Xander and Avery stumbled through the theater doors out onto the sidewalk, barely able to remain upright with the laughter wracking their bodies. Xander had an arm wrapped around his stomach and was nearly doubled-over at the waist while Avery clung to Xander's side for support. At a glance a passerby would probably think them a couple or possibly old friends sharing a joke.
"Oh man," Avery wheezed as her laughing finally started to wind down. "I don't think I've ever laughed so hard." She wiped at her eyes which were nearly brimming now after such heavy laughter. "Do you think the director intended that scene to be so funny?" Avery asked.
Xander's laughter was finally calming enough that he noticed the way Avery's body was still pressing close to his and it took a minute before he was able to process the question and form a reply, "I don't know; you'd think deathbed dialogue should have a little more depth. Maybe if they'd cut the bad accents. 'Twas the chicken," Xander mimicked the earlier scene from the movie, tweaking the dialogue slightly and completing the act with gasping breath and a tacky accent, "'Twere bad."
Avery dissolved into another round of laughs, leaning heavily on Xander again, and he laughed in returned, his arm moving around her shoulders of its own accord.
When their laughing had tapered off again, Avery took in a lungful of air trying to recover her breath but was still unable to wipe the huge grin off her face. "I don't think Molly Phillips appreciated our movie commentary as much as we did."
Xander gave her an inquisitive look, "Who?"
"The woman sitting in front of us," Avery explained.
Xander vaguely remembered the prim-looking blonde woman who sat in the row in front of them and shot them snide looks as they played a round of Mystery Science Theater.
Avery continued, leaning in closer to whisper conspiratorially, "She's the town's biggest gossip. No doubt she was just dying for the movie to end so she could go talk about us around town."
Xander gave a mock-worried expression, "She'll no doubt paint me as the dangerous out-of-towner, here to corrupt all impressionable young women."
"Actually, that sounds more like your brother Dean's MO," Avery corrected, slight disapproval coloring her voice.
Xander bristled a little at her tone, strangely feeling the need to rush to his brother's defense even though he didn't really know the man well enough to contradict her statement and suspected that it was probably more accurate rather than less. However, it didn't really matter whether the statement were true or not; he didn't like the slight against his brother that she seemed to be implying, and the protectiveness that welled up in him, a feeling that was usually reserved for Buffy or Willow, caught him off guard.
Then Avery turned and graced him with a shy, sweet smile, and he felt some of his defensiveness ease up.
"I don't think you have much to worry about though. Most people know better than to believe anything Molly says," Avery confided.
"So I shouldn't worry about getting run out of town with torches and pitchforks?"
Avery shook her head. "No, I definitely think you should stick around."
That was when they both seemed to notice how close together they were standing with Xander's arm wrapped around Avery's shoulders and her hands almost clutching at his shirt. They both blushed brightly and moved away, putting some space between them.
Xander cleared his throat, then drawled, "So…um…" He glanced at his watch, "I guess it's getting kind of late."
"Yeah, and I have the morning shift again tomorrow; I should probably call it a night," Avery said regretfully. She lowered her face a bit, causing her hair to fall forward hiding her face behind its veil. "But I suppose I could walk you back first," she suggested shyly.
"That's very chivalrous of you," Xander teased her playfully.
Avery looked up with a grin, "Well, I believe in feminism as much as the next girl. Why should men have to do all the work?"
"Here, here," Xander rooted.
He turned in the direction of the bed-and-breakfast to start off the walk, and as he did, Avery tentatively slipped her hand into his. He glanced at her and she seemed to give him a questioning sort of look, so he smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. She smiled back and they began ambling down the sidewalk at an easy pace.
"So your brothers didn't mind sparing you for the night?" Avery asked.
"No, actually they had some stuff of their own to take care of," Xander replied with a somewhat melancholy tone. As a matter of fact, they had damn near shoved him out the door.
When Xander had come back from his shower, he had asked them what their plans were for the night. They told him that they had tracked down the job they were supposed to work and would be working on that while he was gone. Xander had offered to cancel his date in order to help them out, thinking it was the least he could do since they'd invited him along, but both men rejected that idea so vehemently that it gave Xander some pause.
The way they had both jumped up and yelled 'no' at his suggestion was more than a little disconcerting. They tried to play it off as not wanting to interfere with Xander's date, or as Dean put it, "You don't stand in the way of another guy getting some action unless you want the girl for yourself," but Xander couldn't help but worry that their refusal had less to do with his date and more to do with being rid of him for an evening. Despite their protestations that it wasn't a difficult job and that he'd likely be bored, Xander had difficulty keeping the grin on his face as he'd joked back, "Well at least one of us might have some fun tonight."
