Don't Fear the Reaper

Your New Life

6 months later

"Thanks Bobby. No that's it for now. I think I've got this one all figured out." You said before popping another fry into your mouth. Listening to him for another moment, you said your goodbye before hanging up. 

Dropping your phone onto the table beside you, you chewed on your french fry as you stared at the wall across from you. The cheap hotel wallpaper of birds and flowers were covered with newspaper clippings, notes scribbled by your own hand, pictures and police reports. It was messy, but you were able to follow it, proud of your own case board.

"If Bobby could only see me now." You muttered to yourself as you popped another french fry into your mouth. It had been about a month since you had seen the man, and about three since you had officially moved out of his house, confident enough to start hunting by yourself.

The first few months after Sam had captured Lucifer had been tough. Not only were you mourning the loss of a man who had captured your heart, but you were trying to figure out how to be a human. There had been multiple times in the first month you had found yourself trying to transport, or snap your fingers and get whatever you wanted. The first few times you had tried, and failed, had brought tears of frustration to your eyes, and made your heart ache. And then, when you had cut yourself on one of Bobby's knifes, you had felt a pain unlike anything you had ever known. And the healing process, it was nothing short of torture. You had to wear bandages, and stitches, and it took forever to heal. And it itched, and you felt like a baby for complaining.

But now, here you were, six months later, acting as a normal human hunter. You ate greasy fast food, slept in horrible motels, and drank beer and whiskey. Your last attempt at using your powers had been over a month ago. It didn't come as naturally as it used to, the urge, and you were grateful for that. Death hadn't tried to contact you, and you weren't sure if he was even around. Dean hadn't called either, and Bobby didn't talk about him quite as much as he used to. Last you had heard, he was still living with that Lisa woman, working in construction. It didn't seem like Dean, but you hoped he was happy.

The toughest thing you had learned, was the nights. Learning that humans have to sleep if they wanted to function. And you quickly found out that insomnia was a thing, but not a good thing. Each night you found yourself thinking about Sam, your heart aching, wanting nothing more than to have him wrap you in those strong arms of his. You had read somewhere that time heals all wounds, but that person must have been on crack. Because even though it was still six months later, your heart still hurt, and you found yourself often waking up with a wet pillow, and red eyes. 

Some lady in a bar a couple of towns back had tried to give you a pep talk, saying there was nothing better than getting back up on the horse, and any horse would do. She even pushed you in the direction of a handsome man, but you couldn't stomach the thought of being with any other man besides Sam. You had waited hundreds of years to be with a man, you weren't going to rush to the next one just because you could.

So you found yourself sitting in your motel room once again, another case to be solved. Your meal of a burger and fries were cooling on the table in front of you, as you thought about your case. People had been dying, being found drained of their blood, a needle stuck in their neck. Usually found weeks after they had gone missing, dropped off in weird places, there clothes torn and dirty, smelling like old factory machines. You had pieced the puzzle together, calling Bobby to confirm your suspicions that it was a djinn. He agreed with you, suggesting that he drive out there and help you with the case. But you didn't want his help, you needed to do this on your own.

You had done a good job hunting so far, sticking mainly to salt and burns, simple things that wouldn't get you into too much trouble. And they reminded you of your previous life, of being a Reaper. But you had heard about this one, and had been willing to tackle it, proving to yourself that you could take on any job. Bobby had made you promise to check in every night, and if things became too tough, to call him. After agreeing, you double checked your facts, forgetting about your dinner in your haste to finish the hunt.

It hadn't been easy, finding lambs blood, and you felt horrible after you did, but you were now ready. Making sure your knife and the blood was tucked safely beside you, you drove your Oldsmobile 442 to the factory on the edge of town. The car had been a gift from Bobby, one of the cars that had been littering the junk yard. He had helped you rebuild it, teaching you how to take care of it, painting it a dark forest green. It was your pride and joy, and you loved driving it everywhere. 

Parking it on the side of the lot, you climbed through a broken window, giving your eyes a moment to adjust to the light. You were in some sort of office, the floor covered with ripped and scrunched papers, a broken desk on one side. The door hung off it's hinges, and you walked through, your knife held in front of you. Through the dusty hallway you walked, peering into each room, your heart beating furiously with each movement. You could hear the dripping of water far away, and the creak of a door moving slightly with the wind. 

After the third door with no victims or djinn, you wondered if you had picked the wrong warehouse. Deciding to finish looking through the entire place, you turned to climb the stairs when a hand reached out, grasping your ankle. 

You squealed in shock, before raising your knife to slash at the hand. Before you could swing it down, his hand glowed blue and you knew no more. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but you slowly came to, a huge headache pounding in your temple. Groaning, it took you a few moments to open your eyes, but when you did, a pair of dazzling hazel eyes were staring down at you in concern.