Merry Christmas everyone!
Maggie woke up exhausted, irritated and oh yeah, mad as a hornet. Why, you might ask?
Oh, where to begin!
Her nerves were fraught with tension. Her body was sore from falling in a dead faint on her wooden front porch, then standing around for hours on a hard floor at the ER in borrowed shoes. She hadn't slept well at all; the heat, the humidity, her houseguest. She'd dozed with one ear on alert for any noise or sound that meant Myrtle had once again invaded the house. Or for any indication Dean was awake and in pain or needed something or doing something utterly stupid – you know, again.
She'd gotten up every two hours to change the ice packs and feed him pain meds every four. Oh, she supposed he could have done it himself but really, did she want him wandering around in the dark searching for something else to break? Or worse, find himself something to eat in her kitchen? Good Lord! Had he done so and turned on a light, Myrtle would not have been turned away at the door.
She sighed.
The day was hot. Again. Her electric was spotty, had been on and off overnight and now her house was warm. While retrieving her newspaper from her front sidewalk, she'd had to spend several moments in the humidity assuring Myrtle – whom she met in her petunias, again – that no; Dean did not require her assistance bathing; no, he did not need her homemade western omelet complete with Wisconsin cheese or her cinnamon French toast or the fluffiest ever mini chocolate chip wheat pancakes OR her true and classic Belgian waffles, crisp on the outside, light as a feather on the inside – ARRGGH! – she returned to her cooling kitchen and made Dean plain oatmeal with a sprinkle of sugar.
She refused to revisit the spectacle that was yesterday and had yet to work up the courage to confront what she knew was the town gossip – her. So she hid in her house, but yeah, it failed to be her normal sanctuary. Why? Well because her houseguest was quite cranky and he roused to complain about: EVERYTHING!
Why was it so warm?
Why didn't his room having a ceiling fan?
Why didn't she have central air?
Why didn't the TV in his room have hi-def cable?
Was that a VCR?
Truly, no really? A VCR?
Where was the Blu-Ray player?
What did she mean, she didn't have a laptop?
Or a tablet?
How could she ask; what was Wi-Fi?
Why couldn't he have bacon and eggs for breakfast?
Coffee woman, black and strong.
Milk? Seriously? Didn't she know what happened the last time he drank milk?
Grape fruit juice? Eww!
Bran muffins? Not yet 40!
Did she not ever visit the grocery store?
Why hadn't she washed his clothes?
Could she put his car in her garage?
Could she turn her TV down since he couldn't close his door?
Which, yeah, was her fault, since her house lacked central air.
Would Myrtle be back?
Where was Sam? Hadn't she called him?
And to think, the previous evening she had fretted because he'd slept too much. HA!
Sam Winchester. Just wait until I get my hands on you! Just where in the bloody blazes are you? You haven't called, answered your phone or shown up! And when you do grace my door, why, protect your ears, for I am going to grab one by its lobe and give you quite the talking to even if I have to stand on a chair to do so! I'll have you know, I'm quite agile atop a rickety table. I assure you, I can handle hopping onto a chair!
She was on her sofa, her feet not propped up in their usual position on her coffee table, still in her nightgown and bathrobe, reading her paper while sipping coffee, the TV on to a morning news show when a commotion outside her front door, caused her to frown and turn up the volume.
"HEY!" yelled Dean. "Turn that down, would ya?"
"My House!" she yelled back. "Shut your damn door."
The loud, rumbling, coughing, belching, vibrating annoyance did not abate. In fact, it grew closer, louder, heavier.
She frowned. Her walls were thrumming. Her lampshade swung ever-so-slightly. Her picture frame walked slowly inch by inch across her mantle over the fireplace. Oh now hey, that hovering, thrumping noisy nuisance was….why, it sounded like it was right outside her house….no…no way. It couldn't be!
