Oh my gosh. 11 FOLLOWERS. I DID NOT EVEN EXPECT THREE FOLLOWERS. THIS LITERALLY IS MAKING MY WEEK. I love writing. But, I love writing well. So constructive criticism is always good. My week has been fucking terrible. But at the same time, fucking amazing. Confusing right? If you want to ask me or even my OC a question, I will answer it. It's the internet and (hopefully) none of you know me, so I feel that I could tell you guys some stuff that you would like to know about Samantha or me. Anyways, I always love following/favorites, I love reviews even more. Sorry about the short chapter, I would just like to get a chapter out this week in case I can't write for the next few days.
We've been in the van for about an hour now. And not one fucking word has been spoken. People giving me the silent treatment isn't that new to me, though it is sort of awkward since I attacked Dean earlier. Sam hasn't even looked at me. I understand completely though. If I was in his place, I'd try and kill me too. I have been in his place, though the person trying to kill my brother wasn't a… what would you call Sam, Dean, and I? Hunting partner? Ghost friend? Who cares? I'm only here to avoid the responsibilities of getting an actual job and living an actual life. I don't even know if I want them to break this tense silence though, I don't deserve to be comfortable.
"What? What voice?" Dean's hurried voice asks after we rushed inside to stop his bleeding nose.
"I don't know. He just kept telling me over and over, 'kill.' And 'Get him out of the picture. Life will be better.' And it just kept repeating it. I-I don't know what happened." I say in a cracking voice and look down as I feel the familiar burning sensation in my eyes.
"So you fucking listen to a voice telling you to kill Dean?" Sam spits out and I trail my eyes to where he still has his pistol out. Dean sends Sam a look and he steps back slightly, rolling his eyes.
"I didn't realize what I was doing." I whisper and Sam gives a bitter laugh before Dean sends him another look.
I look down at the dirty carpet of the minivan and jump as we hit a gravel driveway right before Dean speaks for the first time.
"This is humiliating. I feel like a friggin' soccer mom!" He yells and parks the van.
"It's the only car Bobby had running." Sam sighs and gets out the same time as Dean. I sit in there a few more moments, wondering if I should just take another bottle of pills but decide against it, not wanting the drama after it doesn't work. Again. I pop my back and open the sliding van door right as Sam talks again, looking around at the vacant lot.
"Hello? Anybody here?" It remains eerily silent and Dean looks around before turning to Sam, still neither of them speaking to me.
"Hey. You bring the, uh…" Dean starts asking and I draw my eyebrows together, both confused by what he's asking and how empty this place is.
"Of course." He retorts before throwing something to him. I didn't catch a glimpse of it though because I could've swore I saw a flash of something in the window. It doesn't happen again so I write it off as my own craziness before following the now silent brothers inside the seemingly abandoned roadhouse. As soon as I enter, I smell a distant scent of fried food. Definitely not abandoned. I turn to the right and barely flinch when I see a dude with a mullet sleeping, I hope, on the pool table.
"Mullet guy?" I whisper and go to poke him but Dean clears his throat. I take that as a sign not to so I huff and walk back through the swinging door kitchen. Leaving the boys to look around the main room.
I immediately regret it as the door swings closed and I feel someone land a punch on my cheek. My head swings to the right and I stumble, holding onto the metal counters so I don't face plant. My visions swims for half a second and my jaw starts aching, sending the pain to my head, causing a headache. I go to yell out but as this person is probably a trained serial killer, they place their hand over my mouth to keep me silent. Then, the familiar feeling of a shotgun is placed on my back. Shit, how many times am I going to have a shotgun in my back? I almost hit myself for not immediately looking behind the door. It's a classic move in horror movies that gets the naïve white-girl killed. I decide not to do that though, since this person might take this as a threat and decide to shoot me in the back. The person finally removes his hand as I don't try to say or do anything else.
"I'm sure happy to see you too, but I'm kind of on an important mission." I mockingly say, always the one to go for the comedic trait whenever something bad happens. The person sneers and presses the gun farther onto my back, threating. I give a whispered laugh and straighten my spine, right before spinning around on my heel and taking the gun from her hands.
I consider aiming the gun at this person but decide to try and keep the peace as much as I can, so I keep the gun to my side. The person curses and steps back slightly, probably going to grab a weapon he has stashed somewhere else. Except, I almost stumble as I realize it isn't a he, but a she. One that looks like she would have a tough voice, like on the phone.
"Are you Ellen?" I ask with cautiousness, not wanting to get my hopes up. She squints her eyes in annoyance before deciding that silence isn't the best answer right now.
"Who's asking?" She mutters and I huff, yet again at this clipped conversation. I hear a commotion from the dining area but I decide that they're grown men and could probably handle whatever is happening out there. So I look back at the women, hoping that this next sentence won't tick this person off or anything.
"The Winchesters." I say and I visibly see her relax before smiling brightly. I give her a small smile in return and make sure she's not going to attack me again before handing her the gun.
"Yeah. I'm Ellen. Sorry… about the punch." She stutters slightly and I laugh, shrugging it off.
"Not the first time. Sure as hell won't be the last." I say and she looks at me, slightly impressed.