Sam and the Librarian – Chapter 3

Dean pretends to be using Sam's laptop to find a new case while he looks for information on Sam's new crush. Sam goes to look at the copies they've made while spying on B through the office windows.

Aesthetically, he approves 100% of B. She's tall and a lot curvier than Sam normally chooses and Dean thinks that's exactly what Sam needs. He can picture her feeding Sam pasta (there's spinach in it, that's healthy!), and him dragging her off on day trips hiking (come on, fresh air, that's healthy!). She's smart and educated so that ticks off two more boxes. A woman has to be knowledgeable enough to hold Sam's interest, but if she just has book knowledge, eventually she'll be boring (that's Dean's theory anyway). He's a little unsure about the temper, but if it means she's willing to stand up for herself, then occasionally calling Sam on his amoral quest for information on everything about anything can only be a good thing.

There's not much about her online. She's a year or two younger than he is, so that's not really surprising. She's an army brat, so she moved around a lot as a kid. If Sam feels compelled to tell her the truth about their lives, she'll be sympathetic to at least part of it.

The truth is that Dean needs Sam to find someone before Dean has to take his trip downstairs. He's under no illusions that Bobby, Ellen, and Jo will be enough to keep Sam from getting into trouble. But this clever librarian might be enough to keep his baby brother from going off the deep end after Dean goes to hell.

If she has enough imagination to believe in the story they have to tell her.

"Oh, MYGAWD." Tionne visibly trembles. "Who the hell is that?" I glance over my shoulder and then back, smirking. Nothing like a little revenge for her teasing.

"That's Dean, Sam's older brother."

"He's one beautiful hunk of man-meat."

"Yes he is, and don't think for a minute he doesn't know it, but he's almost as sweet as Sam. Too bad you're spoken for."

"We're not married yet. Wow, I never thought anyone would come even close to Marcus, but damn."

I laugh. "Put your tongue back in your mouth. I get the distinct feeling he's Mr. Right Now rather than Mr. Right."

Tionne sighs, "Yeah there's no one for me but Marcus, but a girl can dream, right?" She tears her eyes away from the danger zone. "Mrs. Scarapinski is in the office waiting for you B." She waves a vague hand towards the main floor office since Mrs. S doesn't like for us to point

"Swell. Did you happen to notice whether or not she has her axe with her?" We live in a constant state of low-grade fear that one or both of us will be victims of the budget monster and lose our jobs.

"You know I can't read her for shit." She signals to a work study student to cover the desk, and we head to the office together. "All you white women look alike when you got a bug up your butt, no matter whether it's good or bad." Tionne loves to say this, and she's not wrong. While Mrs. S and I look almost nothing alike, our resting bitch face is eerily similar. She just uses hers more effectively than I do mine.

We walk into the office together. I hang up my coat, she takes hers down. I put away my bag, she gets her purse out. Tionne gives me a quick hug, and makes good her escape.

"Shut the door please B and have a seat." Mrs. S indicates the chair next to the offices' shared desk. Officially it's the shared desk, but in truth it's her desk on the main floor (as opposed to the one in her office), so it's the only desk that's not piled high with books and papers. I seat myself and fold my hands in my lap to cover the fact that they're shaking. Thank Goddess I only ate two of Dean's fries. This will either be routine, or the end of my career.

Mrs. S clears her throat. Aside from our similarity of expression, we look nothing alike. She's just over five feet tall, thin as a rail, has wavy, short, dark brown hair shot through with elegant layers of quicksilver, and enough lines on her face that she could be anywhere between 50 and 150 years old. She is always perfectly professionally dressed. I doubt she owns a pair of jeans. "I see you got the entire Patterson book copied before lunch. How did you manage that?"

"It was a little slow on the floor, and a grad student needed to see the book to confirm a quote for his thesis. When he asked for a copy of the chapter, I asked him to help me copy it. It went so fast with two pairs of hands, that I checked with Tionne and when she said she had the floor covered, Sam and I copied the entire book. Took less than forty minutes."

"Is that all the copying he needed?"