That had led Dean into another impromptu lesson on technique, and somewhere around the discussion about the fine line between nibbling and biting, Xander had blurted that he shouldn't keep Avery waiting and bolted for the door.
Still, several times throughout the movie Xander's mind had wandered to what his brothers were doing and why they'd seemed so desperate to be free of him. He kept telling himself that he was probably just over-thinking things.
Avery gave his hand a squeeze and moved in a little closer so that their arms rubbed together, "Well, I'm glad you were able to come. I had a really good time."
Xander pushed his worries to the back of his mind. "I did too. Although the movie left a lot to be desired."
"Yes, but I think our commentary improved it," Avery kidded. "Despite what Molly may have thought," she chuckled.
"And let's not forget the M&Ms. Nearly everything can be improved with chocolate or mass amounts of sugar," Xander added.
Avery laughed, "You weren't kidding when you said you were a junk-food junkie, were you?"
"Not at all," Xander answered. "In fact, I may have been understating things just a bit."
"Just a bit, huh?" Avery playfully bumped into him, and when he turned to look at her she gave him a sly grin.
Xander's heart raced a bit and he grinned back. For several seconds it seemed all they could do was stare at each other. If they kept it up much longer one of them was likely to trip, and no doubt if Dean were there he would tell Xander to stop being so girly. That thought brought Xander's thinking back around to his brothers and sobered his mood a bit. It was a little annoying that they had managed to get him so out-of-sorts.
Xander turned his gaze back to the sidewalk, "So how'd Spot like his new home?"
"Um…huh?" Avery voiced, apparently not prepared for the change of topic.
"Spot. You remember…short, floppy ears, likes to lick," Xander prodded.
"Right, of course," Avery frowned. "Spot is…um…great." Avery's face changed then, her eyes glinting with amusement, "Razor really seemed to like him. They had a really fun game of chase."
"Really?" Xander's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Spot hadn't really seemed steady enough on his feet for a good chase, but it was good to hear that the dog was settling in happily.
By now the two had almost reached the bed-and-breakfast.
"Hey Xander?" Avery questioned as they came up in front of the two-story house.
"Yeah?" Xander asked, turning to her.
"I'll be done working for the day sometime in the early afternoon. I thought, maybe, if you're still in town and aren't busy with your brothers…do you think you'd want to hang out again. There's probably not much else in town to do," Avery rambled on, "but maybe we can have a late lunch, or get some ice cream, or-"
"I'd love to," Xander cut in, sparing her from having to come up with more activities. She didn't need try so hard to interest him; Xander was usually easily impressed.
"Good," Avery replied quietly with a soft smile. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow? We can meet at the diner, if that's okay."
"Sounds good to me," Xander agreed, and then a thought suddenly occurred to him, "Avery, shouldn't I walk you home or something? With a possible rabid animal on the loose, walking home alone might not be safe."
Xander spied Dean's car parked nearby. "I could ask Dean to give you a ride," Xander suggested.
Avery looked vaguely surprised by the offer, "No, that's okay. I'm sure I'll be fine."
The thought of Avery walking around unguarded made Xander uneasy. This town may not be on a Hellmouth, but that didn't mean it was safe to walk around alone at night. "Are you sure? I doubt it would be any trouble."
"I'm sure," Avery told him confidently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "My place really isn't far from here, and, besides, all those attacks happened near the woods," Avery explained in a convinced tone.
"Well…if you're sure," Xander conceded reluctantly.
Avery smiled a moment, and then took Xander completely by surprise when she rose on the tip of her toes and pressed a soft kiss to Xander's lips. She drew back slowly and whispered, "I'll see you tomorrow, Xander."
She drew away with a smile, gave a shy wave before turning, and then began walking away down the sidewalk. Xander blinked after her with a stunned expression. When her actions finally seemed to register a small grin made it way to Xander's face. After Avery turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Xander made his way into the house.
Dean was not in a good mood. There were several things that took a high ranking on the 'Pisses-Dean-Off' scale, and several of them had happened today. He hated chick-flick moments. Sometimes people had emotional moments, but that did not mean they had to talk about them which, much to Dean's dismay, is often what Sam wanted to do. This time Sam picked the middle of the woods during a hunt to want a heart-to-heart about where their father was. Luckily for Dean, or maybe not so luckily, a monster chose that moment to come barreling through the trees. And that was another thing on Dean's list. He hated demons, spirits, and basically anything supernatural that tried to make a nuisance of itself, like the creature they ran into earlier. However, those were usually resolved by killing or exorcising said demons or spirits, which is what happened to the monster they'd tumbled with in the woods. Also ranking high on the list was having to clean demon guts off the interior of his car, which was an unfortunate side-effect of killing demons.
