Fic: Idiots
Title: Idiots
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG
Genre: gen, outsider pov, casefic, some humor, slice of Winchester life
Characters: Dean, Sam, OC
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Some of the people the Winchesters help really don't want to be helped.
"Next that hustler was going to ask her for money; she just knew it."
“Hey there,” said the young man, too friendly--and really, too good-looking, probably used to using his looks to get what he wanted. Sherilyn frowned and turned back to the gas pump, hoping if she ignored him, he’d go away, but no, he was persistent, like he was a hustler. Next he was going to ask her for money; she just knew it. “Hey, uh ... ma’am, do you know how I get to Dubuque from here?”
She turned to glare at him. “Ever hear of the highway?” she said, dripping with scorn.
His indomitable grin turned a bit brittle, but he would keep fake-smiling at her until she caved. She would not cave. “Yeah, no, I know, it’s just, uh, my GPS,” here he gestured to his sleazy black muscle car, no GPS in sight, “you know, crapped out, so ....”
“This is Iowa!,” she snapped. The whole state was basically laid out on a grid. It was impossible not to get where you were going, no matter how stupid you were, and he was obviously not stupid; pretty crafty, she’d guess. “Get on the damn highway and look for a damn sign!”
There was an unmistakeable wince, then that eyebrow twitch guys did that meant, ‘What a bitch.’ “Thanks,” he muttered, looked around for someone--probably an accomplice. Then--she couldn’t believe it--started in on her again! “Um, and, is there a place around here where I could get--”
“Ask someone who doesn’t have your number,” she hissed, and hurried into the convenience store, locking her car up tight first and looking between him and her car pointedly, then watching him intently from the store windows. His even-taller accomplice met up with him and they talked shiftily, kicking around. The one who accosted her seemed foiled--despondent, even. Looking around, his eyes met hers through the window. He quickly looked away, said something to his buddy, who glanced at her, too, then they turned their backs.
Satisfied that they knew she was onto them, she went to the bathroom, then bought a diet soda before gripping her keys and marching to her car, determined to drive away before these hangabouts could try again to get their claws into her. Sure enough, though they watched her her whole way to her car and out onto the street, they were at least bright enough to gather they’d better not try to talk to her again. Good-for-nothing scum. She hated leeches like that.
She tried not to let the encounter remind her about the murders that kept happening along the Iowa highways. Every other day, there was a new story in the paper, about a death near the motel she’d just left, as if the murderer was stalking her. Thinking back on that guy at the gas station, she had to wonder, had he finally caught up? Still, though ... working in sales, she’d learned to read people pretty well, and though she pegged him as familiar with all kinds of no good, she couldn’t see murder being on the list; still less his giant buddy.
At least he’d seemed cowed by her ... until looking in the rearview mirror, several cars behind her, she could swear she saw their jerkmobile, shifting lanes dangerously fast, of course. She frequently peered intently in the rearview mirror over the next several miles. Sometimes she thought she saw a car that looked like theirs, but it was hard to tell in the bright glare of the sun shining off the chrome, with so many cars between them. She caught sight of the lock of hair wrapped in a piece of yarn hanging from her rearview mirror and smiled, reassured. “Protect me, baby,” she whispered. “I know you would never let a bad man get me.”
Joseph, her high-school sweetheart, really never had let anything bad happen to her. When he died, they were both married to other people, but when she asked his wife if she could have a lock of his hair to remember him, she obliged, because she knew how close they’d been. Sometimes Sherilyn could swear she felt his presence, like he was protecting her from beyond the grave, but she knew it was only in her mind. She didn’t believe in that kind of thing. Still, she took comfort from the thought, feeling more peaceful already, forgetting about that stupid hustler in his dumb TransAm or whatever it was.
Only when her car started sputtering, down a small county road by a wooded river, no houses in sight, not for miles, that the fear returned, doubled the instant she glanced in the rearview mirror to see that car mosey up behind hers and stop not ten feet away.
Here he came as she got out of the car with her taser to hand and her purse over her shoulder, his big fake smile already in place. “What a coincidence! Having car trouble? I know something about cars; I can help you out.” Did he really know something about cars? He’d better, driving around that junker, and heaven knew she could use some help, but she made sure they could see she had the taser handy, in case they were thinking about trying anything.
She frowned tensely at the accomplice, who gave her a brief, awkward smile before following the other one, who was helping himself to her car, getting right in. Did he plan to steal it?! She had the keys in her other hand, so he’d have to hotwire it, but she imagined his dirty hands had plenty of experience at that. They muttered something to each other quietly, then ol’ Lurch took off toward the river as the hustler explained, thumbing back at him, “He’s gotta take a leak.”
