𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹 - a Supernatural Fanfiction

chapter 2

safe house

Sitting in the backseat of the Winchester's beautiful Impala, dubbed 'Baby' by Dean, I looked outside, clutching my duffle bag tightly in my arms. It was me, possibly the last bit of me I, or anyone else, could have. Not that I was going to die, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

Dean played classic rock all the way. Sometimes there was conversation, but mostly we just listened to music, occasionally singing. Suddenly, AC/DC's 'You Shook Me All Night Long' played. All three of us shrieked the lyrics out at the top of our lungs. I kept giggling at how into the song Dean and Sam were, and at one point I was laughing so hard I couldn't sing. More AC/DC played, including 'Highway to Hell' and 'Back in Black'. All in all, it was similar to driving with my sister or my family, which meant it was a very enjoyable ride. I was impressed by Dean's ability to sing pretty much every lyric to any classic rock song, if I'm being perfectly honest.

Finally we reached the house. There was a patch of dirt by the old wooden shanty that Sam and Dean had called a 'house' where Dean parked the impala. A few wooden steps led to the creaky, reddish screen door and a really old looking swing was on the right of it, lazily swaying in the breeze. We got out and I did my best to not grimace at how rustic it all was. I would've been fine to hang out there for an afternoon, but to sleep inside or go to the bathroom in the house seemed downright suicidal.

"This is the safe house." Sam gestured towards it, his flat voice making me believe he wasn't too thrilled about staying there, either.

"Ah." I said. "It's... it's, uh, nice." Forcing the words out, I looked at Sam, smiling sheepishly. He laughed and leaned in closer to whisper.

"Don't tell Dean, but I hate this house, too." We shared a laugh and Dean pushed between us, holding two bags in his arms.

"Let's unload and get some grub." He announced, striding to the door and opening it, disappearing into the depths of the house.

"You heard the boss." Sam winked. "Let's get the stuff inside."

"Okay." I agreed. Sam reached into the backseat and grabbed my bag, which I hastily snatched from him. "I got it."

"You sure? It's really heavy."
"I can take it." I snapped, not meaning to be rude. Looking a bit hurt, he stared at me, but sighed and grabbed his own bag from the trunk. "Look, I didn't mean to snap, it's just... these are my valuables and-"

"Hey, you don't have to explain to me, I understand." Smiling assuredly, he hiked his bag up on his shoulder and started to walk to the stairs. We trudged inside, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was actually quite cosy inside and not too run down. Dean was upstairs and he came down when he heard us walk inside.

"Alright, let's get settled in. I chose the big room upstairs cuz I was here first, but the other two are just as awesome. You got any complaints, take 'em to Bobby. He and Rufus built this place back in '86 and it's still in pretty good shape." He hit the wall next to the stairs with his hand and dust fell in his face from the ceiling. Sam and I laughed as Dean coughed.

"Still in pretty good shape?" Sam asked, and Dean glared at him.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Okay, how about we unload?" The bag was getting heavy, but I didn't want to set it down until I knew I could make sure no one was around. I headed towards the stairs and the boys nodded, going back outside to grab the rest of the things we needed.

Stepping onto the landing of the second floor, my heart began to speed up with adrenaline as the floor creaked. Thinking about falling through the floor frightened me terribly, and I sprinted to the room farthest from the stairs. I stepped inside, breathing heavily and looked around. It was pretty nice. Rugged and manly, but nice. I set my bag gently on the floor and flopped backwards on the bed, hitting it with a tiny bounce.

I sat up and crossed my legs, looking around the room, which was actually quite spacious. There was a wooden side table next to the full sized bed I sat on with a plain lamp on top, the only light source in the room. A window was at the opposite side of the room as me, with large brown curtains on each side and a closet to its right. In the center of the wood floor was a wide rug, looking soft, but still incredibly masculine. The walls were wooden, like the rest of the room and a shelf was on the wall above a brown bureau. I got up to look at the pictures on the dresser and shelf.

On the shelf was only one picture. In it was an older man in flannel, with a trimmed beard and baseball cap, smiling at the camera with his arm around two other men. To his left was an older, dark skinned guy with a mustache, brown eyes, graying black hair and a permanent scowl, wearing a similar getup as the men he stood next to. To the right, another man who looked a bit familiar. He had dark brown hair and a dark brown beard, wearing a leather jacket over a dark greenish undershirt. It was only when I peered closely that I realized why he looked so familiar. His dimples looked like Sam's, their hazel eyes the same. But he also looked like an older version of Dean, if Dean had darker hair and grew a beard. He must've been their father.

I picked up a picture on the dresser that looked like young Dean and Sam, at least 10 and 6 years old, holding guns much too big for them. They were smiling broadly at the camera, proudly showing off their weapons.

To the right of that picture was the same older man from the first picture, his arm around a brunette woman with pretty brown eyes They were laughing and it looked as though someone had told a joke. The last picture was of the African American man holding up a massive fish with one hand, a fishing rod in the other. He looked less fierce and more relaxed, it was a good shot.

After I finished looking through the pictures, I grabbed my bag and took out the knife on top. It was what forgot to grab when I went back to my old home and a gift from my late father. Not too small, it didn't seem to weigh much, but when placed in my bag, it caused it to be extremely heavy. I started to piece things together when the Winchesters told me demons were real and I knew the dagger must've been some sort of magical object.

I pulled it out of its sheath and examined the blade. It was light silver, not grey, and as long as my arm, with special markings down the sides. My dad told me before he died that he wanted me to have it and that it would protect me, whatever that meant.

Slipping it back into the sheath, I dropped it down the back of my pants, typing the sheath's belt around my waist. I pulled my shirt down to cover the belt and sat back on the bed. It was slightly difficult with the dagger down my pants, but I managed.

Grabbing my bag again, I opened the drawer and put a few things in, underwear, a bra, a few pairs of socks, a couple shirts, a sweatshirt, and two pairs of jeans. My phone charger I pushed into a socket in the wall at the foot of the bed, plugging my phone in. I left a few very personal items in my duffle bag, my journal, mine and my mother's favorite book, a picture of our whole family in a frame, an old stuffed animal my older siblings had bought for me on my 3rd birthday, one of my favorite possessions, and a box of tampons.

I grabbed my smaller, toiletry bag and walked outside to the bathroom. It was a roll-up one, and I unrolled it, shutting the door attaching it with a hook at the top of it. Inside was your standard female toiletries: toothpaste, a toothbrush, lotion, hair ties, a razor and shaving cream, my contacts in their case, extras if needed, contact solution, and some makeup, though I didn't think I'd need much. I locked the door and went to the bathroom, then walked back to the room. Once there, I put my hair up into a high ponytail once more and headed downstairs, eager to eat food.