Heyyyyyyy, here's an extra long chapter for my readers as a Christmas present! Merry Christmas! Please leave a review as a Christmas present in return!
"Mr. Barry!" Dean quickly hid the gun behind his back. "We were just, uh, talking about, uh, you?" he finished feebly.
"Is that so?" Mr. Barry stepped closer. "And please, call me Kenny."
"Sure, uh, Kenny." Dean nodded rapidly and gave a huge phony smile that faltered several times under Mr. Barry's questioning look before breaking the stare and looking at his feet. It was silent for a few seconds.
"So what were you saying about me?" Mr. Barry asked, looking at Sam expectantly. He took another step closer.
Sam froze. "Uh…"
"Nothing offensive, I hope?" He smiled sincerely.
"No, of course not!" Sam said quickly. He smiled back, obviously trying to think of something to say, but continually smiled until his grin wavered; he looked at Dean for help.
"Well, we just noticed you, uh, like the, um… Chiefs!" Dean exclaimed, pointing at Mr. Barry's red jersey. "The Kansas City Chiefs! They're a, uh, a really great team. We were just talking about the, uh, football season." He said nothing for a moment, then added a late, "Go Chiefs!"
"Uh-huh," Mr. Barry said skeptically. With nothing to say, he glanced around; his eyes fell onto me. I cringed, bracing for the full name to be said.
"Rickiejollen Gwendolyn Honey Lucy Winchester, what are you doing on the ground?" His voice was unusually calm and unquestioning; his eyes were twinkling.
I racked my brains for an excuse. I used the only excuse I've constantly have used my entire life, which had to be…
"I'm just tired," I said, scrambling to my feet. Immediately after saying it I wanted to kick myself. 'I'm just tired'? Brilliant, Rickie. That's a great excuse. He's certainly is going to believe that. I brushed some dirt and pieces of broken leaves from my sweater, unable to think of anything to say.
"So, um…" I looked up at Mr. Barry and cracked a weak grin. "How're them Chiefs?"
His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. "I heard you."
"I know, those Chiefs are something, aren't they?" Sam smiled and shot Dean an "Are you serious of all the things to talk about it's the Chiefs" look.
"No," he said. Another step. "I mean about your stakeout."
I bit my bottom lip. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.
Another step. "And about the Ralsala."
Crap. How much did he hear? Did he hear everything? I opened my mouth to explain, but couldn't find the words to tell him that his son wasn't really his actual son and that we intended to stab him in the middle of the night, so I kept my mouth shut and looked at my feet.
"My only question is…"-he looked from Sam to Dean and grinned-"when were you planning to include a hunter in your plan that was over the age of ten?"
I stomped my foot. "I'm not ten!" It took me a moment to process what he had really meant and for it to click.
"No way!" I gasped.
"Yes way," Mr. Barry grinned. If he smiled any wider, his face would split in half.
"No," Sam said in a hushed whisper.
"Yes."
"But you can't be! You're just a…a… a dad!" I exclaimed. I tried to imagine him as a hunter but my mind came up completely blank.
Mr. Barry snorted. "Are you kidding? Who do you think taught your dad the ropes?"
"Huh?"
"Your dad. He was a hunter, too. Didn't you know that?" he asked, rubbing his short buzz cut.
"No," I said, awed. "I didn't."
"Oh, yeah. Wasn't that bad at it either, but that one succubus just managed to get the best of him, and, well…" his voice trailed off, but he shook himself and continued, "I just thought you could use some help with the Ralsala."
"Yeah, well, thanks for the offer, but we've got this one," Sam said curtly. "We don't need any help."
"Oh, really?" Mr. Barry's eyebrows rose skeptically.
"Really," Sam said rudely. "We're fine, thanks."
"I would feel more… comfortable, if there was a more experienced hunter involved in this," Mr. Barry said.
"We know how to hunt, thank you very much," Sam snapped.
"Rickie doesn't. And you two have been doing this for how long? A year, maybe two?"
"That's none of your business," Sam snarled. "But if you absolutely have to know, we were raised doing this. We know what we're doing."
I raised my eyebrows. Sam was always the one who never picked a fight; I thought Dean was the only one who would lose his temper. From the steely glint in Sam's eye and his anger-flushed cheeks, I was obviously wrong.
"Well, Rickie doesn't. Perhaps I can take her place," Mr. Barry suggested.
I gasped. "Out of the question," I said stubbornly.
"But-"
"Out of the question," I repeated.
Mr. Barry shook his head and said, "What is this all about, Rickie? Is this about expectations? Huh? You expect to be one of us in a few hours practice?" He raised his voice. "Do you expect to be your dad? Well you can't be, because he's not here, and you don't know what he would have wanted. But I know he wouldn't have wanted you to risk your life for something as stupid as expectations!" He yelled the last word so loudly it echoed through the trees, and then it was silent.
Silent rage coursed through my head as I gaped at him, unable to find the voice to yell back. When I could speak, I took a step forward so we were nose to nose.
"Expectations?" I whispered. "Is that what you think I'm doing this for?"
Mr. Barry didn't answer; he only stared at me.
"I'm doing this because if I don't, my little sister will die! Is that what my dad would have wanted?"
"I think he would have wanted me to help," Mr. Barry said in a low voice.
"Well, we don't need it," Sam said angrily. "We can do it on our own."
"Why can't you just let me take Rickie's place?" he snapped.
"Because this is my niece, our family, and I, no, we can't trust you with that."
Mr. Barry opened his mouth, but I cut across him.
"Seriously, Mr. Barry, just back off," I snarled. "This is our family, our fight, so just leave and let us do our job."
He stared at me, looking shocked and hurt. Good. I could still feel the anger pounding in my head from his outburst. He didn't move.
"You heard me!" I snarled, pointing to the house. "Leave! Go! Go and sit by the fire and drink your stupid eggnog and sing your stupid carols or whatever you do around the holidays! Just leave!"
Mr. Barry looked at me sadly, sighed, turned, and began walking to the house. After a few feet, he paused.
"I know you're angry with me, but if you ever need me, I'm here to help," he said over his shoulder. Without another word, he left. We watched him disappear into the house.
"Maybe I should apologize," Sam said. He kicked a small rock with the toe of his shoe, looking miserable. "I just kinda… snapped. I didn't mean to…"
"No," I said. "He had no right to say that stuff." I bent down slowly and picked up the small rock that Sam had kicked. I tossed the rock up in the air once before throwing it out into the trees.
"Let's go," I said. I turned toward the house. "We've got work to do."