“Good to know,” she said frostily.
“I’m Dean, by the way.” He held out his hand to her, but she stared at him coldly, and he soon gave up. Her stare intensified as he just kind of stood there in the open doorway of her car, swaying and singing a little to himself. He smiled at her gamely, tried to pretend she wasn’t glaring daggers at him, then he finally seemed to get it. “Oh! Right,” he said. That idiot. He wasn’t even trying to act like he was doing anything. He popped the hood and looked around in there for a couple minutes, obviously accomplishing nothing whatsoever. She came and stood near, watching him shrewdly, her hands on her hips, to let him know that she wasn’t fooled, and to make sure he didn’t do anything to the engine. “Wow, new cars,” he said, making lame conversation. “Really different from my baby over there.” She rolled her eyes. Men and their cars.
“Good thing your ‘baby’ is a car,” she noted hotly, “since you’re terrible with women.”
He burst out laughing at that, taking her by surprise. Then he smirked sheepishly. “Pretty much right about that,” he muttered. She couldn’t help but smile at his admission. He looked around for his friend. “Maybe I better see if he needs some help.”
“Going to the bathroom?” she asked pointedly.
He chuckled nervously. “Uh ... you know ... maybe he got stuck in some mud or something.”
“Why; is he mentally deficient? He looked like it,” she added quietly, and he burst out laughing again.
“Wow,” was all he said, shaking his head at her.
“What?” she snapped.
“Some people make it really hard to help them,” he sighed, and all of a sudden, his smile looked oddly wistful. It threw her off, made her feel guilty, and why should she feel guilty about being unfriendly to his lazy ass?
“Funny; doesn’t look like you’re ‘helping’ me at all,” she retorted.
“So!” he interrupted. “You travel for a living?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How did you know that? You’re stalking me?”
“Naw; I could tell by all the gas receipts and take-out trash in your car,” he said smoothly, then, “so you travel around Iowa mostly? Weird about those murders that keep happening along the highway, isn’t it? Hope they catch the guy soon.”
“Maybe you’re him,” she suggested brittly. “Good thing I have my taser.”
He made a funny face, looking at it there in her hand, like he was wincing at a memory, then looked around yet again for his accomplice. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, “let’s keep our heads. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” Sure enough, he stood there, leaning back quite relaxedly against her car, still in its doorway as if to prevent her from being able to get back in it, annoying but utterly nonthreatening in his body language. “C’mon, Sam,” he muttered under his breath.
Just then, the accomplice burst out of the woods, looking freaked out, dirty, and ... singed?
“Everything go all right?” Dean asked, and the other one--Sam--nodded, though not seeming convinced it really had. “The, uh ... ‘mud’ give you trouble?” Dean pressed.
Sam looked askance, confused, then seemed to understand, and said, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, really ... ‘muddy’ out there. The kind of mud where you ... wonder if you’re gonna escape with your life.”
“Knew I should’ve come with you,” Dean growled, and Sherilyn burst out laughing, shooing them away from her car door. They scattered with surprising ease, scurrying back toward their car.
“Okay, criminals, fun-time’s over. If you aren’t gonna help me with my car, get outta here.”
“Oh, I fixed your car,” Dean announced smugly from his own car doorway. “It should work fine now. You take care.” They got in--she could swear she heard Sam groan as he fell roughly into the passenger seat--then they peeled away. Not suspicious behavior at all.
Oh, well, if they thought she’d left anything of value in the car before they poked around in it, they were wrong. Dean had only even been in there for a few seconds. She looked around her car with sharp eyes, but everything was exactly as she’d left it, down to the take-out trash. What a couple of weirdos. She remembered his sheepish laugh when she told him he was bad with women, his wistful smile when he insisted again that they were only trying to help her. All her fear had been for nothing; they were just a couple of eccentric oddballs who liked to pretend they knew something about cars and ... OHH! She finally understood. Dean had been trying to pick her up since the gas station! And Sam was being his wingman by wandering around in the muck while Dean hit on her. Man, if that was an attempted pick-up, he really was bad with women--the worst, lollygagging in the doorway of her car, singing to himself. He thought that was gonna attract a chick? Yeesh. Looks can only go so far in making up for dumbassery.
She turned the key, and sure enough, the car started with no trouble. She smiled. She knew he hadn’t fixed her car; he hadn’t done a thing to it, unless he could fix it with a laying on of hands, but she didn’t believe in that kind of thing. “Thanks, Joey, I knew you’d look out for me,” she murmured, brushing the lock of hair with her fingers ... which was gone. It was gone, the one thing missing. They’d followed her for miles, braved her hostility and her taser, and they didn’t take anything but a lock of hair?! What a couple of idiots.
