Bobby's Daughter

I do not own anything you recognize…

Chapter Three

"Home, sweet home," I declared, pulling into the driveway of my house. (We had snuck out of the hospital fifteen minutes before.) It sat far back on a piece of property surrounded by woods – and I owned all sixteen acres of it. My house was white with sky blue accents. It was three levels with a wrap around deck. A little ways off the house, I had a large garage built – made to match the house. It contained my cars that I fix up for a hobby. (Right now I was working on a Corvette. I had just finished a Thunderbird.) My house was a ten bedroom, twelve bath. Trust me, I didn't buy this. My Grandfather passed it on to my Mother who passed it on to me.

I pulled in and parked the car, looking to my passenger – Dean. I couldn't even get a last name out of the dude.

"Looks like the Adams Family," Dean grumbled. Since he hurt his right arm, I had to open the door for him after grabbing his duffle from the trunk.

I laughed. "Nah, more Amityville Horror." His eyes got wide. "No, no," I told him with a smirk as we walked up to the front door. "It is haunted, but not by anything evil. Trust me. I'd be the first one out if the ghosts were malefic."

"Oh," was all I got from him as I unlocked the front door (not like I really needed to lock it anyway). I pushed it open and we made our way inside.

He admired my living room. It was a sandy color with books everywhere. I had even gone to the great length of putting them in order – by subject then by title in ABC order. There was a fire place and several comfortable sitting chairs. "Nice crib," he commented.

"Thanks," I said with a smile. "Hungry?"

By now it was three in the morning. And I was hungry – I had eaten dinner at seven. He followed me into the kitchen which was a yellow and spacious because I liked to cook. It had three ovens, just to prove my point. I opened the fridge and pulled out a purified water container. He scrunched up his nose at this. I put it back and grabbed a Snapple. He pretended to gag. I pulled out several more drinks, to which I got some type of disturbing 'no' answer. Finally, I reached far in the back and pulled out the whisky bottle that I used for cooking. He smiled.

"Drunk," I accused playfully.

"Hey, you weren't the one in a car crash."

"I was the one who had to deal with the guy in the car crash. Not to mention the stupid guy who came into the ER today, high out of his mind from pot."

"My brother's missing."

"So, he's your brother?" Dean closed his mouth. "What's his name?"

"Sammy," came the reluctant answer.

"Sammy. Do you guys have a last name," I asked, handing him the whisky. He drank it all in one shot. I poured him some more.

"Winchester."

"Like the gun?"

"Like the gun," he answered with a slight smile and downed the second glass of whisky.

Pop References:

One: Adams Family

Two: Amityville Horror. Isn't that New Jersey too? Lol.

Three: Snapple.

Four: Winchester guns.