bye' as they went their separate ways. Their names, and where they worked, was all they really knew about each other – for all he knew she was married with three kids, but something inside of him wasn't ready yet to get close to someone again, and he wasn't ready to ask her any personal questions.
For now, the brief bus stop meetings were enough.
Flashback to six weeks earlier
Dean?
How could that be Dean's voice? – his brother was dead…. Jesus, the ghosts of Christmas past were really coming back to haunt him. He giggled that he had no imaginary salt to sprinkle on his imaginary family. He turned back to the window to see his brother arguing furiously with his mom.
Fuck, this was weird. His head span and he laughed again. Hysteria was beginning to set it in, and it actually felt ok to lose it a bit.
Their argument was gibberish, it made no sense to Sam.
Mary (angry): "You know I need to do this Dean!"
Dean (frustrated): "And you also know it's a blood lock!"
Mary (quietly): "I'm family Dean. That has to count for SOMETHING!"
Dean (still frustrated): And if it was ME in that cell, it would. But it won't work for Sam. You know that!"
Mary (angry again): "It WILL. I have to try and save him!"
Dean (at the end of his tether): "You know I'm the only person who can open that door. So let me through mom!"
Sam watched as his mom and his brother tried to push each other out of the way of his cell door. He couldn't have imagined a more bizarre sight to hallucinate if he tried. He could see that Dean wasn't trying to hurt his mom at all, so Mary quickly got the upper hand and shoved Dean on his ass.
It took Mary no time at all to slash at the palm of her hand and grab the door handle.
Nothing happened.
Of course it didn't. Mary wasn't really there in the first place. It hurt Sam though, to see her face screw up in pain at failure. She looked devastated. Then the expression on her face turned darker, and Sam grew scared.
Mary turned her hard expression to Dean, still on the floor.
Dean (confused): "Mom...what are you…?"
Mary (softly): "I love you Dean. I love you both. Remember that."
Sam couldn't believe what he was seeing. He watched dazedly as his mom lashed out with a boot, and kicked Dean sharply in the head, knocking him out cold. She knelt down over her eldest son, and cut his arm deeply, deep enough to cup a large handful of his blood in her gashed fist.
Calmly, steadily she stood up and faced Sam.
"I love you Sammy. I always have and I always will." She reached out and grasped the door handle with her bloody palm. Immediately there was a flash so bright that Sam's retinas burned, and he turned away instinctively.
When he looked back up, spots blurring his vision, the door was gone and so was his mom.