Nikki POV
I was somewhere in Illinois when I stopped for gas. I'd answered all of Sam's calls, but only blasted the radio and revved the engine while he yelled at me. I made the mistake of answering a call from Dean, and ended up in another yelling match.
After I got gas, I rode around for a while before getting back on the highway. I stopped at a bakery that looked nice and left with a blue box of assorted pastries. As I left, I saw a blonde kid who looked about 11 struggling to staple a paper to a light post and hold a dozen or so more papers under her arms. After a quick glance around the fairly empty street, I walked towards her.
"You gotta use the side of your fist," I said, stopping to stand next to her before taking a bite of the apple fritter I was holding. She looked up at me with a look that was supposed to be defiant, but ended up just looking pitiful.
"I can do this on my own," she said quietly, turning back to the paper flapping around on the post with only one staple holding it to the wood. She had the other flyers pinned to her side by her elbow, and tried to push the stapler into the wood with her hands.
"Kid, you're gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that," I said, laughing once. She gave me another pitiful look, then handed me the stapler. I handed her the box of pastries, and took the stapler. I held it with one hand, and with the other hand, slammed the side of my fist onto the beige plastic. I did this four more times; one staple in each corner. "See, side of your fist." I said, looking down at her. She had been watching me carefully, and nodded.
I looked back at the flyer. In big black letters across the top was written HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN? Under it, there was a waist-up picture of a guy in his 30s with dark hair, blue eyes and a smile on his face. It appeared to have been taken outside at some park, going by the trees, rocks and creek in the background. Under the picture was the guys description and a number to call.
"You're dad?" I asked, looking down at the blonde girl. She nodded, looking at the picture.
"My computer teacher helped me make them," she said, glancing to the flyers under her arm. "I'm gonna put one on every light post. I already did the last two streets."
I nodded as she spoke. "Hey, open up the box and take whatever looks good." I told her, helping her open it at the same time I took the rest of the flyers. "I'll give you a break." I clarified.
She nodded, and eagerly took a chocolate doughnut with an outrageous amount of sprinkles. I put the flyers on top of the pastry box, and she followed me down to the next light post.
"How long has he been gone?" I asked before I slammed my fist down on the stapler four times, putting another flyer up.
"A few weeks." She answered.
I smiled a little, taking another flyer. "Don't worry," I sighed, putting four staples into the next light post. "When I was in school, my friend Allison Harper's dad went missing for a month and a half. He was supposed to go to New York for a two-night business trip."
"What happened to him?" She asked, her eyes wide with horror.
"Turns out she was worried for nothing." I shrugged. "Her dad went on a two week bender in Atlantic City, and literally lost the shirt off his back. He was trying to win Allison's college fund back before he went back home."
"My dad doesn't gamble." She said firmly. "He says it's for billionairs and suckers."
"Solid advice," I said in agreement. "Unless you know you're gonna win. Then it's not even gambling."
"What?" She asked, her face twisted up in confusion as she took another bite of her donut.
I thought about what I just said. "How old are you?" I asked skeptically.
"Nine and three quarters," she answered, standing up straighter and wiping the frosting off from her chin.
I smiled a little. "Well, you're gonna learn a lot before your my age, I'll let you learn that shard of wisdom on your own."
She nodded, thinking hard, as I took another flyer.
"Is your mom ok with you walking around on your own?" I asked, giving her a playfully skeptical look that made her smile.
"She's at a session," she shrugged. "I don't wanna sit around and do nothing for an hour and forty-five minutes.
"Session?" I asked, thinking of all the very different, very bad meanings I knew for that word.
"Yeah, with Dr. Fitzherbert." She said, nodding down the street to a sign that read Fitzherbert & Clark: Psychiatric and Counseling Services. My brows raised slightly, and I nodded.
"So kid," I sighed, punching in four more staples. "What makes you so sure you dad isn't on a bender in Vegas?"
She looked down at the ground and shrugged.
"If you don't talk about it, it'll eat you up...Trust me, I know." I sighed, taking another flyer.
"I don't have anything to talk about," she insisted.
"Keep sayin' that and you'll end up like me." I said with a cynical laugh.
"You seem ok." She said, looking at me.
I looked down at myself; skinny jeans, Converse, a tight t-shirt and a shrunken, bleach-stained hoodie. I smiled again, "Thanks, I try pretty hard."
I walked down both sides of this street with the blonde kid putting up posters of her (familiar looking) dad. Towards the end of the street, she mentioned that her father literally disappeared in front of her.
"Here, I'll give you my phone number." I said at my car. I put the pastries on the hood, and searched through my bag. "Ah-ha!" I said, leaning out of it triumphantly holding up a small leather book. It was a reddish brown, and had a pattern pressed into it. Bobby got it for me a few months back; he said it was my hunter's journal. I didn't have much in it, other than Kory's, Bobby's, Sam's and Dean's contact information. I dropped it on the hood and told the kid to write her name, phone number and address in it, then kept looking for something to write my own information on.
I found a small, stiff card in the pocket of a dirty pair of jeans. I pulled it out and flattened it on the edge of the car door.
"Here," she said, holding the notebook and pen out to me. I took the book from her, and saw her neat, schoolgirl letters right under Bobby's illegible scrawl; Claire Novak.
I looked at the business card I'd flattened out. James Novak
I looked back at the girl sadly. She was neatly fixing the pile of fliers on the hood of the car, gnawing on her bottom lip. This was the Claire that the nice guy from a few months, well, it was closer to a year now, I guess, loved so much that he couldn't help but smile when he said her name. I ripped a page from my journal and wrote my number, and Bobby's, on it.
"Only call the second number in emergencies, ok? Tell him you know Nikki and she doesn't let anybody drive her car unless she can drive theirs. Alright?" I asked, holding the paper out to her.
"Nikki doesn't let anybody drive her car unless she can drive theirs." Claire said with a nod.
I smiled and put the pastries in the passenger's seat. "Hey," I called to her through my open window. "I meant it."
Claire's brow furrowed. "Meant what?"
"If you don't talk about it, it'll eat you up," I told her, putting on my aviators. "You're gonna want answers, and when you don't get them, you'll turn into something this you would never want to be."
"Why won't I get answers?" She asked from the curb.
"Cause you're a sweet kid, Claire. Innosent." I told her honestly. I turned my car on, and revved the tired engine a few times to make sure it was running ok. "Sweet and innocent doesn't give you answers."
With that, I drove out of the tiny, pointless town and headed for the dog I apparently had.