Hello, I started writing this story so long ago and recently got back into it. I can't promise a set upload schedule, but will try to upload when I can. Will eventually be rated M but is T for now. Please let me know what you think!
Rose Whittaker, daughter of Jack and Diana Whittaker was a waitress. A tiny-town, backwoods, hole-in-the-wall diner waitress who always smelled like coffee, second-hand smoke and Dollar General body spray.
Today was Saturday. Today, her hair was piled into a messy, unwashed brown bun, her uniform tee was wrinkled and her eyes redder than a spring-ripe tomato.
Saturday morning was not her shift; it's Amy's.
Was Amy's.
Now it was hers.
It was all easy, all normal. Motor memory; no thinking, no remembering…just doing. And Lord Almighty she needed normal.
Rose ignored the piteous looks every fluffin' time she passed a table and refiled coffees with a hollow smile.
Miss Mable liked her coffee so black the light of god couldn't shine through it so Rose brought out the slightly burnt stuff from this morning.
"Rose, honey. How you holdin' up?"
'bout as well as you'd imagine, she thought.
"I'm fine." Rose topped off her coffee. "Usual, Miss Mable?"
Without waiting for an answer, she scurried off into the kitchen and stood on her tiptoes to reach the order window.
"Miss Mable's here, Burt." She called. Burt held up a fat hand to let her know he heard and she turned around to the tinkling of the front door bell.
"Go on and take a-" Rose hesitated. Suits. Again. Two this time and not the local boys. Rose knew every face and name in this town. Bobby Ray'd been the Sheriff for as long as she'd drawn breath; his son Darryl questioned her about Amy just the other day.
"Ms. Rose Whittaker?" The tall one had a soothing voice but he certainly wasn't from around here, that was for sure.
"Yes?"
"Agents Jagger and Richards." This one's tone was clipped and gruff as he flashed his badge. "FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your roommate, Amy Johnson."
Her stomach knotted up tight. "I-I've already gone over this with Sheriff Bobby an' his boy."
Agent Richards gave her a smile as soft as his hazel eyes. "We understand how difficult this must be for you but it would help us a lot to hear what happened from you."
And this is why she couldn't forget. They wouldn't let her forget.
"Yeah, 'course." She untied her smock. "Burt! I'm takin' a break."
She motioned them to follow her outside. It was middle of June and hot enough to peel paint but it was better than a dozen pairs of nosy ears.
Rose tucked herself into a dusty corner and crossed her arms protectively across her chest.
"So…Amy…"
"Yes, how long had you known Ms. Johnson?" Agent Richards asked gently.
"Since forever." She said. "We got one school in Terrence, Amy was in my class since kindergarten but we've only been best friends since middle school."
"What kind of person was she?"
A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. "Amy was Amy." She said softly. "She was dingy and couldn't make a decent pot of coffee to save her life and she once kidnapped a dog from her neighbor because they weren't treatin' it right."
"And did her personality change at all before she died?" Agent Jagger's stony face was intimidating and she shrunk back instinctively. "Was she depressed or…?"
Her brow furled in confusion. "I don't-why…you can't believe she did….that…to herself."
"Just answer the question, Ms. Whittaker."
Rose looked down at her fidgety hands, another tear slinking down her cheek to salt her lips.
Agent Richards gave his partner a sharp look then she felt a warm hand resting on her shoulder.
"We are very sorry for your loss, Ms. Whittaker." Agent Richards pulled her attention with genuine concern. "Anything you can tell us is important."
"No." Her voice shook. "No. Just her usual, giggly self; burned the coffee that mornin' and blamed it on the maker. Same."
The agents nodded. "Statement says you went to work and found the deceased when you came home that evening."
Rose shivered involuntarily despite the heat. That lump in her throat was back, choking her, making it hard to speak.
"Y-yes." Amy's blood would be seared into her memory for the rest of her days. The smears on the couch, the walls, the…the ceiling. What was left of her arm, draped lifelessly by her side, still wearing the nickel-plated friendship bracelet Rose'd given her for her twenty-third birthday.
"Can you tell us about it?"
