Making the Most of It
Title: Making the Most of It
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: In my head I sometimes act like these characters are mine but there’s a big difference between reality and fantasy. All rights and privileges belong to Eric Kripke and Warner Brothers, or, in other words, people who look nothing like me.
Summary: Sometimes you really are stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Author’s Note: Set in the same AU as Down a Parallel Road. Contains vague spoilers for 4x02 but set pre-series.
February 1991
Bobby pulled up to Harvelle’s Roadhouse in the middle of the afternoon. He’d hauled ass through Iowa and most of Nebraska and felt pretty damn lousy. A couple days of hard driving had him with a headache that wouldn’t quit and a back stiffer than he wanted to contemplate. He still wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d found what he was looking for out in Michigan, wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to do about anything, but he was here now and he’d figure it all out, somehow or other.
His feet crunched across the gravel parking lot, the noise sharp in road-deadened ears. He sighed tiredly as he pushed the door open, hinges groaning in counterpoint. It’d been a long fucking week.
“Well look at who’s dragged his sorry self back in here,” Ellen called out from where she was stationed behind the bar. She had a towel tossed over one shoulder, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. It looked like he’d interrupted her cleaning time.
Bobby slumped down onto one of the stools at the bar. “Looks like,” he replied. His eyes stuttered around the room. “Bill out with the girls?”
Ellen plunked a mug down on the bar in front of him and started filling it up from a pot of her black gold. Best damn coffee he’d ever drunk. “He took Jo out to the store. I’m sure he’s filling her up on sugar as we speak. Man’s a sucker for a pretty face.” Ellen pivoted and put the pot back in its place. “But Rachel’s around here somewhere. Nose buried in a book, I’m sure.”
Bobby grinned slightly, couldn’t help it. He always did have a soft spot for the bookworms. The grin swiftly fell off his face, though. His fondness for her was part of the problem.
He felt Ellen’s sharp eyes on him as he took a slow, measured sip of his coffee. He didn’t look up at her after he’d set the mug back down, just stared into its reflective depths. Now that the moment was here he still couldn’t find it in him to do what he knew he had to.
“How’d the trip go?” Ellen asked.
“Not too bad. The girl was right, her grandma’d gotten into some serious stuff. Thankfully all I had to do was put the fear of God and Bobby Singer into her to set her straight. Woman was in over her head and got a hell of a lot more than she bargained for. I’ve got someone out there keeping an eye on her, but I don’t think she’ll act out again.” It didn’t sound like much, considering everything, but he wasn’t into the job just to mete out vengeance for vengeance’s sake. If he didn’t have to kill someone he wouldn’t.
“So, you gonna send that girl back to live with her family?” Ellen cut right to the heart of it all.
Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right to send her back there knowing what’s been done. She’s got enough grief to carry without adding all of that mess on top of it.”
Ellen’s eyes were stern. “That’s all well and good, but if she doesn’t go back then where’s she going to go? She’s a good kid and she’s great with our Jo, but Bill and I have trouble enough keeping one kid fed and clothed, we can’t start raising another one.”
“And I wouldn’t expect you to.” Bobby frowned. “She does have other family out there, an aunt and uncle from her mom’s side. I suppose they could take her in.”
“I’m not going back,” a soft, firm voice cut in.
Bobby turned around and caught sight of Rachel across the room. They’d been so wrapped up in their talk that neither he nor Ellen had noticed her come in. She did have a book clenched in one fist and she was wearing a shirt he hadn’t seen before. For all of her big talk Ellen Harvelle was a softy at heart.
“They’re still your family,” Bobby replied. “And they’ll be a sight better at taking care of you than someone like me.”
Rachel walked purposefully across the room, a mulish look on her face that he was only just starting to learn to dread. “No they aren’t and no they wouldn’t. And even if maybe they would I’m still not going back there. My family is dead and the only people left in Michigan are the people who let them die.”
Ellen came out from behind the bar and put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Sweetie, I know it’s hard but they’re your kin. They’ll be able to look out for you in ways we can’t.”
“No they can’t,” Rachel whispered. She looked up at Bobby, tears running down her cheeks. “If you send me back there I’ll run away again. I won’t stay with them, I can’t.”
For a second all he could see was the faces of two little girls and what was left of them after he’d let that monster get to them first.
He nodded slowly. He could see the truth of it in her, she wouldn’t stay and there was no telling where she’d end up if she ran off again. He should’ve sent her to Child Services the second she’d shown up, he’d known, even then, that this was going to happen. He was going to get attached and start flirting with disaster. He’d always been too much of a pushover for his own damn good.
All of his self-recrimination didn’t seem to matter, though. He couldn’t send her away. He’d been fighting with that fact the entire drive from Michigan. The God’s honest truth was that a part of him didn’t want to. She’d dug in under his defenses like no one had in a long time.
“Go get your stuff. We’re leaving in ten,” was what he finally said.
Rachel seemed to get what he wasn’t saying because her face lit up and she ran out of the room.
Ellen gave him a long, serious look. “Don’t fuck this up, Robert Singer. Or you’ll be hearing from me.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bobby sincerely replied. He’d do his damnedest.
A wave of panic washed over him as Rachel pounded back into the room, bag swung over her shoulder. He didn’t have the slightest clue about what he was getting himself into.
He stood up, belted back his coffee, and followed Rachel out of the Roadhouse. This was the path he’d chosen so he’d better make the best of it. She smiled at him as he stepped back out into the sun, her face happier than he’d ever seen it.
