Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Beth Singer let out a grunted croak of trying to not break into sobs as she bled all over Bobby's library. "Oh God – Whiskey, somebody hand me the damn whiskey!" she was sure it was her scream she heard as Sam Winchester tried to dig the bullet from her shoulder. The old man, Bobby, made a rush to get her what she requested, and handed her the strongest bottle of alcohol that he possessed. She snatched it from him without the slightest 'Thank you.' and popped the top of it. She chugged a hearty amount of it down without a beat, "Ahhh…" she sighed, then, as she poured a splash of it over the open gunshot wound, she grunted again, this time it was sustained. Kris tried to hold her steady for Sam to operate, "Your stupid brother," Kris started, angry as a piston, "Sam, if she was going to shoot you, you'd be a dead man." She growled in unpleasantness as Beth jolted under her grasp again from his digging with surgical thongs. She replaced her cries with kissing the whiskey bottle. The more Beth drank, the more her head buzzed and the less she was in agony. Very suddenly her head began to turn into quite, numb mush. Sam was apologetic, "I'm sorry, Beth." he mused, digging deeper into her flesh. She drank even deeper, anything to stop what she was currently feeling. "Dean Winchester, is it?" she suddenly asked, glaring up at the eldest brother, ignoring the weird feeling of Sam digging out the bullet. "The one and only." He bit off, his face was set in annoyance.
Her glare dropped, she looked at him soberly. The expression on Deans face faltered for a second. Their stare contest didn't end as Beth raised the bottle and drank deeply, a quarter of the bottle cleared already. "Here." She offered the whiskey out to him, he reached out and clasped his hand around the bottle. He took a hearty drink, and kept his eyes on her. "That was a nice shot, Winchester." Bobby and Dean shared a curious look with one another. "Got it!" Sam piped, and Beth let out another deep grunt of agony as he slowly extracted the bullet. Beth began to pant for breath, then she held it. As Sam pulled the bullet out she gasped out, turning her head to examine her wound that he continued to doctor. It was a bloody mess. He picked up the needle, made the first stitch, and she had to turn her head away, unable to watch. "Throw up!" she exclaimed humorously, her face scrunched up in distaste, then she smiled.
Dean, after another swig, handed the bottle back to Beth. She took it and drank deeper. In a haste, Kris snatched the bottle from her sisters lips, causing a good amount to dribble down her front. "Hey!" "That's enough." Kris twisted the top back to it despite Beth's protest, then she waltzed past the crowd of men toward the kitchen. "Whatever, I'm sure the drunk old man has an arsenal of alcohol, and there's always a bar on a corner somewhere!" Beth yelped through the house, in the direction Kristina disappeared to, "Hide it, dammit, because I will find myself a drink!"
"Beth, im gonna need for you to hold still." Sam said, she had begun to get springy in her anger.
With a drunken grumble she looked at her bloody shoulder again and held steady, watching as Sam finished off his tiny line of stitches and began to dress it. Bobby led Dean over to a corner, in a low hiss he said, "I can't believe you shot that poor girl over a fender bender, Dean, what in God's name were you thinking boy?" Dean didn't skip a beat. "She took a shot off at Sam." He said, tone hard as stone.
"Next time make sure your aim is right."
The two men wheeled around, Beth, patched up and buzzing, stood right behind them. Dean took a step back and held his hands up infront of him, "Okay, look – I meant to shoot you in the shoulder, there is nothing wrong with my aim. No, my aiming is on point. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead before you hit the dirt, little girl. So just sit down and shut up long enough for us to figure out what to do with you and that little doppelganger of yours, okay? Okay, good talk." Dean roughly clapped her on her wounded shoulder and smirked as she winced back in discomfort. She stood there for a moment, as tears began to well up in her blue eyes, making them shine bright behind her black fringe, she held the waterworks back. Then she turned to Bobby, "Are you- 'a single tear escaped, trickling down the slope of her cheek, she cleared her throat and wiped her face. 'Are you really our father?" Bobby looked outraged. "Kid, what are you going on about?" Sam spoke up from his side of the room, where he was cleaning the mess. "Bobby, you called right before the shoot out and told me that Dean had us a job to pick them up at the airport…"
"Bobby didn't give me a job…" Dean's brows furrowed.
"Sam, I haven't called you since yesterday." Bobby was looking paler by the minute.
Beth stood there in confusion as the three men looked at her like an enemy, Dean pulled out his knife, and she heard the sound of a gun cocking behind her. "Ah fuck." she uttered, and Bobby threw holy water into her face as fast as lightning. It soaked her and she spit a good amount of it out of her mouth, "I'm not a monster." she almost whined. Kristina popped back into the room, Sam turned his gun and held it on her. She stuck her hands up, "Easy there, I'm not as tolerant to pain as Beth is. If you shoot me, I'll go hysterical." Kris carefully maneuvered around Sam and stood next to her sister. "See this…" very carefully she handed a small photograph over to Bobby. When he looked at the woman in the picture, his eye bulged. Dean took a moment to sneak a peep at the photo, and let out a low whistle.
"Now that's a milf."
