Cay, sorry to do this but I'm not gonna make it tonight. Maybe Tommy can stay back for a bit, pass a good time? ;) I owe you one, I know! - T
Feeling incredibly guilty, Tandy hit send and slid her phone back into her pocket. She leant forward, hearing the old rattan armchair creak and dropped her head between her mud-streaked knees.
It was approaching eight o'clock and although she may have been able to throw her previous outfit back on and make the meet, she was drained from the hunt and smelt worse than a sun-baked corpse. Not to mention there was the other problem that was plaguing her mind, or problems, rather.
Dean and Sam Winchester.
Tandy tipped her head back and stared up at the white-washed ceiling, tracing patterns in the woodwork with her gaze.
The former was currently occupying the upstairs bathroom, so she had made it her current mission to avoid that area at all costs, even if it meant sitting there covered in Aswang excrement and swamp juice. And the latter, well, he had disappeared without so much as a word almost as soon as they had returned to the plantation.
Between Sam's shady antics and Dean's altogether I'm-better-than-okay-I-dig-you act, she didn't think she'd make it through the night any way.
"Hey, cher." Her mama breathed, entering the galley and taking a seat in the arm chair opposite her. "You look beat." She commented, handing her daughter a cool glass of lemonade.
Tandy accepted it, thankful and nodded.
"I called Tommy. Told him to take your shifts for the rest of the week. He can start back with me on Monday."
Tandy looked up, a protest on her lips.
"Don't gripe. You need the rest, sugar." Her mama explained. "And I'll admit, I might need some help." She said, gesturing above them with a bangled paw.
"What? Dean?" Tandy asked, narrowing her gaze. "He's fine." She added bitterly.
Her mama smiled, though it was small and touched by a sadness that she didn't quite understand. "He won't admit it, that boy, as stubborn as a mule those Winchester's are, but he's not doin' too well. Couple of busted ribs, bruises all over, and you did a good job on his hand, baby, but if left untreated it'll become infected." She said.
Tandy scoffed and almost choked on her lemonade. "So? Let 'em deal with it 'emselves."
"Hey." Her mama cautioned, disappointment invading her tone.
"What?! It wasn't me he was savin', mama, it was his damn brother! Let 'em take care of it. They're good at keepin' to their own business!"
"Now Tandy, I thought I raised you better'n that. We don't turn away a man when he's hurtin'." Her mama scolded, piercing blue gaze laced with concern.
Tandy released a long breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. It pained her to admit it, but her mama was right. They were the kind of folks who helped a friend in need, not the kind who sent them packing.
"You're right." She mumbled. "I'm sorry, m'just a little tired, that's all." And it wasn't exactly a lie. She was, in fact, completely beat.
Her mama placed a soft palm on her daughter's knee. "I understand. Go upstairs and take my bathroom. Get cleaned up. I've got some gumbo goin'."
Tandy's gaze sharpened then, curious. "You knew they'd be stayin', didn't you?" She asked.
Her mama smiled, wistful, like she did sometimes when she'd see faces through the rain or hear the voices of the dead as they whispered amongst the Spanish moss.
"You just hush, girly and get goin' before you stink up my galley." She admonished, lightly slapping her daughter on the knee.
Tandy frowned and watched her mama rise before she disappeared through the French doors, that infuriatingly wistful smile never fading from her lips.
Dean winced and dragged the towel over his body, mindful to go easy on his aching ribs. The shower had helped immensely but each breath that he drew still felt as though a vat of acid was being poured down his throat and into his lungs. He draped the towel loosely around his waist and cautiously padded down the hallway, towards the spare bedroom.
He paused at a door that was mid-way between the bathroom and the guestroom and bit his bottom lip.
It was Tandy's room.
The door was slightly ajar but the room was dark and no noise came from within.
Allowing curiosity to get the better of him and coupled with the fact that Tandy seemed to be everywhere that he wasn't, Dean crept inside and peered around him.
Almost immediately the word romantic came to mind, which was unusual really because Tandy herself didn't particularly seem all that romantic. There was a large, four poster bed positioned in the center of the room. Mosquito nets hung from its beams, interwoven by a collection of fairy lights. A soft, shag rug was laid at the base of the bed, before an ornate fireplace, and covered a significant portion of the floor space. A hammock chair dangled idly in the corner, exuding an almost Indie-like feel as it swayed gently in the warm, Southern breeze which rolled in through the open window. Candles, burnt low and emitting a heady musk, decorated her dresser beside him, along with a variety of girlish knick-knacks and a single photograph.
Carefully, Dean picked up the frame and held it in his hands, mindful of his throbbing wound. From what he could tell, the photo was fairly recent.
Tandy's back was pressed against the cladding of her home. Her knee was bent behind her, for support, and her arms were spread out wide, embracing the sun. Her eyes were closed, her chin tilted up towards the sun and she was smiling brightly, careless and free.
