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Chapter Two
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I finished my shift late that evening, my scattered thoughts making me clumsier than usual with tasks that should have been routine. Finally freed from work, I walked quickly home in the fading light, the biting wind reminding me that finding my coat was necessary in my immediate future. I sighed as I approached the darkened house, realizing that once again I had forgotten to leave the porch light on for myself. My Dad had always done that for me, and even a year after losing him, I still had not really adjusted to being alone. Scurrying up the steps I let myself in, breathing in the fresh eucalyptus scent from the sprigs I had near the door, and flipped on a light even as I toed off my sensible flats. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I set about making myself a simple sandwich, too tired to cook, and plopped down in front of the television to catch up on my favorite show, though my mind frequently wandered of it's own volition back to my encounter with my strangers, making it hard to keep track of the show's plot.
It was late - or rather, early - when I startled awake from where I had fallen asleep on the couch, the flat screen timed out and the house mostly dark. Confused, I shivered (must be time to start turning the heat on, I noted) and glanced around, wondering what had woken me. Then I heard it again, the unmistakable growl of the Impala! The engine shut off even as I registered the sound. Curious, I peeked out the front curtains, and sure enough, there she was parked across the street from my neighbor's house. Well, I say my "neighbor's" house, but our neighborhood had fallen prey to the march of time, and many of the houses were falling into disrepair as their owners - unable to sell in the current market, walked on their upside-down mortgages and moved away. I was lucky in that my Dad had made sure the house was paid for before he passed, but not lucky in that I couldn't afford to sell and move.
I watched Sam and Dean exit the car, going around to open the trunk and fish around in it for a few minutes. In the dark I couldn't really see what they were doing, but as they closed the trunk and stepped away to cross the street toward the house next to mine the street light glinted off what looked like shotguns, and I was suddenly afraid. Had I been completely off in my assessment of these two? I watched as they strode confidently toward the house next door, which had been vacant for as long as I could remember. A few days ago some kids had gotten hurt playing there, so I knew there were "do not enter" signs on it. I started to move to grab my phone and call the police, but something held me back from pressing 'call', though if you had asked me I couldn't have told you why. I wasn't an idiot, I knew monsters could come in pretty packages (and these guys were definitely easy on the eyes!), but intuitively I just knew I wasn't wrong about them. I continued to stare out the window, even though there was nothing to see but the Impala gleaming in the lamplight.
I had just convinced myself that nothing untoward was going on (really?) and I needed to go to bed, when I heard the sounds of gunfire, and then they spilled back out onto the yard next door. One of them fell to the ground, while the other was pulling off his jacket, his movements clearly anxious. Without thinking I found myself out my front door and across the yard before it registered I was barefoot. As I got closer I could tell it was Sam on the ground, clearly bleeding from a wound on his shoulder, and Dean working to staunch the blood. Dean reacted with deadly fluidity as I approached, keeping one hand on his brother's injured shoulder while leveling the shotgun directly at me. I halted, frozen momentarily in fear, but a groan from Sam sent me into motion.
"It's me, Rosalie. I live next door. Bring him, I can help!" Without thought to the gun aimed at me, or whether or not they were going to obey, I swung around and charged back to my house, racing for the linen closet to grab some sheets. I barely had time to throw one over the couch before Dean was there, Sam drooping at his side, and he lowered him tenderly down on the sofa where he slouched with a groan. I handed Dean a towel, which he pressed against the wound in place of his flannel.
"I'll call an ambulance." I started, but Sam immediately tried to sit up, even as Dean gently pushed him back, replying quickly, "No, Rosie, no ambulance." I was puzzled, but nodded my acquiescence. "What do you need then?" I questioned, as my knowledge of first aid was pretty limited. Dean looked around for his jacket, looking back at me suddenly when he realized it had been left in the yard.
"My jacket, it's still in the yard. Keys to the Impala are in the pocket. In the trunk there's a false bottom. Lift it up, and you'll find a big medical bag…" I was already moving when I heard Sam's protest. "Dean - !" I thought he was reacting to the pain from his wound, but Dean immediately called after me, apparently instinctively knowing what hadn't been said. I turned back to be caught once again by his piercing green eyes. "You'll likely be shocked by the trunk, but please, just bring the medical bag and I promise when Sam's patched up we will explain everything." I stared back, nonplussed, but somehow read the truth in those eyes and nodded, then whirled to my appointed task.
Damn it Rosalie Lilian Watson! Shoes might have been helpful! Ignoring the pain of the varied and rough terrain I was crossing, I quickly scooped up Dean's jacket and hurried over to the car. Pulling out the keys I reverently put them in the lock and opened her trunk, startled to see some strange drawing on the inner lid. Knowing time was of the essence, I quickly felt around and lifted the false bottom, only to stutter to a stop in shock. The trunk was full of weapons of all kinds, plus a ton of random things I had no idea what they were. Who are these guys? They are clearly dangerous…and I'm clearly an idiot. I began to rethink my original thought of calling the police, my breathing speeding up, but then my insanely rational practical side reasserted itself, and I refocused on the fact there was a bleeding man on my couch waiting for some first aid supplies. Glancing around, I quickly located a large medical bag, grabbed it, replaced the false bottom and closed the trunk, giving the car a quick pat then ran back toward my house. Clumsy in my haste, I tripped at the curb and fell, scraping hands and probably knees too, but gathered myself and the bag back up and barreled back into the house.