Bobby's eyes looked from the photo, to the girls – until they fluttered back and he hit the floor in a dead faint. Sam and Dean acted instantly, swooping the old man up from the floor and hauling him over onto the couch. Dean sat on the couch, facing him. "Bobby!" He looked around the library Den at the other three standing around the room. "One of you, go get some beer." He barked demandingly. Sam was the one to move his ass, the girls stood around, out of place. Sam was back with the beer, cracking it open, then handing it off to Dean.
He held the open beer under Bobby's nose and the fresh suds stirred his mind back to reality. "There ya are, Bobby!" Dean exclaimed cheerfully, passing the cold can over into the old mans hands. He grabbed his own, drinking alongside Bobby. They drank for a moment in the silence, then Bobby said. "Look, girls, I can't be your father." He looked up at them with a sincere concerned expression chiseled into his face. Kris stepped forward, and said, "But Nan said that-" Bobby cut her short. "Your Nan must've lied to yens." Kris continued to argue her side of the story. "Nan never lies! How would she know where to find you, then?" she pressed. Beth, whom had found a seat on the old oak desk, and had managed to smuggle a beer, chimed in. "You just went head first into the dirt over that photo of mom, too." She shrugged off in a bored tone, turning the can up to her lips.
"Alright, enough!" Bobby exploded, finally.
The room stayed silent, all eyes trained on him, so he continued. "We'll talk about all this parent trap crap in the morning. You girls can stay for the night, but tomorrow you'll be on your way."
Kris began to protest. "But where are we-"
"Back to your Nan!" Bobby bit, harshly.
"Fine." Beth sighed, sounding fed up with the whole situation. She downed more of her beer, Bobby continued some more. "Now Sam and Dean can show you kids to the guest room, tomorr-"
"Thanks but no, I'll be out in my car…don't even bother." She tossed aside her empty can, hopped off the desk, and hobbled over towards the couch. She hunkered down and grabbed the remaining three cans of the six pack by the empty plastic rings, then she exited the room.
Beth slammed the front door in her fury as she left the house and wandered around the junkyard, navigating her way to the back, where Kris had parked Curtis upon their dynamic entrance. "Beth!" She heard her sister yelp from the distance, she was being searched for. "Awesome…" she mumbled to herself as she ducked beside a beat up old pick up. She sat against the tire in the darkness, "Beth!" "Beth!" "BETH!" the Winchester brothers had joined her sisters hunt. "Fuck." She groaned to herself, the one that had shot her was moving in close.
In her quick thinking she laid flat and rolled underneath the truck, having to cover her mouth from letting out a pained moan as she used her bad arm to grab her beers from next to the tire. She waited in silence for a while, watching feet walk by the truck as their shouts of her name echoed. She heard Kris say to Sam. "She does this a lot…Getting drunk and emotional, and then drinking more because she gets too emotional." "How long has she been doing this?" Sam asked. Beth could picture her sister shrugging her shoulders, looking down at her feet. "We got hammered for the first time when we turned fifteen, after we ganked our first boogeyman. I'm not one to turn to booze, but Beth, she picked it right up." Eventually they journeyed back, giving up the hunt for her. After another long pause, she let out a sigh of relief and rolled out from under the truck. She whirled around to make sure she was alone, the coast was clear. She began to walk again, slow steps as she cracked open another beer.
Her whiskey buzz was starting to come down, she needed to refuel. It was way easier to drink down her feelings instead of dealing with them. She was seething. She made a mental note to find a tire iron in the morning and smash up some of the old mans cars – or maybe she could do all that later in the night, when all of them were up in the house sleeping in cozy beds. What a wonderful wake-up call it would be. She'd be happy to peel out right that minute, had it not been for her sister in the house, and she couldn't go back in there. She refused it, knowing she wasn't welcome, refusing to stick around and be a burden.
Yep, Bobby Singer could sure suck it.
Beth leaned against a shiny black classic and struck up a smoke, taking deep drags, chasing her smoke clouds with more of the beer. She needed to find her car, in the trunk she had loaded enough booze to keep her intoxicated for two months straight. Instead she leaned her good shoulder against the shiny glass window of an Impala, peering into the window to get a good look at the nice interior. She was doing whatever she could to keep her mind distracted from the rage inside of her, it was starting to burn out. She tipped the can up again, chugging the second half of the can down in one straight shot, with a belch, she crushed the aluminum in her hand and gave it a toss over her shoulder.
She didn't know what to do. It was as simple and as complicated as that. Knowing there was no way she could ever go back home, after what she had done. Popping another beer off of the plastic, she began to guzzle the bitterness back. It tickled her tongue, and her complexion started to flush. Suddenly she was grabbed from behind, a strong set of arms twisted her into captivity, a rough hand of steel clasped over her mouth. The pain in her shoulder flared back up, her groan was muffled, she dropped her cigarette and drink. "That's a good girl." He said. "Now let's go for a little ride." She tried to fight him off as he wrestled with her and tried to open the car door, kicking her feet with no luck, and she was harshly tossed into the Impala through the driver's side. As she recomposed herself into an upright position the car engine revved to life, she took look of her captor. Dean Winchester looked smug as ever as he peeled down Bobby's long driveway. Beth reached toward her door, ready to roll with the gravel when she got ready to make her grand escape, but Dean pushed the locks in. "You aren't going anywhere without me, Princess." He smarted off, turning abruptly, sending Beth's injured shoulder into the door panel. She hissed through teeth, biting into her lip until she tasted blood. "Where are we going?" she barked, patting her pockets for her six shooter, then realizing that she wasn't wearing her over jacket. It was in the house. Dean side eyed her with a gleaming smile. "Hunting." His sarcasm was laid on thick, he chuckled lightly. Beth thought about grabbing the wheel, maybe she could cause them to go off the side of the road, crashing the car and killing them both.
