A little Supernatural fanfic from the perspective of a girl named Bobbie Rae Towers. (beware my chapters are long)
8 years ago…
It rained the day I buried my mother—what a cliché. Her funeral was filled with somber-faced mourners; eyes filled with tears over poor Elizabeth Towers, simultaneously the most generous woman any of them knew and the victim of a freak animal attack the likes of which our small town had never seen before.
Then there was me. Dressed in one of my mother’s perfectly fitting black dresses and the kitten heels she could never get me to wear in life, pale faced and angry because I knew that what killed her was no ordinary animal attack. I watched a monster tear out her heart with its teeth only 3 days prior. But the sheriff told me my grief addled mind was playing tricks on me and that the dog we had only just adopted must have had a delayed rabies infection.
Yeah…because the animal shelter would have let a 17-year-old girl adopt a rabid dog.
My world had suddenly gone from being completely normal and slightly boring to absolutely unpredictable and terrifying. It was no longer a world where my mother stood barefoot in the kitchen cooking dinner and singing a song she made up on the spot while I rolled my eyes and buried my nose into a Stephen King novel. Instead it had become a Stephen King novel, where stray dogs you take in morph into psychos who eat your mother’s organs straight out of her body.
A small sob escaped my throat as I gazed at her closed casket, but I stifled it before anyone sitting nearby could make a move to console me. No words could erase the mind-numbing paranoia that was slowly creeping in around the edges of my subconscious. What other monsters were out there, lurking in the darkness of the ordinary world?
I couldn’t bear to see her buried. I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. I got up and despite feeling all eyes on me, I left. I walked out of the church and away from the life I shared with my mom.
Back at the house I packed a few necessities and went foraging in my mother’s room for a memento—something small I could keep with me always so I could take her with me on whatever life had in store from this moment forward. I opened her bedside drawer and found a small silver cross necklace. She only wore it on special occasions…I should have put it on her before they buried her.
I put it on myself instead and was about to leave when I saw something else in her drawer that piqued my interest. There was a small card poking out of her bible that read: In case of monsters. I pulled the card out and flipped it over. On the back it said: Call John Winchester. There was a number on it but rather than calling it I tucked it in my back pocket. The first thing I had to do was get out of here.
Grabbing the keys to my mom’s little red pickup truck, I kept looking over my shoulder, half expecting that monster to return and finish off the other half of the little family it devoured. Once inside the truck I took off down the road before anyone could come looking for me.
I had only just graduated high school and I had no money except for the debit card that was linked to my mother’s bank account, which would eventually empty out. My father hadn’t ever been in the picture and I had no other family to turn to. My only viable option was to run and try to make my way on the road.
I drove for hours until it got dark, crossing multiple counties to get to my unknown destination. I stopped at a small bar in a backwoods town I hadn’t quite caught the name of, extremely aware of my caramel skin. I had never encountered an issue with racism, but my mother, whose skin was a lot darker than mine, had always warned me to be wary of places like this.
My anxiety level dropped when no one even blinked as I approached the bartender. He was a big, balding man with a huge beard and a mouth full of chew.
“We don’t serve minors here,” said the bartender gruffly.
“Please, I’ve had a hell of a day,” I said sweetly. “All I want is a coke and to sit over there in that corner alone. You won’t even notice I’m there, I swear.”
He looked me over skeptically and then surprised me by procuring a cold, old-fashioned glass coke bottle and waving me away. “It’s on the house, kid, just don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”
I thanked him graciously and headed over to the table in the quietest corner of the joint. To my dismay it wasn’t a twist off cap and the last thing I wanted to do was bother the man for a bottle opener so instead I tried to work it off using my shirt.
“Forget the coke,” came a guy’s voice and a shot of what smelled like whiskey was placed in front of me.
I looked up into the eyes of a boy who had to be around my age. Incredibly handsome, tall, shaggy hair that almost hid his soft brown eyes. He sat down beside me with his own shot and pushed mine closer, urging me to take it.
“How did you get a drink? You definitely don’t look legal,” I stated accusingly, never being much of a flirt.
He shrugged and downed his shot, crinkling his nose adorably at the after burn. “Lloyd is a friend of my dad’s,” he said, jerking his head in the bartender’s direction. “You just looked like you’ve had a shittier day than even mine, thought you could use it.”
Had he been older alarm bells would have been sounding off in my head, and maybe they should have regardless, but my inhibitions were nonexistent in that moment. Not wanting to seem like a chicken I pinched my nose and tossed back the alcohol, immediately gagging.