~ The End ~
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG
Genre: gen, outsider pov, casefic, some humor, slice of Winchester life
Characters: Dean, Sam, OC
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Some of the people the Winchesters help really don't want to be helped.
"Next that hustler was going to ask her for money; she just knew it."
“Hey there,” said the young man, too friendly--and really, too good-looking, probably used to using his looks to get what he wanted. Sherilyn frowned and turned back to the gas pump, hoping if she ignored him, he’d go away, but no, he was persistent, like he was a hustler. Next he was going to ask her for money; she just knew it. “Hey, uh ... ma’am, do you know how I get to Dubuque from here?”
She turned to glare at him. “Ever hear of the highway?” she said, dripping with scorn.
His indomitable grin turned a bit brittle, but he would keep fake-smiling at her until she caved. She would not cave. “Yeah, no, I know, it’s just, uh, my GPS,” here he gestured to his sleazy black muscle car, no GPS in sight, “you know, crapped out, so ....”
“This is Iowa!,” she snapped. The whole state was basically laid out on a grid. It was impossible not to get where you were going, no matter how stupid you were, and he was obviously not stupid; pretty crafty, she’d guess. “Get on the damn highway and look for a damn sign!”
There was an unmistakeable wince, then that eyebrow twitch guys did that meant, ‘What a bitch.’ “Thanks,” he muttered, looked around for someone--probably an accomplice. Then--she couldn’t believe it--started in on her again! “Um, and, is there a place around here where I could get--”
“Ask someone who doesn’t have your number,” she hissed, and hurried into the convenience store, locking her car up tight first and looking between him and her car pointedly, then watching him intently from the store windows. His even-taller accomplice met up with him and they talked shiftily, kicking around. The one who accosted her seemed foiled--despondent, even. Looking around, his eyes met hers through the window. He quickly looked away, said something to his buddy, who glanced at her, too, then they turned their backs.
Satisfied that they knew she was onto them, she went to the bathroom, then bought a diet soda before gripping her keys and marching to her car, determined to drive away before these hangabouts could try again to get their claws into her. Sure enough, though they watched her her whole way to her car and out onto the street, they were at least bright enough to gather they’d better not try to talk to her again. Good-for-nothing scum. She hated leeches like that.
She tried not to let the encounter remind her about the murders that kept happening along the Iowa highways. Every other day, there was a new story in the paper, about a death near the motel she’d just left, as if the murderer was stalking her. Thinking back on that guy at the gas station, she had to wonder, had he finally caught up? Still, though ... working in sales, she’d learned to read people pretty well, and though she pegged him as familiar with all kinds of no good, she couldn’t see murder being on the list; still less his giant buddy.
At least he’d seemed cowed by her ... until looking in the rearview mirror, several cars behind her, she could swear she saw their jerkmobile, shifting lanes dangerously fast, of course. She frequently peered intently in the rearview mirror over the next several miles. Sometimes she thought she saw a car that looked like theirs, but it was hard to tell in the bright glare of the sun shining off the chrome, with so many cars between them. She caught sight of the lock of hair wrapped in a piece of yarn hanging from her rearview mirror and smiled, reassured. “Protect me, baby,” she whispered. “I know you would never let a bad man get me.”
Joseph, her high-school sweetheart, really never had let anything bad happen to her. When he died, they were both married to other people, but when she asked his wife if she could have a lock of his hair to remember him, she obliged, because she knew how close they’d been. Sometimes Sherilyn could swear she felt his presence, like he was protecting her from beyond the grave, but she knew it was only in her mind. She didn’t believe in that kind of thing. Still, she took comfort from the thought, feeling more peaceful already, forgetting about that stupid hustler in his dumb TransAm or whatever it was.
Only when her car started sputtering, down a small county road by a wooded river, no houses in sight, not for miles, that the fear returned, doubled the instant she glanced in the rearview mirror to see that car mosey up behind hers and stop not ten feet away.
Here he came as she got out of the car with her taser to hand and her purse over her shoulder, his big fake smile already in place. “What a coincidence! Having car trouble? I know something about cars; I can help you out.” Did he really know something about cars? He’d better, driving around that junker, and heaven knew she could use some help, but she made sure they could see she had the taser handy, in case they were thinking about trying anything.
She frowned tensely at the accomplice, who gave her a brief, awkward smile before following the other one, who was helping himself to her car, getting right in. Did he plan to steal it?! She had the keys in her other hand, so he’d have to hotwire it, but she imagined his dirty hands had plenty of experience at that. They muttered something to each other quietly, then ol’ Lurch took off toward the river as the hustler explained, thumbing back at him, “He’s gotta take a leak.”
“Good to know,” she said frostily.