"Do I hafta?" Her voice came out broken and juvenile even to her own ears. The sun was hot on her bare arms and still the sweat sliding down the back of her neck felt cold as ice.
"Please."
Rose looked away and sighed. There was a dusty haze settled over the white-rock parking lot like fog; Amy always complained about how it made her allergies worse.
"I…worked late that night." She started. "Had a table of teenagers come in near closin' and I had to get gas. By the time I got home it was near eleven-thirty. The lights were off…I-I thought she'd gone on to bed. I-" Rose let out a soft sob.
"It's alright. Take your time."
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and tired to clear the lump out of her throat. "Um, I came in-inside…uh, the door was unlocked but Amy…she kinda did that a lot." Rose chuckled on her tears. "I turned on the lights…" She sniffed in a broken breath. "Amy was tied to a chair and there was blood and I-I don't really…"
"Ms. Whittaker…Rose, do you remember anything else? An odd sound or smell?"
"No…no…um…" Rose hesitated. "Wait…yeah. When I opened the door I thought I smelled sewer gas or something like that but I don't-"
"Sewer gas?" The agents shared a look.
Rose frowned. "Is that important?"
"Maybe. Ms. Whittaker, if you don't mind us asking, are you still living in the home?"
"Lord no." She shook her head violently. "And I don't ever wanna go back. The sheriff-they still don't know who did that to Amy…and I, I won't go home after dark anymore." She admitted, leaning back against the chipping brick.
Rose dropped her head into her hands and sniffled. What she didn't say and never would tell a soul was how every night before bed she shoved the loveseat against the door and slept with a knife on the nightstand and a bible under her pillow.
It made her feel better. Never even thrown a punch in her life and didn't know the sharp end of a knife from a hole in the wall but it helped her fall asleep.
Staying asleep, that was a different story altogether.
"Rose," She looked up into gentle eyes. "Thank you. I know this was hard for you," he reached into his coat pocket and handed her a card. "If you remember anything else or if you need help, just call. Doesn't matter what time."
Rose held the card between her fingers and ran her thumb over the etching.
"Sure. Sure. Um, ya'll want a couple of sweet teas for the road?"
Quarter to five on a Sunday afternoon. Terrence Heights Baptist Church was not fancy or big but the good Lord provided. Heat in the winter, air conditioning in the smoldering boil of summer and enough pews for every faithful hiney.
Dear God, Rose bowed her head and clasped her head in prayer, it's me. Again.
Amy, sweetheart, if you can hear me I miss the heck out of you. Ain't no coffee tastes like yours, you get used to having to chew.
And…Dad. Momma still keeps your bible under her pillow at night; we miss you but I know your watchin' after us.
God…I don't ask you for anything much. Always been blessed but now I'm askin'…
…Please take care of Amy for me. That girl needs all the help she can get. No offence, sweetheart.
Rose could almost see Amy rolling her eyes in heaven.
And whatever you do, don't let her make the angels coffee.
In the Lord's name I pray. Amen.
She blotted her misty eyes with a Kleenex she found at the bottom of her purse. Here she was, dressed in her Sunday's best lookin' like a raccoon.
There was a sudden vibration on her thigh and she absentmindedly fished around in her purse for her cell.
"Hey, Mama."
Rose balanced the cell on her shoulder as she stood to go, smoothing her short-sleeved flower-print dress as she sidled out of the pew.
"You commin' for dinner, Rose? I'm makin' chicken and black-eyed peas."
It was hot and windy outside and a darn-near inferno in her car as she started it up and started to crank the windows down just to get a good breath.
"Um, what time?"
"Well, I'm about an hour and a half outside of Terrence. Still gotta soak the peas and thaw the chicken so…seven-thirty? Eight?"
Eight. Rose gripped the steering wheel just a little too hard. Sun went down about nine-thirty.
"I'm-I think I'm just gonna grab something."
On the other end, her mother sighed. "Are you sure, hun?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow? Around five?"
"Sure."
"Bye, Mama." She hesitated a moment then, "Love you."
There was a brief, confused silence then a breathy 'love you too, hun."