She bolted to her feet and sprang over to her front door. IT WAS! It was right outside her house! And it was….oh no! Not again! This would not do! It just would not do!
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" she charged out the door, across the porch and down the steps. "YOU ARE NOT PARKING THAT CONTRAPTION IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE. BE GONE!" she fairly flew down her sidewalk, waving her hands. "Shoo! Shoo! Oh, SHOO, I say. Be gone. Go away. Leave. Good day to you!"
Just when she thought she couldn't be any more mortified then the day she'd spent in hell (yesterday), she was once again proven wrong.
Oh, this would not do. It just would not do! If ever a time was appropriate for throwing a tantrum, now was it. A good ole fashioned foot-stomping, sit-on-the-ground, heel-kicking, hand-waving fit was indeed called for. For on her quiet street, in front of her very house, where UPS vans were not frequent, where no moving vans or buses ever went by, sat a big ole, dirty, rumbling, black-smoke emitting, foul smelling big rig. An 18 wheeler! A semi! A tractor-trailer! And it was hauling a HOUSE!
The extended cab vibrated and shook from the huge idling engine. It made an obnoxious, loud noise. The exhaust smelled, sending plumes of blue/grey smoke into the air that cloaked the trees and hung heavy in the humid, choked air.
Thrum, thrum, thrum,
Rumble, rumble, rumble,
Puurrruurrruurr,
The pavement beneath her slippered feet hummed and thrummed, making her legs tingle from the heavy vibrations. Oh, it needed to move on before it drew a crowd. She couldn't face that again, not again. Oh, she just couldn't!
What were the chances the driver was lost? And just happened to park in front of her house – at a time when Dean Winchester was in residence – while he consulted a map, or an atlas or google or whatever truck drivers used these days to find their way.
And how the hell had he maneuvered that long house-trailer around the curves and corners into her neighborhood? Why, that was the biggest, longest, highest and widest tractor-trailer she'd ever seen in her life! Was that thing even street legal? And what was it doing in her neighborhood! No one was moving out, no houses were for sale. Double-wide and modular homes just were not in her neighborhood, they just weren't! And semis just didn't...oh. Oh. OH. OH NO!
She hopped in agitation, hands flying to her mouth in dismay.
The driver's door opened! Someone was getting out! Was climbing down to the ground! Oh Dear Lord, BigFoot existed. Right there was living proof! And it was walking right towards her! He was so HUGE! It must be BigFoot's big brother. It had to be! No human male could possibly be that big!
She stuttered to a stop, hands now clasped to her chest in confusion when BigFoot ignored her, rounded the front of the cab and opened the passenger door.
"Oh no." she gave herself a shake, shaking off her nonsense and coming to her senses. "You have the wrong house! Please go away! It's so early and…"
BigFoot helped someone down from the passenger seat. Literally climbed onto the step, reached in, lifted, backed up, and set….Sam – SAM – on the grass next to the curb the huge truck idled against!
So, no, not a mistake. DRAT!
"Howdy ma'am." the driver finally greeted her. "Here's your package. Never say ole Bear doesn't deliver right up to your front door." Bear swung down a sizable green duffel using two fingers. Maggie gaped, she knew how heavy those deceptive looking bags were. "All in one piece too. He was damaged before I got him."
"Meep." Maggie stuttered.
"Hi Maggie!" Sam waved, opposite arm slung around the shoulders of the largest, biggest, shaggiest man Maggie had ever seen in her entire life. She gulped…..Oh Dear God. "Sorry it took me so long to get here. Can't drive, couldn't hire a cab, no bus, couldn't hitch." he hopped and hobbled towards the house. "How's Dean? Is he still here? I see the car. He's not in the hospital is he?"
Nothing could be worse.
Not two days in a row.
This morning could not possibly be worse than yesterday.
And here she'd thought, the police and paramedics and firemen with ambulances and hook and ladder fire trucks couldn't be topped.
HA!
There was no way this scene, this spectacle, this….this…..this moment could get worse!