“I’m Dean, by the way.” He held out his hand to her, but she stared at him coldly, and he soon gave up. Her stare intensified as he just kind of stood there in the open doorway of her car, swaying and singing a little to himself. He smiled at her gamely, tried to pretend she wasn’t glaring daggers at him, then he finally seemed to get it. “Oh! Right,” he said. That idiot. He wasn’t even trying to act like he was doing anything. He popped the hood and looked around in there for a couple minutes, obviously accomplishing nothing whatsoever. She came and stood near, watching him shrewdly, her hands on her hips, to let him know that she wasn’t fooled, and to make sure he didn’t do anything to the engine. “Wow, new cars,” he said, making lame conversation. “Really different from my baby over there.” She rolled her eyes. Men and their cars.
“Good thing your ‘baby’ is a car,” she noted hotly, “since you’re terrible with women.”
He burst out laughing at that, taking her by surprise. Then he smirked sheepishly. “Pretty much right about that,” he muttered. She couldn’t help but smile at his admission. He looked around for his friend. “Maybe I better see if he needs some help.”
“Going to the bathroom?” she asked pointedly.
He chuckled nervously. “Uh ... you know ... maybe he got stuck in some mud or something.”
“Why; is he mentally deficient? He looked like it,” she added quietly, and he burst out laughing again.
“Wow,” was all he said, shaking his head at her.
“What?” she snapped.
“Some people make it really hard to help them,” he sighed, and all of a sudden, his smile looked oddly wistful. It threw her off, made her feel guilty, and why should she feel guilty about being unfriendly to his lazy ass?
“Funny; doesn’t look like you’re ‘helping’ me at all,” she retorted.
“So!” he interrupted. “You travel for a living?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How did you know that? You’re stalking me?”
“Naw; I could tell by all the gas receipts and take-out trash in your car,” he said smoothly, then, “so you travel around Iowa mostly? Weird about those murders that keep happening along the highway, isn’t it? Hope they catch the guy soon.”
“Maybe you’re him,” she suggested brittly. “Good thing I have my taser.”
He made a funny face, looking at it there in her hand, like he was wincing at a memory, then looked around yet again for his accomplice. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, “let’s keep our heads. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” Sure enough, he stood there, leaning back quite relaxedly against her car, still in its doorway as if to prevent her from being able to get back in it, annoying but utterly nonthreatening in his body language. “C’mon, Sam,” he muttered under his breath.
Just then, the accomplice burst out of the woods, looking freaked out, dirty, and ... singed?
“Everything go all right?” Dean asked, and the other one--Sam--nodded, though not seeming convinced it really had. “The, uh ... ‘mud’ give you trouble?” Dean pressed.
Sam looked askance, confused, then seemed to understand, and said, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, really ... ‘muddy’ out there. The kind of mud where you ... wonder if you’re gonna escape with your life.”
“Knew I should’ve come with you,” Dean growled, and Sherilyn burst out laughing, shooing them away from her car door. They scattered with surprising ease, scurrying back toward their car.
“Okay, criminals, fun-time’s over. If you aren’t gonna help me with my car, get outta here.”
“Oh, I fixed your car,” Dean announced smugly from his own car doorway. “It should work fine now. You take care.” They got in--she could swear she heard Sam groan as he fell roughly into the passenger seat--then they peeled away. Not suspicious behavior at all.
Oh, well, if they thought she’d left anything of value in the car before they poked around in it, they were wrong. Dean had only even been in there for a few seconds. She looked around her car with sharp eyes, but everything was exactly as she’d left it, down to the take-out trash. What a couple of weirdos. She remembered his sheepish laugh when she told him he was bad with women, his wistful smile when he insisted again that they were only trying to help her. All her fear had been for nothing; they were just a couple of eccentric oddballs who liked to pretend they knew something about cars and ... OHH! She finally understood. Dean had been trying to pick her up since the gas station! And Sam was being his wingman by wandering around in the muck while Dean hit on her. Man, if that was an attempted pick-up, he really was bad with women--the worst, lollygagging in the doorway of her car, singing to himself. He thought that was gonna attract a chick? Yeesh. Looks can only go so far in making up for dumbassery.
She turned the key, and sure enough, the car started with no trouble. She smiled. She knew he hadn’t fixed her car; he hadn’t done a thing to it, unless he could fix it with a laying on of hands, but she didn’t believe in that kind of thing. “Thanks, Joey, I knew you’d look out for me,” she murmured, brushing the lock of hair with her fingers ... which was gone. It was gone, the one thing missing. They’d followed her for miles, braved her hostility and her taser, and they didn’t take anything but a lock of hair?! What a couple of idiots.
~ The End ~