Dean felt his heart skip a beat. She had the kind of smile that could stop a man dead in his tracks, or knock him off his feet. Regretfully, he hadn't seen much of it lately, but he hoped to change that. After all, he was beginning to see his revival as a second chance, a chance to do better, to be better. The thing with Tandy though was that she was frustratingly evasive. Dean had never had to work so hard to get a girl to admit that she liked him in his entire life. Although, there was always the other possibility, the slight chance that she may have, in fact, not liked him.
Dean shook his head. No. That couldn't be it. If she didn't, she wouldn't have gotten so damn upset about the whole demon deal fiasco.
It was no secret that he was nursing a crush on her. Heck, if he thought long and hard about it, he supposed that he had been from the moment he had first laid his eyes on her, only he hadn't realised it at the time. Clearly, Sam had though, and that only served to irritate him further.
Suddenly, lost amongst his musings, the light switch flicked on and Dean was caught exposed, standing partially naked, in the middle of the room.
Tandy's face came into view. She was pale and grim, worlds apart from the girl that he had just pondered in the photograph and her mouth dropped open slightly, caught in a brief moment of surprise. Quickly recovering, she cocked her hip and leant against the door frame. Her arms slid over her chest and her mouth tweaked upwards, caught somewhere between a smirk and a grimace.
"Hey, there Winchester. Lookin' for somethin'?" She asked casually.
Dean fumbled with the photo and put it back down on the dresser, clumsily knocking over a bottle of perfume in the process. Luckily, the cap stayed on, and he glanced up, embarrassed.
"Uh, hey, this isn't the guest room." He joked, raising his hand to the nape of his neck. Oops. Wrong move. He winced and sucked in a jagged breath.
Tandy squinted. "Smooth."
"Wouldn't have picked you as the jazzy type." He commented awkwardly, gesturing towards a poster of Howlin' Wolf she had plastered on the back wall.
Tandy rose a single brow, bemused.
"Right. Well, I ... I'll just ... see myself out then."
Tandy stood aside to let Dean pass her.
He paused, the damp flesh of his forearm brushing against her hip and, without meaning to, she shuddered.
"I'm sorry." Dean mumbled softly, his green eyes trailing downwards. "For not saying anything. For the deal, for dying. For everything."
Tandy couldn't speak, so she nodded once instead, sharply, and hoped that it was enough.
Dean pursed his lips but said nothing more.
She watched him limp down the hall way and felt her chest tighten. She promised herself, in that moment, that she'd stop being so hard on him. This was the life after all, their life, and even the broken could be mended, the unsavable could be saved, and maybe, just maybe, where there was the smallest traces of it, she could find it in herself to be a little happier. Hell, if she could do that, she could do anything.
When Tandy heard the door to the guest room click shut, she released the breath she wasn't even aware that she had been holding and stepped forward, falling, with a soft thud, onto her bed.
What the heck had just happened?
Dean had been standing in her room, that much, she was conscious of. He had been standing in the middle of her room, with nothing more than a small, damp stretch of cloth covering all that he was, staring at a photo of her.
Tandy pressed one of her many pillows into her face and released a frustrated cry.
She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't go on pretending like it didn't affect her. Like he didn't have this effect on her.
The image of Dean - albeit bruised - but bare skinned and dripping wet, would be branded into the back of her eyelids forever.
Tandy stood and walked over to her dresser. She picked up the photo Cadence had taken of her last month and stared at it, wondering what Dean saw when he had looked at it. It had been one of those oddly good days; quiet, mundane. Her brothers had been home for the weekend, her papa, too, and mama had invited Tommy and his family over for Po'Boys and beignets. She'd dressed in a sleeveless denim button-up dress that was cut mid-thigh. She even remembered that she'd made a point of wearing low-cut Converse sneakers that day to make her legs appear longer, and peering down at the photo now, it had done just the trick. She looked sun-kissed and radiant. She looked happy.
The more she thought about it, the more she felt her brain swell. What would a life with Dean Winchester truly look like? When there was a monster lurking at every turn and not a single day went by where there wasn't something that was out to get you?
Tandy stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks. There wouldn't be a life with Dean Winchester. Not at this rate. So why did she feel as though she was constantly having to remind herself of that?
Tandy shook her head. Even if something were to happen, Dean wasn't the type to go for the whole commitment thing. He'd get bored of her; the simple swamp chick. He seemed like the type to need excitement in his life. She also didn't fancy getting herself killed, because every hunter worth his salt knew that that's what happened when you became too close with a Winchester; imminent death.
Part of her was beginning to believe that he was only hungerin' for her the way that he was because she wouldn't give in to his damned charms so easily. At least, that's what she told herself.
Tandy placed the photo back down and collected her pyjamas. Maybe the warm water would be able to wash away some of these troubling feelings so she could be free to just focus on the job and get on with her simple life yet again. Only, Dean wasn't just a job, and her life was so very far from simple.
How long did a busted rib take to heal anyway? Surprisingly, she'd never had one but it didn't matter. No measure of time would be soon enough.