Instead she crossed her arms over her blood stained tank top and threw herself back into the seat. "I hope those Leviathan fucks find you and eat your damn heart out!" she bitched. Dean rolled his eyes, knowing that the broad was just blowing steam out of her ass. "That would be a werewolf, babe. You don't mean that, anyways." He stated. Factually. "Don't call me babe!" she bit off. He was taking her hunting, alright. There was no better way to release the anger than a fresh hunt. Everyone in the business knew that. Dean drove the way to the outskirts of town, he was going to make this girl put her blood, sweat, and tears into this job.
They pulled to a stop infront of an automotive junkyard. Beth looked out of the window at the 'USED CAR PARTS!' sign, "What the hell." Dean unlocked her door, "Come on, there's a job to be done." She got out with him and followed to the back of the Impala's open trunk. The arsenal of weapons had her in awe, she reached to grab The Cult. Dean seen what she was going for and gently smacked her hands away, "No." he said, and shoved a heavy toolbox into her arms. She groaned as her bad shoulder screamed in protest of the weight. "Shake it off, Babe, it's not going to get any better if you keep crying about it." And for good measure, to get her nice and steamy, he added. "Woman up!" He slammed the trunk shut, and then guided them around back to a twelve foot tall fence, where one large man sized hole was peeled back for them to get in without hassle. On the other side there was lined at least five hundred cars, rotting in the metal boneyard.
"What is this?" she mulled over, starting to sober back up.
"You hurt Baby." Dean had the face of a disrespected parent. "So now you're going to fix her."
"You have got to be kidding me!"
"All kids aside. Consider this the first step in your sobriety program."
Again, she looked at him with that sober blank face. It was the same look Bobby gave Sam and him right before he called them idjits. Dean shook his head and held the fence back for her, "Ladies first." And they entered the dead car lot.
By sunrise they were back at Bobby's and covered in black grease, both of them pouring sweat in the center of the junkyard. They had labored for hours, mainly Beth, with minor assistance from Dean, and repaired all the damage she had caused his wheels. He made her do a full car check on the Impala while she was at it. She dropped the tire pressure gauge and wiped her arm over her dripping forehead, leaving a grease streak in its wake. "I- I'm done!" Beth gasped, "I fixed it, the rest of this is so stupid!" ,then she ripped her shirt off with her good arm, leaving her standing in a lacy red bra. She used her ruined top as a rag and sopped up as much body odor as possible. Dean ogled at the sight infront of him, and then a genius idea stirred up in his man brain.
"No you're not." He strolled away from her for the first time in hours, headed toward the side of the old house. Beth saw the door of open opportunity, tied the dirty rag of a shirt to the antenna of the Impala, and she bolted through the maze of cars. Den returned minutes later with a soap water bucket and sponge, "Beth, you are gonna make her shine like-" his sentence fell off and he noticed the tank top tied like a flag on Baby. He seen dirt settling in the sunlight, dropped the bucket, and began to follow her fading trail.
She finally made it back to her car and popped the trunk, reaching into the cooler, she yanked out a chilled six pack. She grabbed two of them. Next, she dipped into the humid darkness of her front seat, slumping low into her seat as she opened up a can. Her throat was so dry, she killed one can in one gulping go. Then she tossed the can out of her open window and cracked open another, sipping on it, keeping a watchful eye out for Dean. Her original idea was to start the car and hit the asphalt, but Kris had the damn keys. So the only thing she could do was find a fresh shirt and lay low, she could get her drinks in before she had to face anyone again.
The passenger side sprang open, and in came Dean, annoyance set his face cold. Beth looked at his sweat and grease smudged face, a string of giggles escaped her, "Here. You need a few of these." she sat the second six pack on his lap, he wasted no time in pulling the tab off and drinking deeply. "Ahhhhh…" he huffed out after half a can. "Listen, I want to apologize…you know…for shooting you last night." He tossed the now empty can aside and started on number two. Beth choked on the foam and as she recomposed herself, she began to laugh again.
"What's funny?"
She shook her head, said, "You're adorable. Apology accepted." and returned her main focus on drinking. As she was on her fourth on, she suddenly looked at the beer with distaste, then tossed the partially full can outside the car. "What's wrong?" Dean asked, they'd been in comfortable silence while they drank away the early morning, her change of mood set off a dark aura around her.
"It's nothing." Beth wavered off.
"It's something." Dean noted back.
If you've read this far, you're awesome! Leave reviews if you'd like.