She chucked the cell in the passenger seat and turned on the radio to a staticy rendition of Willy Nelson's To All the Girls I've Loved Before.
Terrence might me small; town hall meetings were held in the church and the school gym was the town's dance hall. But it was her town. Born and raised. Got her first and only car from Mr. Jenkins down by the south river, her first kiss at the Sadie Hawkins dance her senior year of high school behind the bleachers.
And got her heart broke behind 'em too when she caught Jackson with one of the drill team girls.
When the teenage drama fog cleared, she realized her heartbreak for what it was. Puppy love. Through it all she still had her mother, still had Amy and she still had her faith.
Her mother, God love her, was doing all she could to convince Rose to move back home. Food was her mother's comfort. Sad? Have some chicken. Angry? Pot roast. Upset? Hush up now and eat your brownie.
Words and hugs weren't her thing. Dad was the hugger, the soother and when he passed her boo-boos got a band-aid and pie instead of a kiss.
Rose picked up a frozen dinner and a diet coke and headed back to the motel. Grabbing the 'do not disturb' sign off the knob, she shut the door safely behind her and turned the lock.
And snapped the dead bolt.
And hooked in the chain.
She popped her dinner in the microwave for a few minutes, turned on the T.V. for noise and walked to the bathroom pulling her dress up over her head.
Showers were her whiskey, her cigars, her drug. Stress relief-the hotter the better. Too bad the motel's water only got so hot. Rose was a firm believer that if you didn't look like a lobster fresh out of the boiling pot then you ain't had a good shower.
Wrapping herself up in a towel, Rose squeegeed her hair into the sink and twirled it into dripping, black lump atop her head.
She could hear what sounded like Seinfeld in the background. It was kind of surreal; that someone could go twenty-six years of their life not knowing just how loud silence was.
Rose ate her lukewarm dinner plopped on the couch in front of a 90's fishbowl T.V. watching cartoons. Never really her thing before, but they sure as heck were now. Comfortable. Innocent. Lighthearted. Like nothing bad could ever happen to her with Spongebob playing in the background.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Burt's name flashed across her screen and she frowned as she hit the call button.
"Hey."
"Need your help, Rose." Burt's heavy drawl came through the phone. "I've done locked myself out with my goddamn keys sittin' on the counter. Can yew meet me up here and git the door open?"
Her eyes flickered to the analog clock hanging near the entertainment center, forgetting it'd been stuck on 1:23 since she'd checked in.
"Erm, what time is it?"
"Dunno. 'Round Nine?"
"Shirley's got a spare key-"
"Shirley's visitin' her kin up in Kansas." He interrupted irritably. "Yew ain't lost your key?"
Rose tapped her fingers nervously on her thigh. "No…no...s-sure. Give me ten minutes. Bye."
She all but threw the phone away from her as if it burned and took a deep, deep breath. Before she left, she switched on absolutely every light and slid the knife into her purse.
A streetlamp was buzzing overhead as she quickly locked the door and hustled to her car, locking herself in the second her butt hit the torn up leather.
The backseat was clear unless someone could hide under a hoodie and small mountain of empty water bottles.
Terrence rolled up the sidewalk by 8:30 so she encountered only one other vehicle on the way to the diner and it was an 18-wheeler; probably just driving through.
Burt's pickup was in the lot as she pulled in but he wasn't in it and he wasn't waiting for her by the door neither.
Rose put the car in park and clutched her purse to tightly to her side There was a glimmer of light coming from the diner windows and she peered through a broken blind to see that the light streaming from the kitchen.
"Burt?" She called. Maybe he'd found a way in and didn't need her. Or maybe he just left the light on the same way he'd left his keys on the counter.
She fumbled with her keys and had just slid the key in when the door creaked open.
"B-Burt?"
"Back here, looking for my damn keys." He called.
Relief flooded her just from the sound of his voice and she stepped inside, shutting and locking the door firmly behind her.
"Need some help?" Rose rounded the counter and peeked inside the kitchen. "Thought you said-Burt?"
Burt was standing by the double sink with his back to her; didn't look like he was looking for anything.