Oh, sure it could Maggie! Why, just turn around to see how!
Maggie turned around to see what had made the biggest man on earth hide – hide – behind Sam and moaned, feeling faint.
For there he stood.
On her porch.
The door wide opened behind him.
Letting all her a/c out.
Again.
All tousled hair and sleepy-eyed.
Clad in a t-shirt and underwear.
In plain view of everyone.
Holding a gun on the driver of the big rig.
Looking mad, mean, maniacal and promising violence.
Dean.
"SON-OF-A-BITCH!" Maggie exploded, stomping a foot. Where the hell had that damn gun come from? Where! WHERE! Anyone? Anyone at all? Could anyone tell her where he kept that damn gun?! "GET IN THE HOUSE!"
A gun in her neighborhood? What would her neighbors think? How would she explain it? Explain this? Normal people did not go around waving guns in public. They just didn't. They simply did not. And oh, there. Yup, there came Myrtle and that was Barry and oh, she was lightheaded. Great, just great!
"Dean!" Sam called to reassure his brother that violence was not necessary. "I'm good. I…..MAGGIE?" he yelped in alarm when, for only the 2nd time in her life, and in less than 24 hours, mind you, Maggie Mills crumpled in an ungainly heap right there on her own front lawn.
Oh, this couldn't be happening to her. Not again, she moaned. How much was one old woman supposed to be able to handle? The heat! Her rosebushes! Her coffee table! Her electric bill! Myrtle hanging in her petunias trying to peek into her guest room window. Hadn't yesterday been embarrassment enough ? The police, the fire truck, the ambulance, the hospital. Oooooh-oh-ooooooh-woe-ooooh.
No, just no.
Oooooh-oh-ooooooh-woe-ooooh. So this was the good Lord's punishment for secretly – or not so secretly – harboring a yearning for wanting a daughter. For favoring Jody over her other four daughters-in-law. For never telling Jody no. For answering her phone and opening her door to the Winchesters! For not running when she first met – uh, was confronted by was more accurate – the brothers.
I say, oh-Good-Lord, take me now. Just call me home.
What? What the…..? Now, what was that? Ooohhhhhh! Paws? Were those hairy paws? They were!
Hands were on her arms, lifting her head to rest against a not-so-good-smelling shoulder…..more hands than any one man could possibly possess. She gasped, eyes popping right out of her skull, no literally, they indeed left their sockets….was that a boob?! Was…was…was….BigFoot, gulp, female? Oh no. No way was the she-he-Bear going to touch her. She shuddered at the thought of being picked up and carried in the arms of whatever the hell BigFoot was.
"Maggie?" Barry was calling anxiously, hovering behind BigFoot. "I fear you have overexerted yourself again. You simply must take it easy during this very unusual heat wave."
"I'm fine." Maggie insisted, waving and slapping paws and hands away. "Just the heat." she rallied and sat up. "It's been so hot!"
"You must come stay with me." Barry said firmly, popping up under BigFoot's arm. Now, how on earth had he managed to weasel his way between Sam and Bear. "I have central air. I insist."
Bear helped pick her up and set her on her feet but didn't let go. "Got two arms, let me escort you both into the house." he/she offered. "It's mighty hot out here."
"NO!" Maggie cried, then, not wanting to risk offending her, aah, visitor, hastily backtracked. "Uh, I mean, it's so early and this street is mostly seniors and no offense, but your, um, truck is so big and noisy and well, the neighbors…." she waved weakly at Barry and Myrtle, wanting Bear – oh-so-appropriately-named by the way – and his/her big, noisy, smelly truck gone. Long gone. Gone now. Gone far away.
"Sure, sure." Bear nodded. "I get it, I do. Okay then, I'll let your friend here escort you and I'll get Sam here to the house and I'll be on my way." he/she swung Sam's green duffel over his/her shoulder, collected Sam's weight and made for the porch. "Howdy there buckaroo." he/she greeted Barry with a nod of her/his head. "Mite warm out, wouldn't you say?"