And possibly at the top of the 'Pisses-Dean-Off' scale was having to patch up his brother. Not the actual patching, of course. If he had to, Dean would gladly sacrifice his favorite shirt (assuming he had a favorite) to patch Sam up. Dean just hated to see his brother hurt, and it wasn't just because he had to deal with Sam's complaining (which, to be honest, he rarely ever did) but rather because he felt responsible for Sam. He had felt it since the moment he'd carried him out the burning wreckage of their home and probably always would, not that Dean would ever go so far as to admit it out loud.
It pissed him off even more when Sam got hurt because of Dean's stupid plan. Roam around the woods looking for a creature they knew nothing about. Great idea. Split up while being chased by the creature they knew nothing about. Even better. Damnit, that was why he had Sam with him, to talk him out of his stupid ideas.
The gashes the creature had made in Sam's back were fairly deep, and as Dean cleaned off the blood and dirt and rubbed on the antiseptic, Sam couldn't help but hiss through gritted teeth. But you didn't grow up a Winchester without learning to handle a little pain, or a lot of pain for that matter. Sam handled it like the soldier their dad had trained them to be, and Dean was just grateful that Sam wouldn't need stitches.
Still, Dean had only just finished bandaging Sam up, and already a little blood was starting to seep through the white gauze. Anger flared through Dean, and for a moment he almost wished the demon were still alive so he could give it a little more grief.
Sam winced and hissed again as he moved off the bed to stand.
"Ah, suck it up," Dean scolded, though his eyes followed his brother with concern. Despite himself he added, "You should probably take some aspirin or something."
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said grumpily, waving off Dean's mothering as he dug a bottle of aspirin out of his bag.
They both jumped when the door banged open, and Xander came racing in, huffing as though he'd run up the entire flight of stairs with a harpy on his tail. Dean was ashamed to admit that he'd almost forgotten about the younger man. He'd gotten so used to it being only him and Sam that every once in a while he couldn't help but think of Xander as an interloper, especially with everything they had to hide from him.
The younger man's sudden arrival had caught Dean off guard, and it was a good thing Dean's sidearm was across the room because that demon attack had left him tense enough that he might have accidentally shot Xander without thinking. And wouldn't that have been the perfect ending to the night. Get one brother nearly shredded to death and then shoot the other.
"Man," Xander started, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Martha really has it bad for you," he told Dean as he moved further into the room. "I didn't think I was going to get away from-" Xander stopped mid-sentence, his nose scrunching up as a displeased expression stole across his face. "What's that smell?"
Dean's eyes shot over to the pile of clothes in the corner, still drenched in demon goo. Right. He knew there was something he was forgetting. "Paint gone bad," Dean lied. "Managed to get it all over my clothes." The creature's blood was green; it could be mistaken for some tasteless shade of paint, right?
Xander eyed the pile of clothes distastefully, "Gone bad? I think that's an understatement. I didn't even know paint did that. I think your best bet is to just burn those."
Xander noticed Sam's back then and his eyes widened almost comically, "Geez! What happened to you?"
"He fell off a ladder," Dean supplied. Sam let Dean field the questions as he popped a couple pills in his mouth and gulped them down with a bottle of water.
Xander turned a disbelieving look on Dean, "Through what? A window?"
"Dude, he's fine, all right? Don't worry so much." Dean was a little annoyed with the concern and worry etching Xander's features; damnit, that was Dean's job, though it may not be implicitly stated.
"I leave you two alone for a few hours, and when I get back, you're a complete mess." Xander's word came out teasingly, a wry expression on his face, but Dean could still read the underlying concern in his voice and eyes.
"Trust me. We managed," Dean told him.
Dean thought Xander's face fell a little at his words, and he wondered if maybe they came out a bit harsher than he meant them but shrugged off his concern at the thought.
Sam had finished his water and was now stretching out face-down on the far bed, smothering his face exhaustedly into his pillow. Considering his injuries, Dean hoped even more tonight than most nights that his brother could sleep nightmare-free.
Dean turned away from Xander and moved to his own bag. "How'd your date go?" he asked, pushing the conversation onto Xander's night rather than their own.
"Good," Xander answered with a little more enthusiasm. "Better than my last date at any rate. Not much could top prom with Anya."
Dean gave Xander a quizzical look. He'd never made it to his own prom, so he wasn't sure what all that sort of date might entail.
Xander shrugged, "Anya is just…well, Anya."