"Burt, you okay?" She set her purse down on the counter and screwed up her face. It smelled like rotten eggs; a sink-full of them. "Your heart's not actin' up again, is it? Do I need to call Doc Leery? Burt?"
Rose had her fingers closed around her cell, ready to call for an ambulance. Nearest hospital was near twenty miles out.
"Rose." Burt turned slowly with an earie smile on his beard-lined lips.
Her heart was thumping madly; she tried to tell herself it was just her paranoia. This was Burt; grumpy, old, greasy Burt. He's the reason she had a job at all.
"Been waitin' for you, sweetheart." It was a trick of the light. It had to be. But…for a moment…his eyes seemed to flicker solid black.
Rose found herself backing up until her butt hit the edge of the flattop grill. Burt walked toward her, under the buzzing fluorescents and a bright glint drew her eyes down to his fat fingers clutching a chef's knife.
His smile made her sick to her stomach and he seemed to know that as he grinned wider. "Now, sweetheart, don't you be afraid. Ol' Burt just wants to show you somethin', that's all."
Fear froze her to the spot. Her legs wouldn't move, her knuckles going white as she clutched the edge of the cold grill like a lifeline.
Burt lifted the knife and she whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Let me go. Just, please, l-let me go."
It was then she remembered the cell in her hands and started to dial 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I need help! Burt, please…." Rose managed to swing around the grill and backed toward the bar. "Reddy's Country Diner off county road 25-hello? Hello?"
Nothing but static and then the dropped.
Rose gulped down tears and stared at Burt. He'd stopped walking toward her and had the knife poised flush against his own throat. That same sickening smile painted his lips.
"Watch."
Rose screamed as Burt drew the knife across his throat. Blood seeped down his neck, staining his collar red.
"See yew in hell, Rosie." Black smoke erupted from Burt's blood-stained lips. It screamed like a train, like a tornado about to hit.
And then the worst sound of all. Silence.
Streams of tears fell from her eyes as she watched him fall forward and convulse, grasping his neck.
The sounds were sickening; like he was trying to talk but all that came out was wet gurgles until he fell still on the linoleum tile as his blood pooled around him.
Vomit rose in her throat, just like before. Just like Amy. And she fell over, heaving and coughing and crying until her throat was sore.
Rose crawled her way into the dining area and holed up in a corner, mashing the buttons on my cell until she reached the 911 dispatcher again.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"R-Reddy's Country D-Diner…" She sobbed. "I-I need…ambulance…."
"Police are already on their way. Are you the girl who called?"
Rose nodded. "Y-Yeah. Burt just-there's blood an' I-I'm too scared to leave."
"Just…on the…with…ca-…-ear…me?"
"I don't-I can't hear you." And then her phone beeped as the call was lost.
With a loud sob, she clutched the phone at her breast and collapsed against the wall. The station was a 45 minute drive. Speeding.
Rose fumbled with the cross hanging from her neck as her lips moved furiously in prayer. What she was saying, she didn't know. Asking for protection. Asking for guidance. And just spewing incoherent mumblings that even God in his infinite wisdom could never decipher.
If you need help, she remembered the gentle, soothing tone clear as day, just call.
Rose scrambled to her feet and tried not to look in the kitchen as she swiped her purse off the counter and dumped its contents noisily on the tile. She dug around like a mad woman until she found the white card and punched in the numbers.
"Agent Richards speaking."
"Thank God!" She all but screamed into the phone. "I'm at the diner an' Burt was here an' he-he-"
"Rose? Rose, are you hurt?" There was shuffling on the other line, like scrambling.
"I ain't hurt." She sniffled. "My phone keeps cuttin' out an' I called the cops but I don't wanna be alone. Please. Burt's dead."
"Give us five minutes, Rose." Agent Richards said. "We'll be there."
It was three minutes and she nearly jumped outta her skin when Agent Jagger kicked in the front door. Both had guns drawn and ready to fire but she couldn't find her voice to tell them there was no danger; just a cooling, bloody body that was once her friend.
"Rose." Agent Richards fell into a crouch beside her as his partner headed to the kitchen and brushed aside the hair plastered to her face. "What happened?"
