A/N: Anyone confused on the whole dream BS? No? Awesome.
It was 6:00am when Ophelia next woke up.
She woke up silently, with a blank face as she slowly brought herself up to sit on the edge of her bed.
She stared at the faded pattern of the motel carpet, and felt... empty.
Sure, it wasn't the first time feeling that way, but the space felt even more spacious now.
Shaking her head clear, she got up and got dressed, as she had only bothered to get dressed in her bra and underwear after her shower.
After brushing her hair, she collected her duffel and put it in the trunk of Wanda.
When she came back in, she once again stared - but this time, at her father's grey duffel.
What do I do with this, she thought helplessly, distractedly placing her hand on her forehead, her brows screwing up as she fought to keep her emotions in check.
She jumped violently, nearly yelping, when she heard a knock behind her.
She took a calming breath before opening the door cautiously. She felt herself relax slightly when she saw it was once again Sam.
"Hey," she greeted with a slight pretense of normality.
Sam just blinked, smiled a bit sheepishly, and responded in kind.
The conversation between them halted, and it had the developing's of an awkward silence.
"So," Sam began. "How do you feel?" His question came out cautious and stifled, but regardless, Ophelia laughed mirthlessly.
"I feel..." she responded breathlessly. "Like I just lost the only shred of family left." She rested her head against the door she was now leaning against.
After another beat or two of silence, she returned her gaze to Sam, ignoring his sympathetic eyes, but Ophelia also picked up on his eyes knowingly flick to the left.
"How do you feel?" she asked. It was a tad bit sarcastic, and Sam must have picked up on it, because he too laughed mirthlessly.
"Sympathetic," he replied.
This didn't surprise Ophelia. But what did, was what Sam said next.
"Lost my mother to a demon... Now Dean and I are pretty nervous that our dad's joinin' her. By his own means or otherwise," he added as an afterthought. "We're only in Wisconsin for the case in Fitchburg," Sam murmured, "The one with the comatose kids."
Ophelia nodded, staring at Sam. "We're only in Wisconsin for the case in Fitchburg," Sam murmured, "The one with the comatose kids."
"Heard about that," she responded quietly. "We were... uh, we were gonna check that out after we wrapped this spirit up."
Sam nodded silently, staring down to his feet.
"I'm assuming you read the note," she stated quietly, after a long moment.
Sam nodded.
"I lost my mama to a demon when I was eleven, I think," she continued on quietly, thumping her head gently against the door. "He missed her. More than I thought, though, huh?"
Another silence was shared between the two of them. But this time, less awkward, and more so the two hunters processing the information shared between them. After a glance up at Sam, she noticed another look of understanding dawning his face. He had been probing her for information, hadn't he?
She closed her eyes, too tired to try and probe back at what he wanted out of her.
"I'm going to go through my dad's duffel," she said with a heaving sigh. "Then I'm gonna hit the road."
She may have imagined it, but Sam's eyes widened a fraction at the news.
"Hopefully see you before then, Sammy."
She shut the door with a stiff-smiling nod, and rested her back against the door.
Resisting the urge to sink down and just sit on the floor for the rest of the morning, she reluctantly made her way to her father's duffel.
Eight years ago...
She could just barely hear them conversing from the dusty old bedroom her father had tucked her in.
"I didn't ask you to check up on us, Bobby," she heard her father say.
There was a silence, but Ophelia could just imagine Mr. Singer shrugging and offering her dad a beer.
"Felt obligated," she heard him say.
There was an even lengthier pause in the conversation until Mr. Singer spoke again.
"I can keep Opie here for a while, William. She'd be safe."
Ophelia felt her chest constrict. She didn't want to leave her dad.
She was close to tears when she heard her father mumble a thanks and close the door behind him.
She hadn't even noticed Mr. Singer walking up the stairs and to her room.
She yelped when he opened the door softly and scrambled from the threshold a bit.
"Hey, hey... Calm down, Ope," he soothed. The light from the hallway silhouetted his face and she couldn't see his face.
He knelt down before her, and cleared her face from her wild ponytail.
Ophelia could hardly see past the tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"C'mon, kid," he said softly, helping her up. "Let's get some food in you. You're thinner'n I remember."
The only two things of sentimental value she found in the duffel, was some type of medallion-like thing celebrating her own baptism, and a picture of her mother and father on their wedding day.
The medallion had a shell, and below it, three drops of water. On the back, around the large circular medal, there they were - the words in bold: "In Celebration of Your Baptism".
She could just imagine her mother - exhausted but lovely - pouring a little handful of water on her child's head, and uttering the words a pastor speaks when baptizing.
Ophelia didn't remember, though. In fact, she hardly remembered what her mother looked like.
She could only just imagine the hazy face - the face on the picture copy and pasted onto the false memory - of her mother.
I don't remember what she looked like, she realized with a jolt of alarm.
She stared at the picture with wide eyes, not knowing what to do. The only thing she could do, was realize what she didn't know anymore.
She didn't remember the sound of her mom's voice. She didn't remember how she would sound when she humorously scolded her kids from the pastor's podium for horse playing in the pews during a service. She didn't remember how it sounded when her mother and father sang soft hymnals for lullabies. She didn't remember how it sounded to hear her mother sing. Ophelia could only just remember what she sung.
She gently folded the picture and stuffed it in her leather jacket's pocket before discarding the duffel into the trashcan in the room. She balled up the few flannels she deemed worthy to keep, haphazardly grabbed the items she had laid out on the floor and stormed out of the room.
She reached Wanda and rounded back to the trunk. She opened it and flung her handfuls of things into the space carelessly, ignoring how empty the trunk looked without her dad's bag next to hers.
With a definitive slam, the trunk was closed. She rested her hands on the light blue paint, and tried to control her breathing.
"Bobby," she suddenly breathed.
She needed to tell Bobby.
She got in the car steadfastly, but as she fished around her pockets for the keys to Wanda, she felt herself pause once again.
Running a hand through her hair, she realized this had been the first time in years that she had been in the driver's seat.
Shaking her head clear of her thoughts, she gripped the key tightly and stuck it in the ignition.
With a passing glance at the black '67 Chevy Impala, she turned out of the parking lot and made her way to Sioux Falls.