Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Paint Me A Picture
Small towns usually irritated Baby. Lack of interesting locales and sheer boredom from having one main street to traverse meant she'd spend too much time in the motel room surfing the Web on Sam's laptop. But after a brush with the FBI that still had Dean and Sam glancing over their shoulders, she couldn't really argue.
She sighed and glanced over at the two exhausted hunters on the tiny twin beds. She knew they'd be out for a few more hours at least; close encounters with the law made everyone a little jumpy, and standard procedure after that included avoiding anywhere remotely near a major highway. They'd burned serious oil to cross five state lines and wind up in this little scrap of nowhere.
Shutting the lid of the laptop as quietly as she could, Baby scratched her neck and stood up to stretch. She'd long exhausted all her bookmarked sites. There was only so much Internet a car-girl could take.
So instead of staying cooped up in the room, she left a note for the slumbering brothers and decided to take a walk to get some fresh air.
The street artist was on the sidewalk by the park, sitting on a high stool and watching families interact on the expanse of grass before him. He had a grandfatherly look about him, with thinning white hair covered by a newsboy cap and laugh lines across his face, and he wore a cardigan that sagged around his plaid shirt in a way that only made him seem more endearing. He held a tray of pastels in one hand, his green eyes twinkling as he absently transplanted what he saw onto the easel before him with loose, almost careless swipes of pastel.
Coming up beside him, Baby felt her breath catch. The picture itself was amazingly beautiful, and she almost half-expected the figures on the paper to begin moving on their own. "That's beautiful," she said, walking into his sightline with a shy smile. "You're very talented."
The artist shrugged modestly, not glancing away from the park. "I only draw the grace of nature as it can be seen through mortal eyes."
"You got a good pair, then."
The artist added a few final touches to his easel and looked over at her. He tore off the park picture and tucked it into the black art portfolio leaning against his chair. "Would you like to see what I see in you?"
"A portrait? Of me?" The idea was appealing. The only picture of herself was the one she gave to Dean, and the thought of having her portrait done by this man gave her a warm feeling akin to how she imagined her engine would feel if it ran on liquid sunshine.
"I have some time." He gestured to a black wrought-iron bench in front of his easel. "Why don't you sit down."
Feeling a little unsure of how she should sit, Baby awkwardly sat down and crossed one leg over her knee, her hands in her lap. The old man smiled patiently as he checked the light and his position. "Don't pose or anything. Just relax," he said gently. "Must easier to show the truth when you're not faking."
Baby leaned back and stretched one arm out on the back of the bench. Her gaze drifted back to the families milling about in the park. "You really capture the innocence of the people in your art. Made it look like the evils in the world can't touch them."
"You speak of evil as if you know more than your age suggests."
Thinking over the years of hunting she'd shared with her boys, Baby gave a weak laugh. "You have no idea."
"Someone as beautiful as you shouldn't have such a jaded outlook."
A blush crept across her cheeks. She'd heard people call her beautiful many times, and some people had even called her exotic-looking. But the way this man spoke, it was like he wasn't looking at her physical appearance at all. Like he was seeing something else. "I can't afford to be innocent. My line of work has a habit of beating that out of you very quickly."
"You don't believe yourself capable of innocence." He pulled off his cap to scratch his head, replaced the cap, and picked up another color pastel. "And yet you still see the innocence of the world."
"Seeing it in others and believing it in myself are two different things."
"And I only thought decrepit old men like me could be so cynical."
"You don't sound cynical," she stated with a small smile. "And you don't look decrepit."
"I have my good days." He winked one grass-green eye at her. "And I see people a lot better than most. They tend to surprise you when you take the time to believe in them."
"They do that when you trust them too, and not always the best way."
He shrugged but didn't respond, focused on shading in a part of the portrait. "You've chosen a very lonely way to go through life."
"But I'm not alone." Baby smiled as she thought of Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin and Charlie. "I've got good friends."
"Do they know your secrets? Because I can tell you've got a big one." Her wide gaze snapped back at him, and he shrugged. "It makes you tense and sad, and it shows in your eyes. You're not alone, but you are living a lonely life." The old man added a few last touches to his canvas and smiled at her. "And there we are."
Eager to see, she practically teleported from the bench to the street artist's side. At first glance, it seemed similar to his previous picture. The colors were vibrant, showing the lovely summer day around them. The girl in the picture was sitting relaxed on the black iron bench, one arm draped over the back, one leg thrown over the other, and her left hand resting on her knee.
But the actual form made Baby pause in shock; the man had drawn her as if seeing her through a cloud of fog. Her edges were slightly blurred, and her entire body seemed almost translucent, the wrought patterns of the bench almost visible behind her torso and shoulders. Her head was half-turned towards the artist, a light wind plucking at her black tresses to flutter away her face and show her starkly pale eyes staring straight out of the canvas, as if she could see them. The barest hint of a grin tilted one corner of her lips up, lending a dark and mischievous taint to her already haunting air.
Baby's real lips parted to form an O. "That's...how you see me?" she breathed.
"Yes." His finger reached out to blend an errant lock of black into a softer tendril. "Stunning and a little mysterious, but not completely here." He leaned back and studied the portrait, his arms crossed over his stomach and a smile on his face. "Ethereal, vulnerable, but by no means defenseless."
Like a ghost. Baby's eyes shifted to stare at a nearby flowerbed, unable to keep her painted double's gaze. "I look...scary. Like I'm planning to attack or something."
"The strength of a lonely one can sometimes be seen as such." The street artist patted her shoulder gently. "It doesn't do to keep such things bottled up, love. Sooner than later, people begin to avoid you because you are too determined to prove you are better off alone. Then, you will truly be lonely." He offered a warm smile, which Baby managed to return after a few seconds. "But what am I saying? You're a clever sort of girl, I'm sure. You'll figure something out."
Warmed by the free advice and the gift of her beautifully haunting portrait, Baby thanked the old man and made her way back to the motel. Holding the protected artwork against her chest, Baby felt a warm glow emanate from her chest and flow through her veins. Best small town adventure ever, she thought, smiling softly as her mind returned to the street artist's words. They gave her a touch of hope about her next move.
The street artist watched the black-haired girl walk away with strong strides, holding his artwork as if cradling a dear child. He smiled at her pluck, nodded once in silent self-praise, and reached into his pocket to pull out a hunk of black quartz crystal. One breath on its rough surface caused a point within the stone to glow.
"I've found her," he whispered. "There is no reason to rush. The spell is still stable." He listened, then shook his head slightly. "Not sure, but she is stronger than before. It doesn't seem like she's experiencing any sort of compulsion." Another pause to hear. "But should she awaken before it is time - "
The stone's center light flared like an exploding star, then retreated back to a pinprick. The old man hastily cut himself off and bowed his head. "Of course. Of course. Forgive me, it was not my place to question." He glanced over at where she'd just turned back to the motel. "I cannot follow. Where she goes is protected from all not human." He listened for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I shall continue to watch and await your command."
Ooooh, I meant this to be a simple filler, but hey! Interesting bit at the end there!
Review please! And if you've got any questions, I do welcome PMs!