"Burt called and said he locked himself out," Her voice was raw; it hurt to talk, to breathe. "But he was in the kitchen and he had a knife and t-there was this black… and he…" Eyes shining, she met his sympathetic stare and whimpered. "Why does this keep happenin'?"
Agent Jagger showed back up, holstering his pistol. "Well, Redneck Emeril won't be doing any talking anytime soon. And there's Sulphur on the window sill."
She watched Agent Richard's eyes widen.
"Sulphur? What does that mean?"
"What that means is," Agent Jagger said curtly. "You ain't going home alone tonight, sweetheart."
Fingers. Cold. Clammy. Wet. It took Rose a minute to realize they were her fingers and that they were turning purple around the glass of ice water Agent Rich-er-Sam had given her.
"So…not FBI?" Her throat was still raw but the water burned.
The man she'd known as Agent Jagger…Dean smirked. He looked much different without the black suit getup; more relaxed and less intimidating. "Hell no. But, if it makes you feel better, we're not the Fireflys."
Rose stared at him blankly through bloodshot eyes.
"Captain Spaulding? Baby?" She shook her head. "Devil's Rejects? Bah." He flopped onto the couch and popped open a beer. "Point is, we ain't the bad guys."
"Then what are you?"
"Hunters, Baby." He winked.
"Dean." Sam warned, propping his elbows on his long thighs with a sigh. "Rose," her ears perked at her name. "This may be difficult to believe but…" He hesitated. "We think you're being targeted."
Rose's heart thumped loudly. "Targeted? B-by who?"
"The word you're looking for is 'what'?" Dean supplied.
"What?"
"Exactly."
Sam looked over his shoulder. "Dean. Seriously. Mouth. Shut it."
Dead just shrugged. "How'd you wanna tell her there's a demon on her ass?"
"Demon?!" Her hand flew to her neck, grasping the cross until she felt it digging into her palm.
Sam groaned. "Not…like that. I know this sounds crazy and you might not believe-"
Rose shook her head furiously. She wanted to calm down, needed to calm down before her poor heart gave out on her.
"Oh, no. Demons exist, sugar. I go to church." Even the word made her breath run cold. "Burt…Burt, um…before he," She squeezed her eyes shut. "Before he…died, I saw-or thought I saw-this black…" she couldn't say it. Didn't want to invoke it.
Sam nodded. "He was possessed, Rose. Dean and I…" The boys shared a look and Sam continued on in a gentler tone. "We checked out your old house; no signs of forced entry and the police report stated that there were two glasses of lemonade on the coffee table meaning Amy…knew the person who killed her. She let him in."
She let him in.
Rose felt like the floor was about to fall out from beneath her. Sam didn't have to say it; Burt killed Amy. No. Not Burt. A demon, a servant of the Devil.
And then it killed Burt.
"If it wants me," She began. "Why not just…" Kill her? Posses her? Given the choice she'd rather die.
Dean leaned forward, dangling his beer between his legs. "No idea. Sammy and me? That's what we're trying to figure out. And when we do, it's goodbye demon."
"Dean and I, this is what we do," Sam said. "We help people with things like this. You're safe with us."
Rose nodded, her eyes lifted to the motel door; so much like hers and yet the deadbolt wasn't in place, the brass chain was dangling limply-completely unused. It was just a door; a way in, a way out-not something to be afraid of.
Every night; checking, double checking, triple checking that the door was locked up tight. Lot of good it'd've done her with a...a demon.
"What now?"
"Well, both of the…victims," Rose flinched at the word. "Were people you cared about. Is there anyone else? Any family? Close friends?"
"Boyfriends?" Dean smirked.
"Mama." Terror seeped into her voice and she grabbed for her phone, her hands shaking violently. "I gotta call her, I gotta-"
Sam stopped her, his long fingers closed around her wrist. "Calm down, Rose. We're gonna make sure she's okay and then we'll figure out a plan. Okay?"
Rose swallowed thickly and nodded. Sam let her wrist go leaving pink streaks across her skin; he was right, she needed to calm down. Calm down or have a conniption.
After writing her mother's address on a napkin and giving it to Dean, Rose curled up into herself on the couch and rested her forehead on her knee.