Please don't ask to use the bathroom, Maggie silently chanted. Please don't ask to use the bathroom. Oh please don't ask to use the bathroom. "Can I fill a thermos with lemonade or ice tea for you?" Maggie offered pleasantly. I don't want you in my house and get the hell off my street. "Do you have a long drive?" I wish you far away; far, far away, never to return.
"Thank you much ma'am, but nope. I'm good."
Oh, Thank God! "Here now, that's good." Maggie hopped along behind Bear and Sam, Barry on her heels, Myrtle on his. "Let him sit for a minute on the step and rest. Dean here will help him into the house."
"Hey!" Dean protested, gun gone and all wide-eyed innocence and cutesy once again. No sign or display of the dangerous criminal Maggie knew him to be. Now, where had he put that gun? WHERE? Once of these days, she was going to steal his clothes under the pretense she needed to make a load of laundry and find that mysterious pocket! "Broken ribs here. I ain't lugging his ass up all these steps."
Maggie sputtered. All what steps? The mere three on her porch? Those steps?
"Steps ain't no problem." Bear said cheerfully. "I'll carry him right up to the house. Just tell me where to set him down."
"Oh, now no need to fret." Myrtle pushed past Barry, took Sam's free hand in both of her own and patted it repeatedly. "Why, just look at you! You poor thing!" she noticed his slight wince. "Is your hand hurt? Oh dear, how will you get on? It's a good thing I'm here. Maggie's been so selfish, erhm, preoccupied with Dean here, she won't have time for you."
"NO!" Maggie protested belatedly. She'd been distracted by Myrtle and had missed Bear's offer. "I mean, I don't want to keep you."
"Are you sure? I don't mind help getting him settled. He's hardly any weight at all." Bear gave Myrtle what passed for a smile but in reality was a frown and slightly shifted Sam's weight.
You'll set foot in my home over Sam's prone body…..you….you….drug-addicted, disease-infected, vermin-infested lowlife with your house polluting my neighborhood!
"Oh, I'm sure." Maggie cackled sweetly. "Dean is hardly handicapped."
"I'm good." Sam told Bear. "Thanks for the lift Bear. I really appreciate you going out of your way to bring me here."
"Not a problem." Bear looked around. "You sure you're welcome here?"
"Yeah." Sam doubtfully replied. "Uh-huh, sure, yeah. I'm good."
"And you're sure you want to stay?" Bear joked, relinquishing Sam's weight to the porch railing and eyeballing the senior trio. "Really sure?"
"My brother's here." Sam said quietly. "And until I deem it's safe for him to travel, here is where we'll stay."
"If you're sure." Bear set the duffel down. "She's a feisty ole lady, good luck."
And Sam balanced on one foot, holding to the porch post for balance – for Dean hadn't offered a hand and had at some point, disappeared into the house – the green duffel at his feet, watched while Maggie, grinning like a crazy lady waved good-bye until Bear and his/her home were out of sight.
"Get up!" she snarled at poor, unsuspecting Sam who had sat down on the lowest step. "Get in the garage. Move! Quickly! Before someone sees you! Before you cause a worse scene! Move along! Hobble! Hop if you have to! Crawl! I don't care! Just move!" she smacked him up the crown of his head. "If anyone else comes toddling over here before you disappear, I will let Myrtle have Dean. I will give him away. You hear me? NOW MOVE!" she yelled. She could still hear the big rig and see the smoke from its stack and oh by now, a crowd would have gathered to see what the noise and fuss was all about. Oh, please, please don't let anyone connect that, that…..that contraption to my house! "MOVE!"
Sam moved.
