A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and kind words. I own nothing Supernatural.
Chapter 3:
There was a light knock on my door and Sam peeked his head in.
"You good, Hopie?" he asked, giving me his "you're my special sister smile." It was brilliant and only for me. (I wouldn't have done well with other girl siblings. I liked being the only girl and I liked having my brother's attention, at least when they were around to give it to me. Easiest said: I didn't like to share my brothers with anyone.)
"Yep," I answered, pulling my hair to do a side-braid while simultaneously admiring my silver-lined nails. I was super good at multi-tasking!
"Ya know, the side braid is really underrated, don't you think, Sammy?" I mused. "I mean, just to be able to pull it off in the right way, making sure it lies flat…"
He coughed. That was Sammy-speak for "I don't have time to indulge all your girlie-ness right now, so hush." I looked up from my braid to see he had walked across my room and was standing in front of me with a grin.
"What?" I asked, innocent to what was amusing him. Side-braids are really nothing to mess around with unless you really knew what you were doing. Idiot. For someone with so much hair potential he could really be a tool.
He reached down and lifted me up under my arms and over his head – he called them "Hope Lifts" – sometimes he would see how many he could do before throwing me back down on the bed. Once he did fifty two – he was wicked strong.
This time he didn't though, he just pulled me all the way up onto his shoulders. I hated being up that high and he knew it! It scared me and I always felt like I was two seconds from a spinal cord injury no matter how strong he was.
I dug my hands into his hair, pulling. "Let me down! You know I hate this! Foul! Unfair! And you're ruining the side-braid!" I huffed.
He reached behind me and held my back like he always did.
"You have to get over this fear. I'm NOT gonna let you fall, honey," he said with a chuckle.
"It's not the falling, it's the landing and crunching that scares me," I pouted. I hated it when the bros spontaneously decided to try to "break me" of any of my fears.
"I'm an American and I have rights, Sammy! I want down – NOW!" I emphsized my point by grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking again. "I'm telling Dean!" I threatened, sucking in a lungful of air, readying myself.
"Dean's the one who sent me in here to get you," he grimaced, "And no hair pulling," he said, giving my calf a half-hearted smack. I smacked him back on the top of his head. "No hitting!"
We were in the kitchen now – Dean leaning back with his chair on two legs and a shit-eating grin on his face.
"So, Sammy, how's the Little doing with her fear of heights?" he asked as he eyed me.
"How's she look?" he answered, barely containing his laugh. (Who laughs at their only sisters' terror?)
"Terrified and furious. I think it's time we move it up to the next level – duct taping her to the ceiling until she's over it."
Sam's shoulders started shaking up and down from laughing, but his hands stayed firm on my back. "You ready, Hopie-Dopie?" (I hated that nickname) "Lean forward…"
"No! No, Sammy, I swear to God, don't you do it! Don't you flip…!"
And just like that he had taken me from his shoulders and flipped me forward onto the kitchen floor. I hated that feeling in my belly when you move down fast.
I glared back and forth at both my brothers – I started to feel my eye twitch!
"You two – my eye's twitching! That can become a disabling disorder!" I looked at Sam. "I hope you're happy now – what if I go cross-eyed?"
Sam and Dean lost it then, totally flat-out holding their stomach laughing. "Hope, you can't go cross-eyed from an eye twitch, honey," he said, slinging his arm across my shoulder and wiping a tear that slipped from the crinkle of his eye.
"I totally hate you both right now," I said, eye still twitching. "I need an ice pack before this eye thing goes totally out of control."
Dean got up and went to the freezer. "Because everyone knows ice packs cure eye-twitches," he said, wrapping a Ziploc up for me.
He handed it to me with a wink. "But hey, on the up side – I'd give you an 8.5 on that landing."
SPNSPNSPN
"Okay, well if I've given you you're laugh for the day, I'd like to go back to braiding my hair," I said with my sulky face. My sulky face was like their kryptonite! I had it perfected. It was created to induce guilt, ensure positive attention, and ultimately put a few extra bucks in my pocket. I turned my eyes down, the ultimate final blow – reaching up to my hair and saying forlornly "I almost had it, too, the perfect side-braid," I murmured, trying to figure out how to forlornly walk away.
"Not so fast, Little," Sammy said, turning me and steering me toward the living room, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
I didn't want to go into the living room. No. I stopped walking, locking my knees, but he just kept sliding me along the floor, toward the horrible living room. Dean followed up behind us and I was planted between them on the sofa. This always meant something bad, like they were leaving me again.
"No," I said, resting my forehead on my hands with my elbows on my knees, forgetting the fake sulky face and forlorn walk. My pink hair spilled forward and blocked my face, which was totally my intention. I didn't want them to see my face. See my fear. See my sadness. Or ugh – worse – my tears ruining my make up.
"Hope, it's what we do," Dean said, putting his hand on my knee.
"It isn't what "we" do. It's what YOU and SAMMY do. Am I that horrible to be around? Why is it not okay for me to be me? "Oh, I don't care. I don't want to know. It's not like you're the only two hunters on the planet. You just hate being here with me. You both just … can't stand being around me for more than a few weeks at a time, because I'm not like you. You wish I was different. You wish I wore clomping boots and flannel. You want me to be… not me, so you leave me behind," I said evenly.
Sam's hand came down and pulled back the side of my hair and I looked down further – dammit, I worked hard on this make up!
"Hope, look at me, please," he said.
"No. Just go pack and leave me a note telling me where you'll be and when you could possibly return, unless you're killed by some new horrible thing. I don't want to look at either of you."
"Well," Dean said, pulling back the other side of my hair, "This time you need to go pack, too. It's a longer hunt and we don't want to be away from you that long. So go start packing your seventeen bags, brat."
The only thing worse than being left alone in the bunker of horrible sounds and dungeons was actually GOING with them on a hunt. Everything smelled like paid-for sex and vomit. This would only be the third time I went with them, ever. The first time I went because I didn't know any better – it sounded like fun! I envisioned my own adjoining room with a Jacuzzi, full sound system, stocked fridge and a pool. I'd work on my tan…
After that… memorable experience, I refused to ever go again. They literally carried me to the Impala and locked me in. They packed my bags, which made me look like a "Person From Wal-Mart" for the entire trip, and they forgot all my most important products: My MAC cosmetic kit, my Clinique facial cleansing routine, and all my hair stuff except a brush, an elastic, and a clippie. Oh yeah, and razors. (How do they live like that? Do they even have brains?)
"I want to stay here," I said, now looking up. I grabbed a Kleenex and dipped it into my ice pack and started rubbing my face to remove the streaked mascara.
"You have to come, Hope. This time could be longer. A lot longer. Here are your options: Go pack your stuff or I'll go pack your stuff", Sam said, not even looking a bit sorry.
"You could at least attempt to be sorry."
"I'm not – you'll be safer with us. Now go start, we're leaving in the morning, and that gives you less than twenty-four hours to figure your stuff out." (He was trying to be funny but really, twenty-four hours? Cave man.)
I got up from between them and climbed over Sam, not saying anything, making my way through the kitchen to the hall.
"And Hopester?" he added, "Keep it to four bags."
Oh, it was on.
"FOUR bags? How do you expect me to travel with only four bags? Well, that better not include my purse and my keep-with-me baby duffle! And find a place that doesn't have a "6" or an "8" after its name! And a HD TV! And I'm bringing my own linens and snacks!" I shouted back to him.
I hit my room and started planning outfits, music, and an emergency backup supply of lip gloss.