"Uh," Sam rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "You want a beer?"
She shook her head, feeling the fabric of her sweats dig into her skin. "No thank you."
"I think we have some Cheetos if you're hungry…"
Rose cracked a small smile. "That's nice of you, sugar, but I ain't hungry."
For agonizingly long minutes there was no sound; she could've heard a pin drop and would've been thankful just for a break in the static.
"Sam? Mind if I turn on the T.V.?"
"No. Uh, here." Rose took the remote from his hands and switched the T.V. on to Tom and Jerry. For the next hour and a half she just stared at the screen, not following or understanding or thinking. She allowed herself to be numb and unfeeling, if only for the moment.
Until there was a knock on the door and she nearly shot of the couch like a scalded cat when Sam snatched up a double-barrel shotgun. Rose watched the door wide-eyed, waiting for it to burst open and then they knocked again.
Knock. Knock. Knockknock. Knock….Knock. Knock.
Sam set the gun down, the door swung up and Dean came in with a smile on his face-chewing-and a bag of cookies in his hand.
Oh, mama.
"Grea' mom 've got." A crumb fell from his mouth. "Hot too. Very Andie MacDowell-esque."
Rose screwed up her face. "Dean, please. So...she's alright?"
He nodded and chunked the cookies into her lap. "Place is clean, she's clean," He sat on the couch beside her and started pulling off his boots. "No reaction to holy water. Told her I was FBI, and that you," He gave rose a pointed look. "Are in protective custody. No contact." Then he smiled brightly and he was mighty handsome when he stopped being a grouch. "She gave me pie."
Rose's shoulders slumped in relief.
"That doesn't mean she's safe, Dean." Sam stressed.
"True." Dean smirked. "Unless a charming and handsome FBI agent asked her to visit some relatives up north until all this blows over-oomph" It was like running face-first into a brick wall but Rose happily threw her arms around him anyway. Finally, the tears staining her cheeks were from relief and joy.
"Easy there, cowgirl, least let me buy you dinner first." Dean patted her back awkwardly and if he thought that would get her off him, he had another thing coming.
"'Scuse me," She took pity on him and pulled out of his arms missing the warmth and comfort and safety she'd always felt when her dad hugged her. "Just you an' Sam…you're a godsend."
Dean scoffed. "Don't give the guy any more ideas," then he noticed the T.V. "Dude, were you watching SpongeBob?"
Sam held up his hands and pointed to Rose. Dean turned back to her.
"And why the hell are you even still awake?"
"I don' sleep much." She mumbled, tucking herself into a corner of the couch.
"Nothing's going to happen to you, Rose." Sam assured her gently. "Not with us here. It might take a while but Dean and me, we're gonna figure this out. Until then…"
"I get it, sugar." She whispered. "Don't wanna go back no how."
With that, Rose settled in to the crook of the couch and closed her eyes.
Leaving Terrence was like leaving a piece of herself behind. A literal piece. Rose couldn't've felt worse than if she tore off her leg and fed it to a pack of ravenous coyotes.
Dean had mumbled something a few miles back-something along the lines of 'staring out the window like a lost damn puppy'. Well, he was right. Terrence might've been all she'd ever known, but she darn-well knew it like the back of her hand; every pothole, street name and pathway. It was home; the only one she'd ever needed or wanted.
Rose didn't even know what highway this was or what state she was in. It felt an awful lot like betrayal; Amy and Burt was dead and buried and here she was safe and snug as a bug in a rug, running with her tail between her legs….
And the music was terrible.
There's only so much AC/DC a gal can handle.
Rose's butt was tingling something fierce by the time they pulled into a gas station. Just waiting for Sam to open the door so she could hop out made her feel like a dog wagging its tail.
Four hours in a car. Lord have mercy on my bladder.
And she was so darned desperate to pee that she was surprised by the cooler breeze that tickled her bare neck as she stepped out.
"Where are we?"
The Impala groaned as Sam stepped out and….unfurled. And she thought her legs were cramping.
"Minneola, Kansas." His voice broke as he stretched and, Lord, that boy went on forever.
