I wake to the white ceiling of the too clean hospital. Like, seriously, how much disinfectant do you need in one room? A feeling of weightlessness fills my body and my mind is fairly muddled, which tells me I'm on some pretty serious painkillers. I hear humming, to my right, so I carefully turn my head to the source. Somehow, through my drug-filled mind, I see a nurse wearing plain blue scrubs fiddling with my IV.
"Oh, hello," she says with a smile. Her happiness infuses the room, but I can see pity in her eyes, something I don't want. But my mom always used to tell me to be nice to people, so I smile sadly back at her.
"Hello," I respond. Or rather, try to respond, and instead make a croaking noise like a dried up toad. My mouth and throat are as dry as the sand dunes in California, probably because I spent quite a long time crying last night. I also don't know how long I've been unconscious. I guess I can ask the friendly nurse.
"Oh, you must be thirsty. So sorry!" The nurse, Jenna from her nametag, scurries to fetch me a glass of water. My bed is already slightly tilted up, making both our lives easier. Jenna hands me a cup of water. I try to lift my left arm to take it, out of habit, but quickly correct myself as a shooting pain runs down my arm from my shoulder. I momentarily forgot that the creature clawed my left shoulder last night. Instead, I take the cup of water from Jenna using my uninjured right hand.
After I drink some water, I feel the dryness in my throat go away, and although it's still rough, I feel much better.
Even though I don't want to know, I need to. This isn't my first rodeo in a hospital.
"How bad is my shoulder?" I ask Jenna as she writes something on the clipboard at the foot of my bed.
"Well, you needed several stitches, but the damage will not be permanent," Jenna says, "You'll have to stay for a few days, but if there are no complications, you should be released in two, three days tops."
"Awesome." I am not looking forward to staying two days in this white, sterile hell, let alone three. I dramatically sigh and gently throw myself against the bed, with an amused smile. I always have been an overdramatic person.
"I take it this isn't your first hospital visit," Jenna says with the same veiled amusement that I threw myself into the bed with.
"Nope, and it probably won't be my last." Shit, I hope she doesn't ask questions about that. I do not have time to come up with an excuse for that screw-up.
Jenna smiles, "Well, I'll bring you some food in a little while." Yay, she didn't ask questions. But I can feel my brain starting to take a little walk down memory lane, something I don't like to do, but can't argue against or get myself out of. So I take the ride.
(2 years earlier)
I smile smugly as the arrow I just fired thunks into the target, dead center of the bullseye.
"Nice shot," I hear behind me. With years of practice, I quickly nock an arrow to my bow, draw, and turn around, pointing the tip at the person behind me. I'm suspicious; I wasn't expecting anyone to join me out on the range today.
"Woah, easy there." It's a man, about six feet tall, with short, light brown hair. He's kind of scrawny and lanky, but you can't judge a book by its cover.
"Who are you?" I ask. I naturally don't trust people, never have. This guy's no different.
"The name's Garth." He has a strong accent that I can't quite place, but that doesn't make me trust him.
I take a good look at him before responding. I can read people pretty well, and I have to analyze everyone that approaches me, especially people who just casually walk up to me at the archery range.
His posture is fairly relaxed, but his tenseness is probably due to the fact that I'm pointing my bow at his chest. His feet are spaced apart in a defensive stance, but not in a threatening way. His face is relaxed, and he's making eye contact with me. Again, not threatening. But not afraid either. I can see the outline of a concealed firearm at his right hip. But I have one too, and he's not reaching for it at the moment at least.
My conclusion: he has no intention to harm me, but I have to be careful. Either that or he's really good at faking his body language, which is unlikely, considering his foot position is relaxed.
"Kendra," I say, "My name's Kendra." I really hate my name; it's too girly, and my friends call me Ken. The only reason I don't tell Garth is that I don't trust him enough yet. "What do you want Garth?" I ask as I lower my bow and put the arrow back in my quiver, but I keep my hand close to my gun, just in case.
"I saw that thing you shot down a few months ago, and was wondering if you could help me kill something else. You're a pretty good shot with a bow." It's true; I placed first at the last seven competitions I participated in.
I killed something with my bow a couple months back, because I heard my dogs in the backyard howling, and something big snarling. The monster died after only one arrow to the chest, but sadly, my dogs didn't survive. The Labrador didn't survive the attack at all, and the German Shepherd died a few days later from his injuries. I cried for days, but I lived the next few weeks in fear; there were things in the dark that the world doesn't know about. I wanted to hunt them, but my parents are too overprotective to let me leave the house.
"I would love to help you, Garth, but I can't. My parents won't let me leave the house unless I make up a really good excuse, and it's hard to convince them." I could easily convince them, but I want to see how badly Garth wants my help.
"Let me talk to them." Okay, but bad idea. The last guy that talked to my parents got beat up by my dad for trying to get me drunk.
But Garth seems to need my help, not just want it, and he seems like an OK guy, so I decide to trust him. "No, I'll talk to them. I can just make something up, and hope that they'll believe it."
"Okey dokey," Garth says, "Meet back here tomorrow with some supplies, a gun and your bow are both necessities." I know I shouldn't go with him, let alone trust him, but I have to get out of the house. Only two weeks into summer break, and I'm chomping at the bit to go do something.
"Alrighty then," I say. Garth wave and walks off with a bounce in his step and a friendly smile on his face. After he's out of eyeshot, I pack up my bow and put it in the back of the Ranger. I'm going to need some time to persuade my parents to let me leave for a few days.
(Present Day)
Garth took me on a hunt for a Wendigo, but one of us screwed up, and I ended up getting attacked, and woke up two days later in a local hospital from severe blood was freaking out, and it took me hours to convince him that I was fine. After that, he took me home, and my parents were luckily oblivious to my injuries. Since I couldn't hunt until my parents would let me leave the house, Garth spread the word that I could research lore and hunts for the community of Arizona. I could easily research stuff and remain under my parent's' radar.
I guess that I can hunt, now that my parents are dead. I'm happy that I can hunt and travel now, but I'm not happy about the circumstances that it happened. That's how life works I guess; it gives you one thing and takes away another. A few tears slip through my closed eyelids. My parent's loss hurts, but I'm a realist. Mourning them won't bring them back, no matter how much you try. Besides I've learned to just suck up your problems and keep moving, otherwise you'll get stuck in a rut with no hope of getting out.
I take a deep breath, and look at the clock across the room. It reads 9:30, and I'm exhausted. I turn the lights off from the control at my hand and descend into a deep, relaxed sleep.
A/N: I promise the action will start soon. And Sam and Dean will come next chapter with luck! :)