"ACK!" she squawked, hopping and flapping. "Where are you going? What ails you? Round back, go around...hey not through the house!" she bellowed. She made a grab for the back of his shirt and came up with the waist of his jeans. Wow, he was taller than she thought. "Backdoor! Common sense, my good man. Find some!" she snapped her robe to shoo him along. "NO! Not that WAY, the other WAY! You are NOT stepping foot IN my house UNTIL I've hosed YOU down!" emphasizing every other word made her feel better, even if in no way, it made any difference.
Sam didn't move.
"Oh, for Pete's sake! What on earth is the matter with you?" she demanded crossly, praying she still had time to get Sam inside before for the rest of the streets residents came investigating another disturbance in the neighborhood. "The truck? Crawling with vermin! Not in my house, I tell you. Not. In. My. House!"
"Vermin?" Sam repeated stupidly. Still too dumbstruck with confusion to obey or understand or comprehend what had Maggie so irritated, he remained motionless. Rooted to the spot upon which he stood.
"YES! Vermin! Lice! Fleas! Ticks! V-E-R-M-I-N." she spelled it out. "Vermin! You do know what that is, don't you? Your education can't be that lacking."
Sam glanced over his shoulder for both physical support and back-up from his brother but right, Dean was no longer on the porch. Or outside.
"You still have one good foot." Maggie snapped. "Quit gawking and get hopping."
"Right here." Myrtle was holding his hand and tugging gently. "Come now, we'll get you inside and comfy."
"I say Maggie, who was that?" Barry was asking as Sam hopped along with Myrtle. "Perhaps we should talk about the company you keep. Was, um, that…..a….um, well, I believe she was female, was she not?
***000***
Finally allowed in the house, showered, deloused and dressed in clothes Maggie had retrieved from the car and deemed acceptable, Sam refused her offer of a cool glass of water and went to see his brother.
"Hey." Sam greeted, hobbling into the bedroom. "You awake?"
"Yeah." Dean yawned. He was in bed but roused to prop himself up against the headboard. "You couldn't find a less, uh, flamboyant way to get here?"
"Flamboyant?" Sam repeated with a tired grin. "Really Dean? That's all you can come up with?" he plopped down onto the mattress next to Dean's hip.
Dean shrugged, too tired and too sore to really care how Sam had arrived. He hadn't slept well the prior night and wished to nap the rest of the morning but nope, here was good ole Sam and he was fairly sure – no, he was certain – sleep wouldn't be coming any time soon.
"Didn't you, like break your foot or something?" Dean accused. "Or your hand? I left you with something broken, didn't I?"
"Weren't you supposed to retrieve a book and return to the motel in an hour?" Sam countered.
"You neglected to tell me the store wasn't an ordinary bookstore and the little ole man wasn't just a clerk but actually a troll with the ability to land kicks that were capable of breaking ribs on a man twice his height." Dean retorted crossly. "Thanks. Thanks for that."
"I didn't know."
"What the hell's so special about that book anyway?"
"It's an ancient manuscript that should be able to translate an extinct language…" Sam began but Dean raised a hand to languidly wave him off. "Did you get it?"
"Whatever." Dean cut in. "Can you drive?"
"No." Sam began tugging at the blanket Dean held on to with an iron grip. "Let go." tug, tug, tug. "Did you get the book?"
"Go away." Dean tugged back. "It's in the trunk. Now quit pulling or you'll never lay your paws on it."
"I have two good hands and can easily best you while you're flat on your back." Sam warned easily. "Now let go."
"I've seen a doctor." Dean scowled. "At the hospital. Now lemme alone."
Sam paused, taking in Dean's mottled, red-spotted skin shiny with ointment. "What happened to your face?" he temporarily gave up the tug-of-war game for control of the blanket and reached with a fingertip to gently tap one or two spots on Dean's cheek. "Seriously Dean, what's this?"
"I, uh, fell."
"How?" Sam tipped his brother's head up by two fingers placed under his chin. Then down, then left, then right, then up again. "Into what?"