Rose nodded and headed to the bathroom feeling like a fish outta water. Least the dirt here was the right color.
The bathroom smelled like ammonia, grease and dead rat and squatting over a knee-high toilet ain't easy but, by God, she did it and got the heck outta there.
Sam and Dean were waiting for her in the car with a bag of pretzels and a coke.
"Aren't y'all just the sweetest?"
"That's us," Dean chuckled as he started the engine. ".99 cent pretzels and a two dollar bottle of coke. Classy."
She stuffed a couple of pretzels in her mouth in answer and reclined in the backseat. Wasn't much to look at in Kansas; lots of hay, lots of barns and the land was so flat you could watch your dog run away for a week.
And Rose wasn't feeling much like talking but another semi-awkward three hours made her eye twitch.
"So," She draped her arms over the front seats and brushed the boys' shoulders. "How old are you boys?"
Dean barked a laugh. "Me? Much too young to feel this damn old."
"Well, lookie at you," She smacked his shoulder playfully. "Quotin' Garth Brooks. I feel like a proud mama."
Sam smirked and he cleared his throat and went back to watching the road. "What, Sammy? I heard it in a bar, alright?"
Rose felt a smile tug at her lips. A genuine smile. "What about you, Sam?"
"Come on, cowgirl," Dean's hazel eyes flickered to mine in the rearview. "You know better than to ask a girl her age."
"Twenty-five." He glared at Dean.
"Well I'll be." A bump pushed her back into the seat and she decided to stay and finish her pretzels. "Really shouldn't be callin' you boys then."
Course, she still would; she knew that much about herself.
"I'ma turn twenty-six in December." she offered, biting a pretzel along the edges like a pinwheel. "It's nice…" she said. "Talkin' to people my own age; Amy was…kinda it. Course, there's the diner," She shrugged. "And I like bein' friendly but-"
For the next thirty minutes, Rose talked; about everything and nothing at all.
"-but I ain't never been too keen on apple pie so-"
"Rose" She didn't hear Dean say her name and just kept up the incoherent rambles. "Rose!"
"Umm hmm?"
"That southern belle thing? It's cute, I love it, it's great," His voice was clipped and gruff like when they'd first met. "But let's play the silent game. I'll start."
Then he turned the music all the way up.
Rose slumped in defeat. "I was just tryin' to be friendly."
No one heard her over the music and so she went back to watching hay bales pass until the sun started to peter off into night and Dean pulled into a motel parking lot.
Rose hopped out with her purse and duffle bag of clothes slung over her shoulder and kept close to the boys as they checked in. If she couldn't reach out and touch one of them, they were too far for comfort.
The room itself was small with double queen beds and a dresser/entertainment center and it smelled like a basement.
For Dean and Sam, this was nothing; they chunked their bags on the bed, unzipped them and started pulling out guns and ammo and Rose just stood there like a bump on a log.
"I'mma…take a shower." She said and quietly dismissed herself to the bathroom. Rose dumped her stuff on the sink and undressed.
As she stepped under the near-boiling spray she wondered how her mama was doing. She'd have a conniption if she knew her baby was sharing a motel room with two men-and not in the normal mama bear kinda way. She'd probably slap her on the back and tell her to 'go get 'um, hun.'
Not a lot to do in Terrence; most girls her age already had kids and Rose knew her mama wanted a grandbaby. Now she just hoped they both lived long enough for that to happen.
Rose washed her hair, soaped off and shut off the shower. The bathroom looked like a sauna when she stepped out and her gray and yellow polka-dot pajama shorts stuck to her legs like glue.
Steam rolled out when she opened the door and Sam looked up from his laptop and smiled.
"Dean went to get dinner."
Rose nibbled on her cheek and nodded, taking a seat down beside him.
"You're brother," She started. "He don't much like me, does he?"
Sam stopped typing, staring at the screen as if wondering how to answer.
"Dean…Dean's had a tough time." He said. "We lost our dad last year and then Dean, ah, we were separated for a while.
"I'm so sorry, sugar." Rose shimmied on over and put her arms around him. Or, around most of him; boy had more muscles than a seafood platter. "My daddy's gone too."