“Oh gross,” I gasped, making him laugh. “It tastes like how gasoline smells!”
“Give it a second,” mystery guy smiled. “You’ll start to feel pretty good. You look a little far from home…and kind of like you’re ready to crash a funeral.”
“Sort of the opposite, actually, I ran away from my mother’s,” I said, attempting to sound casual.
His expression completely softened and he looked like he wanted to grab my hand but he refrained. “Hey, I’m really sorry to hear that. I lost my mom when I was a baby and that’s hard enough. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”
I shrugged noncommittally, averting my gaze. I was trying hard to hold back my tears, and my crazy theory about the true cause of my mother’s death. It wouldn’t do to have strangers think I was insane—especially kind and attractive strangers.
“I’m just not ready to talk about it yet,” I said, wiping at a rogue tear that had somehow managed to break free. “So tell me stranger, what’s made your day so shitty?”
“Oh, I just got into a fight with my older brother. I know it’s peanuts compared to your situation, but my family life has always been pretty difficult. He and my father don’t really see the value of me going off to college. They would rather see me join the family business but…it’s already ruled so much of my life.” He popped the cap off of my coke with his bare hands and set it in front of me.
I took a grateful swig, washing out the acrid whiskey aftertaste. “What’s the family business—if you don’t mind me asking?”
He laughed bitterly. “Extermination.”
I couldn’t see what was so funny but I took another sip of soda and shook my head. “No offense to your dad and your brother, but you should definitely stick with college if it’s an option. Not everybody gets that chance, you know.”
Suddenly the sky lit up bright white with lightning and a low grumbling could be heard in the distance.
“Well, shit,” I mumbled. I had been planning on sleeping in the bed of the truck.
“At the risk of sounding like a predator, my hotel room has two beds if you need a place to crash tonight,” he said cautiously.
I snorted before I could stop myself. “No offense, but I already broke one of my mom’s ‘stranger danger’ rules by drinking that shot you gave me. She would roll in her freshly dug grave if I took you up on that offer. I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is Sam,” he said, offering me his hand. “I swear on my own mother that I won’t hurt you, or let anything bad happen to you tonight.”
Reluctantly I stuck my hand in his. “My mom cruelly named me Bobbi Rae, but I go by Rae.”
Sam smiled and squeezed my hand. “I think your mom chose well—I know a great man named Bobby. We better get out of here before it starts pouring.
“You can pick whichever bed you want, I’m not picky,” said Sam back at the dingy motel he had been camping out in.
“I pick whichever bed you’re sleeping in,” I said quietly, gauging his reaction.
“What?” His eyebrows creased together in confusion.
“I’m a good girl, I promise. Hell, I’m still a virgin, and I’ve never slept in the same bed with a boy before, but between coming to terms with the fact that I’ll never see my mother again and being terrified about what tomorrow is going to look like I just can’t sleep alone tonight.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Sure…I bet we could both use it.”
As we lay underneath the covers, two young strangers wrapped in each other’s arms for the night, he didn’t say much about himself. He just let me ramble on into the early hours about the things I’d miss about my mother, about my past, and about my fears occasionally stroking my back or squeezing me close when he felt the sobs about to break free. I kept talking until I fell asleep and Sam let me.
When I woke up one of his arms was still around me and the other was draped over his eyes as he snored heavily. He looked so young and peaceful, sleeping there with only the struggles of getting his family to accept his life choices to worry about. How lucky he was that he didn’t have to live his life scared of monsters.
I moved his arm slowly so that I wouldn’t wake him and gently kissed him on the cheek before getting out of bed. “Thank you, Sam,” I whispered.
I snuck out of the motel room as quietly as I could and got inside my truck. With no idea of how to make my next move, I dug the card out of my back pocket and punched the number into my cellphone.
After 3 rings a man answered. “How did you get this number?”
“Um, hi, I found it in my mother’s bible,” I stammered, perplexed at his greeting. “Her name is Elizabeth Towers and I’m Rae. It said to call in case of monsters…”
“If you’re calling then Lizzie must be dead—I’m sorry for your loss,” he said sadly. “Your father and I have been waiting for this call ever since you were born.”
My utter shock at the familiarity in which he spoke of mother was overshadowed by the mention of my father. “You know my father? Who are you?”
“My name is John Winchester. I need you to come to me so I can tell you everything you need to know about monsters…including the one that no doubt killed your mother.”