"Well, it's all he requires, but he thought several other books I pulled for repair would be useful, so he's agreed to come back tomorrow, Friday, and Saturday, to help me do more copying. He'll work on his thesis during the times I have to cover the floor. Of course, I told him I'd have to clear it with you." I resist the urge to bite my nails or gesture with my hands. Outside my control, sweat builds under my arms.

At last, she looks up from the paperwork on the desk. "Good. I'll cover the floor for you. It will be slow the rest of this week, so I'll rarely be needed. If he'll stay next week while you're here over break, offer him copies of any of the books he'd like, and we can provide him with a small stipend as well."

Brain vapor lock renders me speechless for a moment before I can restart my verbal engine. "Are you s-sure Mrs. S? I thought we didn't have the budget for me to be doing restoration work, let alone a student?"

"I have a discretionary fund I can tap, and it's getting harder to justify having you on staff. I need evidence to show that you're worth all the effort I put into hiring you, and I'm not going to lose you because some pencil-pusher doesn't understand the value of restoring and preserving our rare books." When she stands, I stand with her. "You did well to find that young man to assist you." She marches to the door and then turns back to me. "We are guardians of knowledge, B, that is an honorable calling, never forget that."

When Mrs. S leaves the office, I can't move. I get Sam for a week and a half (if he agrees), and I get a chance to save my job. Swallowing down the fear that this is all a marvelous dream, I walk out to the table where Dean sits. Before I can ask where Sam is I feel him behind me.

"Come on." I motion for them to follow me. I unlock one of the meeting rooms and slip inside. The brothers are right behind me and when Dean closes the door, I turn to face them and do a little happy dance.

Sam's face lights up. "She said yes?"

"Better! She wants you to help me the rest of this week, all of next week, and in exchange you can have copies of whatever books you want and a stipend!"

"Holy shit B, that's fantastic!" Sam grabs me around the waist, lifts me into the air, and swings me around in a circle. He puts me down but holds me in place; a good thing since now I'm dizzy. Though I'm not sure whether it's the spin or his hands that makes the room tilt.

Dean shakes his head, "Geeks. I can't believe you two are excited about days of making copies of moldy old books. Next you'll be wanting to share your moss collections."

Sam sighs through his nose, "Deeeaaannn." He adds two syllables to his brother's one syllable name, and makes a face that I assume he's been making since age three.

"And while getting paid for it sounds great, this, stipend probably won't cover the motel for another week."

My mouth decides to head off their argument before my brain gets to contribute to my thought process. "You guys can stay at my place." Oh crap. "I have a guest bedroom, comfy couch, and blow-up bed." Shit on a shingle, what did I just do?

Dean's eyes go wide – I had no idea they could get bigger – "Oh, well, ok, I guess that solves that problem." He adds a grin. "You'll only have to put up with gigantor though, I've got a job waiting in South Dakota." An eyebrow flex joins the grin, and he looks between us with obvious delight, and not a little innuendo. I wish to be invisible, but it doesn't work.

"Not tonight though, right? I point out the window where the snow is falling fast and heavy. "You can't drive in this weather in the dark for like, seven hours?"

"Sure, I can. Done it hundreds of times. And believe me sweetheart, it's not going to take me seven hours."

"So, you're going to drive from Montana to South Dakota through a blizzard at night in a car with rear-wheel drive and an automatic transmission?" He's insane. "If you get stuck you'll be all by yourself with no way to call for help. Please don't do that. The money it's going to cost you in gas won't be worth it even if you make it with no trouble." I try to fill my voice with all the concern I feel, without adding any whining (and wondering why I care so much when I've known him for an hour at the most, but God help me, I do).

"You can leave first thing in the morning!" I smile up at him, "Nice home-cooked meal, movie night, warm comfy bed, or crappy take-out and a long, cold, dangerous drive alone through the dark?" He's wavering so I add, "And hot breakfast in the morning before you drive on plowed roads in the daylight?"

"Bacon?"

"Of course. With pancakes or waffles or eggs, your choice."

"Damnit! Okay, fine, I'll wait until morning." Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, throwing up his hands in surrender like I've bribed him to take a calculus final instead of stopped him from risking getting killed.

Sam laughs. "I was pretty sure he was going to lose that one, but when you agreed to bacon he was done for."