Sam was tense in her arms but relaxed when she gave him a squeeze before pulling away to sit on her heels.
"What happened?"
"Cancer." Rose said. "Mama took him to this fancy hospital in Houston but the Lord still called him home. What about yours? If you don't mind my askin'?"
Pain flashed in his eyes and he looked away from her, back to the laptop. "He was…ah… killed. By a demon."
"Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, honey. I shoulda held off on that hug."
He didn't look at her but she saw the ghost of a smile pass his lips. "I'm fine now."
Rose took that to mean he didn't want to talk so she laid back against the headboard and turned on the T.V. Dean showed up ten minutes later with a greasy brown bag, a case of beer and a coke.
"Cheeseburgers." He set the bag on the dresser, opened it and tossed one to her.
Rose peeled back the wrapper and sniffed. It smelled like seared meat, onions and grease and it reminded her of the diner. Of home.
It tasted like salted cardboard and mustard.
She ate only half and threw the rest in the trash before catching sight of the time. It was nearly midnight.
Rose glanced between the two beds; there wasn't a couch or a chair. Just the floor and the beds.
Well, if she could sleep in a car she could sleep on the floor. Least she'd have a pillow.
"What the hell do you think you're doin'?"
Rose froze with a pillow and throw in her arms. "Sleepin'?"
Dean scowled. "Get your scrawny ass in the bed; you ain't sleeping on the floor."
Scrawny? "I don't mind."
The blanket was big enough to cocoon in so it'd be more like a sleeping bag but Dean was scowling at her something fierce.
"I'll take the floor," Sam offered but she shook her head.
"Y'all've done enough," She said. "Least I can do is let you boys have the beds."
Rose curled up in her blanket and pulled it up over her nose. Comfort didn't really matter, she wouldn't sleep much anyhow and the boys really have done too much for her already.
For hours she laid like that with her eyes closed, not moving until she finally fell asleep. Darkness was everywhere here and all the voices screaming, laughing, accusing.
See you in Hell, Rosie.
Amy's lifeless, bleeding eyes staring at her-looking into her soul.
See.
Thousands of hands jutted out from the darkness; reaching, wiggling fingers brushing her shoulders, thighs, arms and legs.
You.
Their touch burned yet she had a deep-seeded understanding that it could be worse; as if she was just out of their reach.
In.
Every twist, every turn the hands became a wall that brushed her, hurt her and Amy kept getting further and further with every step.
Burning fingers curled against her wrists; her skin sizzled, smoked. She screamed bloody murder, smelling her own skin burn…
Hell.
Rose woke with a violent gasp, clutching a pillow to her breast. She sat up in bed; it was dark. Really dark. She could make out a massive lump on the bed across from her and another on the floor where she should've been.
All she could hear was her heart beating in her ears.
I'm safe. I'm safe. I'm safe. There weren't no hands coming out of the darkness and the boys were right there. They wouldn't let nothing touch her.
They wouldn't.
Still, she didn't get anymore sleep and accidentally woke the boys near dawn by fumbling with the danged motel coffee machine in the dark. Rose didn't get a chance to see which sleeping lump was who, though she had a pretty darned good idea.
In the end coffee did happen and she passed it to the boys with a smile.
Sam took it gratefully, Dean less so but at least he took it then disappeared to check them out.
Rose took a sip and cringed. She liked a little coffee with her cream and sugar; not so much the other way round. Everything she had was already packed and ready to go so she just sat and watched Sam beat his clothes into submission and try to zip up the bag.
"You shouldn't've given up your bed, Sam." She mentioned casually. "But, thank you."
Sam stuffed a shirt into a side pocket and managed to zipped it up, throwing it over his shoulder. "I didn't."
"You didn't? Oh…well, okay."
They loaded everything in the Impala and Rose slipped into the backseat. Within minutes they were back on the road and she leaned up, resting her chin on Dean's seat.
"Thanks, sugar." She brushed a chaste kiss on his cheek then fell back into her seat.
Dean didn't respond but that was just dandy; she saw that hint of a smile in the rearview mirror. And that was good enough for her.