Dean couldn't guess any of the specifics, but he'd met a few women who seemed to redefine their sex; maybe this Anya was just one of those women.
"Anyhow," Xander continued, "the movie sucked, but the rest seemed to go all right."
"Well, come on, man, spill," Dean pried.
Dean noticed how Xander was trying to fight a grin, "Well, she did kiss me."
"Now we're getting to the good stuff," Dean smirked. "And?"
Xander looked confused now, as if he'd missed some part of the conversation, "And…then she went home."
Dean's earlier excitement deflated, "That's it? That's all you got?"
A heavy sigh came from Sam's bed as he dragged his face out of his pillow to grumble, "Dean, not every guy falls into bed with a girl five minutes after meeting her."
Dean ignored Sam, offering Xander some comforting words instead. "It's okay, Xan," he said, the nickname rolling easily off his tongue. "You'll get better with practice, and I'm sure you'll have better luck next time."
Xander still seemed confused more than reassured, but he threw out with a tentative smile, "Well, she did ask me to meet her at work tomorrow."
Dean frowned, realizing this bit of information could complicate matters. Having taken care of the creature, they had no reason to stick around now and would be leaving town tomorrow.
"Actually, when I said better luck next time, I meant next girl, next town," Dean explained carefully. "We're going to head out tomorrow."
Xander's smile faltered and his eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why?"
"We finished our job," Dean gave a half-shrug. "Time to go."
Xander's eyes narrowed. "You mean the job where Sam fell off a ladder and you spilled paint everywhere?"
Dean didn't know what the younger man was trying to imply, but he made it sound like Sam and Dean were the two most incompetent handymen he'd ever seen. Rather than argue the point, Dean ran with it. "Okay, so we got fired. The point is we're leaving."
"What about-" Xander blurted then stopped suddenly. He started again, more hesitantly this time, "I thought you said your dad might meet you here. Have you seen or heard from him?"
Dean had to fight from groaning audibly. First Sam, now Xander. The two might as well be tag-teaming.
"He's not here," Sam answered with certainty, lifting his upper body off the bed with a wince and resting his weight on his forearms as he looked over to Xander. "And we're not likely to see or hear from him."
Please don't let this digress into a chick-flick moment, Dean practically begged.
Xander just nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"Doesn't mean we can't stick around a little longer," Sam suggested tiredly, shifting his gaze over to Dean. Dean met his brother's gaze, read his expression, and guessed that Sam didn't want to stay in this God-forsaken town any more than Dean did. Sam probably wanted to stay even less since having been sent by their farther made it a further annoyance for Sam, but apparently he was willing to stay longer for Xander's sake.
Dean decided on a compromise. "We can wait till early tomorrow evening. I could do with some extra sleep anyway. But we aren't staying here another night," he warned them firmly.
Xander gave a small accepting smile, then suddenly his smile bloomed into a full-blown grin with a hint of mischief. "You're just scared that Martha will have her wicked way with you if you spend too many nights under her roof, aren't you?"
Dean glowered. "Dude, that's not even funny."
Xander laughed at his expense and even Sam gave a smile as he snuggled back down into his pillow. Dean felt that maybe he needed to practice his menacing look because obviously he was loosing his touch.
"Just for that, you get to sleep on the rollaway," Dean ordered and plopped down on the other unclaimed bed as if he hadn't fully intended to claim it anyway under the pretense of seniority.
Xander just shrugged as he moved over to the small rollaway bed that Martha had so kindly provided for them.
Both men stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt, and Dean hit the light before crawling into bed.
"'Night, Sam. 'Night, Dean," Xander called out in the darkness.
"G'night, Xander," the two older brothers returned in unison.
Xander shuffled on the bed and gave a sleepy chuckle, "I feel like the Waltons."
"Shut up and go to sleep, John-Boy," Dean grumbled as he tried to shape his overstuffed pillow into something more conducive to rest.
The quiet stillness of night crept into the room, and as Dean's body relaxed into the mattress he relented that perhaps tonight hadn't ended so badly after all. They'd killed the creature terrorizing the town of Waiverton, likely saving countless lives in the process, and his brothers, both old and new, were safely tucked into bed, even if one was a little worse for wear. Dean's lips quirked in a small smile as he drifted off to sleep. All in all, things could be a lot worse.
Jim Hastings had abandoned his perch on his front-porch rocking chair several hours earlier just as the sun's last rays were losing their hold on the western corner of the sky. His mind had been wandering all afternoon down the worn paths of his memories and his feet felt inclined to follow suit.
