Rhys still feels a little bit like a sleepwalker, even having been released from the panic room with a clean bill of health. In some ways, things are more complicated, and in other ways, it's made things simpler. Forced the issue.
Death has a weird way of doing that, Rhys guesses. Since waking up after drinking Sam's blood for the first time, since that fight and tenuous make-up on the phone with Tuck, a kind of strange peace has settled over him. Something that broke when he woke up in the grave has mended, and while he's still got a lot of healing to go, he's now pretty sure he's going to make it.
It's not magically all better, but he can actually see how it could be okay again, and that means the world. Even if it means a lot of time sitting out here and thinking, trying to make sense of things in a lot of new contexts. Out in the dark and quiet, a set of old, polished obsidian worry beads that have been with him forever sifting through his fingers
( ... )
The kid will figure it out. Bobby is a firm believer in not judging by first appearances and while he still gave him hell for looking like he lost a fight with a tackle box, he'd developed a pretty healthy respect for Rhys over their first round of beers at the Roadhouse, debating old German translations and the best ways to treat Naga bites.
He's as much one of his as Sam and Dean are. Part of an odd, cobbled together family of hunters, misfits and he wouldn't have it any other way. The boys had been kicked around more than most and came out of it good men. Brave men.
"Not a peep. Dean's on a store run to stock up for the next few days while Sam handles the rest." Extra protein for Sam, coffee, beer, ingredients for his chili, enough food to feed an army because when El is upset, she cooks for one.
"You sure you're good with them coming so soon?" It'd be better at the house, he'd argued. They had more control over the conditions, and they could haul him into the panic room if things went poorly.
Rhys's relationship with Bobby was one of the tougher ones in his new hunter life, if he's honest. He's never really done well with older male authority figures, and that blame lands squarely on the shoulders of his father. It takes a special knack to be both distant and controlling at the same time, but Gerald Riley had always managed just fine.
A co-worker? Sure, no problem, even if Rhys's awkward habit of calling the old hunter "Sir" had taken ages to break and drove him up a wall. But accepting that those beers on the porch, those late night discussions, and those random phone calls of "No, trust me, it's the blue ones that are harmless" meant more than just a valuable working contact, that had taken a little longer
( ... )
Ellen was better with the boys when it came to taking care of them, responding to their needs. He.. just wasn’t much good at it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t try, not when they really needed him. Hell, they’d pulled Sam back and they’d brought Rhys back. Two for two. Not bad for an old man and a couple of kids
( ... )
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Death has a weird way of doing that, Rhys guesses. Since waking up after drinking Sam's blood for the first time, since that fight and tenuous make-up on the phone with Tuck, a kind of strange peace has settled over him. Something that broke when he woke up in the grave has mended, and while he's still got a lot of healing to go, he's now pretty sure he's going to make it.
It's not magically all better, but he can actually see how it could be okay again, and that means the world. Even if it means a lot of time sitting out here and thinking, trying to make sense of things in a lot of new contexts. Out in the dark and quiet, a set of old, polished obsidian worry beads that have been with him forever sifting through his fingers ( ... )
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He's as much one of his as Sam and Dean are. Part of an odd, cobbled together family of hunters, misfits and he wouldn't have it any other way. The boys had been kicked around more than most and came out of it good men. Brave men.
"Not a peep. Dean's on a store run to stock up for the next few days while Sam handles the rest." Extra protein for Sam, coffee, beer, ingredients for his chili, enough food to feed an army because when El is upset, she cooks for one.
"You sure you're good with them coming so soon?" It'd be better at the house, he'd argued. They had more control over the conditions, and they could haul him into the panic room if things went poorly.
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A co-worker? Sure, no problem, even if Rhys's awkward habit of calling the old hunter "Sir" had taken ages to break and drove him up a wall. But accepting that those beers on the porch, those late night discussions, and those random phone calls of "No, trust me, it's the blue ones that are harmless" meant more than just a valuable working contact, that had taken a little longer ( ... )
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