Well, that was something, at least.
~~~
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: In my head I sometimes act like these characters are mine but there’s a big difference between reality and fantasy. All rights and privileges belong to Eric Kripke and Warner Brothers, or, in other words, people who look nothing like me.
Summary: Sometimes you really are stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Author’s Note: Set in the same AU as Down a Parallel Road. Contains vague spoilers for 4x02 but set pre-series.
February 1991
Bobby pulled up to Harvelle’s Roadhouse in the middle of the afternoon. He’d hauled ass through Iowa and most of Nebraska and felt pretty damn lousy. A couple days of hard driving had him with a headache that wouldn’t quit and a back stiffer than he wanted to contemplate. He still wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d found what he was looking for out in Michigan, wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to do about anything, but he was here now and he’d figure it all out, somehow or other.
His feet crunched across the gravel parking lot, the noise sharp in road-deadened ears. He sighed tiredly as he pushed the door open, hinges groaning in counterpoint. It’d been a long fucking week.
“Well look at who’s dragged his sorry self back in here,” Ellen called out from where she was stationed behind the bar. She had a towel tossed over one shoulder, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. It looked like he’d interrupted her cleaning time.
Bobby slumped down onto one of the stools at the bar. “Looks like,” he replied. His eyes stuttered around the room. “Bill out with the girls?”
Ellen plunked a mug down on the bar in front of him and started filling it up from a pot of her black gold. Best damn coffee he’d ever drunk. “He took Jo out to the store. I’m sure he’s filling her up on sugar as we speak. Man’s a sucker for a pretty face.” Ellen pivoted and put the pot back in its place. “But Rachel’s around here somewhere. Nose buried in a book, I’m sure.”
Bobby grinned slightly, couldn’t help it. He always did have a soft spot for the bookworms. The grin swiftly fell off his face, though. His fondness for her was part of the problem.
He felt Ellen’s sharp eyes on him as he took a slow, measured sip of his coffee. He didn’t look up at her after he’d set the mug back down, just stared into its reflective depths. Now that the moment was here he still couldn’t find it in him to do what he knew he had to.
“How’d the trip go?” Ellen asked.
“Not too bad. The girl was right, her grandma’d gotten into some serious stuff. Thankfully all I had to do was put the fear of God and Bobby Singer into her to set her straight. Woman was in over her head and got a hell of a lot more than she bargained for. I’ve got someone out there keeping an eye on her, but I don’t think she’ll act out again.” It didn’t sound like much, considering everything, but he wasn’t into the job just to mete out vengeance for vengeance’s sake. If he didn’t have to kill someone he wouldn’t.
“So, you gonna send that girl back to live with her family?” Ellen cut right to the heart of it all.
Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right to send her back there knowing what’s been done. She’s got enough grief to carry without adding all of that mess on top of it.”
Ellen’s eyes were stern. “That’s all well and good, but if she doesn’t go back then where’s she going to go? She’s a good kid and she’s great with our Jo, but Bill and I have trouble enough keeping one kid fed and clothed, we can’t start raising another one.”
“And I wouldn’t expect you to.” Bobby frowned. “She does have other family out there, an aunt and uncle from her mom’s side. I suppose they could take her in.”
“I’m not going back,” a soft, firm voice cut in.
Bobby turned around and caught sight of Rachel across the room. They’d been so wrapped up in their talk that neither he nor Ellen had noticed her come in. She did have a book clenched in one fist and she was wearing a shirt he hadn’t seen before. For all of her big talk Ellen Harvelle was a softy at heart.
“They’re still your family,” Bobby replied. “And they’ll be a sight better at taking care of you than someone like me.”
Rachel walked purposefully across the room, a mulish look on her face that he was only just starting to learn to dread. “No they aren’t and no they wouldn’t. And even if maybe they would I’m still not going back there. My family is dead and the only people left in Michigan are the people who let them die.”
Ellen came out from behind the bar and put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Sweetie, I know it’s hard but they’re your kin. They’ll be able to look out for you in ways we can’t.”
“No they can’t,” Rachel whispered. She looked up at Bobby, tears running down her cheeks. “If you send me back there I’ll run away again. I won’t stay with them, I can’t.”
For a second all he could see was the faces of two little girls and what was left of them after he’d let that monster get to them first.
He nodded slowly. He could see the truth of it in her, she wouldn’t stay and there was no telling where she’d end up if she ran off again. He should’ve sent her to Child Services the second she’d shown up, he’d known, even then, that this was going to happen. He was going to get attached and start flirting with disaster. He’d always been too much of a pushover for his own damn good.
All of his self-recrimination didn’t seem to matter, though. He couldn’t send her away. He’d been fighting with that fact the entire drive from Michigan. The God’s honest truth was that a part of him didn’t want to. She’d dug in under his defenses like no one had in a long time.
“Go get your stuff. We’re leaving in ten,” was what he finally said.
Rachel seemed to get what he wasn’t saying because her face lit up and she ran out of the room.
Ellen gave him a long, serious look. “Don’t fuck this up, Robert Singer. Or you’ll be hearing from me.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bobby sincerely replied. He’d do his damnedest.
A wave of panic washed over him as Rachel pounded back into the room, bag swung over her shoulder. He didn’t have the slightest clue about what he was getting himself into.
He stood up, belted back his coffee, and followed Rachel out of the Roadhouse. This was the path he’d chosen so he’d better make the best of it. She smiled at him as he stepped back out into the sun, her face happier than he’d ever seen it.
Well, that was something, at least.
~~~