As the past engulfed him, taking him back to places so well-loved in his youth, he found himself passing his wife's childhood home. He remembered it as it had once been, newly painted with the windows open to let in cool, spring air, and he vividly recalled seeing his Ellie for the first time there in the yard. Her arms were laden with a cardboard box, sun glinting off her golden hair as she turned with a beaming smile spread ear-to-ear, and called out 'hello' to him.
He and Tom had been walking past as the family moved into their new home, and Jim had been unable to tear his eyes from her face while his mouth hung agape, and, had Tom not thumped him on the back, he might have stared wordlessly at her all day. Jim had thought then that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and not a day had gone by after that he hadn't had the exact same thought whenever he'd looked upon her smiling face.
Tom had mercilessly, though good-naturedly, teased him ceaselessly about how one glance from Ellie had rendered him speechless, and two years later when both Jim and Ellie were eighteen, Tom had stood as Jim's best man and discreetly thumped Jim out his love-sick stupor in time to say 'I do,' in much the same way he had that first fateful day.
Jim had had a beautiful and loving wife, a loyal friend, and a better life than most could boast. Looking back on his accumulated years, he could find little if anything to regret, with the one exception of too little time. He could have spent a hundred years, or even two hundred, with his Ellie, and still he would have craved more.
Even now her absence was an ever-present ache. After her death, Tom had been his ever-steady friend, and again, had it not been for Tom, Jim felt sure he would have quickly wasted away without his Ellie by his side.
And now Tom was gone.
Jim felt adrift, as if all the ties that had once held him firm and steady had been cut, and now he floated aimlessly, lost and alone in places that were once familiar yet now seemed more akin to a vast wasteland.
Tom's death had been a staggering blow, and this time Jim didn't have his rock-steady friend to fall back on.
As his mind continued to withdraw, Jim's feet moved as if by habit from town to the woods and then through the trees to the creek that had been the site of Tom and Jim's most happily spent hours.
When Jim realized where his feet had taken, he sat down near the water's edge on the same well-worn rock that Tom had often made his perch, and as the moon made its trek across the sky, Jim fought vainly to ease the grief and solitude that curled into his chest and beat against his ribs.
It was long after midnight before the weary man gave up his heartsick post at the creek's edge. His legs ached from all the walking he had done followed by the lengthy hours he'd spent sitting, and now he struggled to find the strength and will to return to his lonely home.
He stood, his legs wobbling slightly while his hand reached out to a nearby tree for support, and mentally he marked the irony of how old age had made him as unsteady as a newborn foal. His eyes were no longer as sharp as they used to be either, and he had to step carefully along the shadowed path lest he trip over a stray root.
He stepped around a large oak, coming around to a better-worn trail where the moon was able to filter through more easily, and what he saw in the moonlit clearing made him draw up short and choke on a gasp.
A scarce few yards from him was a beastly animal, too large to be mistaken for a dog or bobcat and unlike any bear he'd ever seen. The animal sat on its haunches, leaning over the bloodied remains of what looked, ironically, like a bobcat.
The animal was covered in dirty, dark fur and its shape was similar to that an over-sized tiger. Its tall pointed ears twitched, and Jim watched with sickened fascination as it lowered its mouth too rip some more meat from its prey's bones.
The animal suddenly stilled, making it seem as if the entire forest were holding its breath, and then it slowly turned its head toward Jim. The creature caught Jim's gaze in its predatory stare, looking at him through large, bulbous, yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.
It spread its blood-smeared mouth open in a wide, Cheshire-like grin revealing a double row of tall, sharp, glistening fangs that seemed to run from ear to ear while bits of flesh and blood continued to drip from its jowls.
Jim froze, shock and terror seizing his muscles and making it difficult to breathe, much less move. His heart was hammering against his ribcage almost to the point of pain, and he desperately wished he could move, could run, could put this nightmarish visage far, far behind him, but he could only tremble fearfully and stare back at the creature.
The seconds seemed to slow as they stared at one another, predator and prey, and Jim realized with resounding certainty that he was looking into the eyes of his own death.
Then time snapped back to its normal speed, and the creature coiled and leaped. In two bounds and mere seconds, the animal had tackled Jim to the ground. It immediately lunged for Jim's neck, sinking its fangs deep into the soft flesh of his throat and ripping through muscle, blood vessels, and cartilage.
It all happened so quickly that there was no time for Jim's life to flash before his eyes, to realize any deep, profound, and long-sought answers, or even send up a prayer for his soul; he barely even had time to register the sharp pain.
He sucked in a coppery, liquid breath which only resulted in a gurgled cough. The overhanging branches towering far above seemed to blur and blend until he could see only an ever-stretching sea of shadowed leaves. And then he saw nothing at all.