"Um, rosebushes, I think."
"You think?"
"I was…..being chased….by a broom and the table broke and I ran out of the house….." as he was relating the story, he forgot to guard his chest with a tight-fisted hold on the blanket and next thing he knew, Sam had whipped it completely off the bed. "HEY!" he grappled with Sam's wandering hands but it was no use. His t-shirt was pushed up and fingers and thumbs pressed and poked and prodded and caressed. The tsk-tsking behind clenched teeth soon got on his last nerve. "WHAT?" he snapped crossly. "Stop…sto…hey quit it. Cut it out."
"You aren't taped." Sam said flatly. "Why didn't you have them tape you up at the hospital?"
Dean opened his mouth….but yeah, he didn't get to answer.
"Because it is no longer recommended." Maggie strolled in with ice packs. "It is no longer an acceptable medical practice. And really, does it do any good?"
"In his case, yes." Sam replied. "He's too active and compression bandages help prevent shards of bone from moving or puncturing an internal organ and he knows that."
"No shards." Dean grumbled. "Nothing in danger of being poked either."
"Hum-um." Maggie nodded. "But doesn't wrapping them also cause inability to breathe deeply which can lead to pneumonia?"
"Yes." Sam confirmed. "But there are breathing exercises."
"Sammy." Dean whined. "Dude, I've been through enough."
"Not yet you haven't." Sam muttered, turning to lift the green duffel onto his lap where he rooted through it.
"Why's it so hot in here?" Dean complained. "It's hot Sam. I'm hot and I don't want no bandages Sam. It's too hot to be all taped up. I'm good."
"Do you need help? You need help." Myrtle popped up to hang over Sam's shoulder, causing him to jump with a yelp that landed him on the floor on his ass. "Here, let me do that. You sit him up and I'll hold him while you wrap." she ignored Sam and turned her complete attention to Dean. "Don't you worry doll, Myrtle is here. We'll get you all fixed up and comfy. Just you see."
"Uh, Sam?" Dean called, inching up the bed until his back was against the headboard. "Sam! SAM ! Little help here!"
Sam picked himself up off the floor, dusted the ass of his jeans, took hold of Myrtle by the shoulders and gently set her aside.
"I'll take care of him." he gave Myrtle a smile. "How about you…uh….go….make breakfast? Squeeze some lemons and make him some lemonade."
"Lemon…." Dean sputtered with a scowl. "Ade? The hell, Sam."
"Oh, but it's morning and he hasn't had his bath yet." Myrtle fussed and bussed. "I don't believe Maggie has even helped him wash his face. He must brush his teeth and…."
"Thank you." Sam said simply. "I've got him." again, he gave her his trademark smile but, yeah, she was trying his patience and his smile was tight.
"But…how?" Myrtle crossed her arms. "You're injured too. You need tending. How are you going to help him bathe with a bum wrist? You can't even walk!"
Hands still on her shoulders, Sam turned her around to face the door and gave her a subtle shove. "You go make some pancakes…..some hot coffee…..he likes it percolated, and squeeze that lemonade and whatever I don't have washed or shaved or bathed or brushed or taped or wrapped, you can have the honors. Deal?"
"HEY!" Dean protested.
"Go make breakfast in your own kitchen." Maggie ordered. "And take Barry with you."
"Deal!" Myrtle beamed, confident she would return before he could accomplish what she considered needed to be done to make Dean comfortable and presentable. Little did the new arrival know how fast she was in the kitchen! Why, she already had coffee percolating on her stove! And lemons, she always had lemons. Who cleaned their house without lemon juice? Or drank diet soda?
Myrtle toddled off and Sam turned back to the bed and his brother, rubbing his hands together in preparation for the speediest doctoring he'd ever done! He hadn't missed Myrtle's cat-like smile and knew he had underestimated her.
But little did she know, when it came to taking care of Dean, there was no one better than his experienced, determined brother.