Fallen

Chapter Eleven

I find myself waking up in the back seat of the Impala. I guess I was still tired from last night. Car rides have always made me tired, though. I yawn and stretch out my arms.

"Morning, sunshine," Sam says from the passenger seat in front of me.

I groan a little. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Sam replies. "We're almost to the bunker."

I yawn again. "Cool."

"How's the head?" Dean asks.

"What?" I ask, confused for a moment. Then I realize he means my hangover. "Oh. Better, thanks."

     "Good," Dean mumbles.

     We drive in complete silence for a good 20 minutes. Finally it drives me crazy. "So this bunker of yours," I start. "How safe is it?"

     "Very," Sam says. "It's warded against pretty much any kind of evil you can think of."

"So, demons can't get in?"

"Nope," Sam confirms.

"But even if they could, we could take 'em," Dean says. "Nothing we can't handle."

"Good," I exhale. There's another moment of silence before I think of something else. "Hey, when we get there, could you guys maybe... teach me some stuff? Like about weapons and monsters."

"Yeah, absolutely," Sam says.

"You should probably learn to defend yourself until you're full angel mode, anyway," Dean adds.

"Exactly," I agree.

Before long, we arrive at a place that looks like some sort of abandoned factory that's buried halfway underground. The place is huge. Dean parks the car and we all get out and collect our things. I follow the Winchesters down the steps to the front door. Would you even call it a front door? What even is the front of this place?

     At the bottom of the steps is the door. It looks to be made of solid iron. Dean unlocks the door with a key that looks ancient, and we all step inside. The room is pitch black. I can't even tell how big it is. Once the door is closed behind us, Dean turns on the lights. The room is huge. The three of us stand on a balcony that overlooks the whole place. Just below us is a large table that has a map as its entire top surface. Beyond that is a set of a few steps that leads to another open room. All I can see inside it from this angle is a row of wooden tables, each with a lamp in the center of it and four chairs around it.

     "So whatdya think?" Dean says.

     "This place is insane!" I say.

     I follow the boys down the stairs, and they lead me through the first room and into a hallway. The hallway is short, but the end of it leads to another longer hallways that runs perpendicular to it. The longer hallway has several doors with numbers on each side of it. When we're at the point where the two halls meet, the boys stop.

     Dean holds his arms out to his sides, gesturing to each side of the never-ending hallway. "Pick one," he says.

     My eyes widen. "Wha- come again?"

     Dean drops his arms. "My room's right here," he motions to a door somewhere around the right corner. "Sam's is back that way," he points down the left end of the hallway. "Pick a room."

     I look at Sam. He has a similar expression to Dean's. "Wait for real? You're serious?"

     Sam laughs a little. "Yeah, go for it."

     I step forward and look down both sides of the hallway. I settle on the left side. "I guess I'll just meet you guys in the middle," I say, walking up the few steps that lead into the left side of the hall. There's a door immediately to my left. Screw it. I open the door and go inside.

It's a really nice room. Bigger than mine back home. There's even a sink with a medicine cabinet in here. All of the furniture looks to be made of the same wood and matches very nicely. My first instinct is to test the quality of the mattress. I sit down on it and sink it to it a bit. Memory foam. Nice.

"I'll let you get comfortable," Sam says. He moves from his position leaning on the door frame and heads somewhere else in the bunker.

I sit on my bed looking around at my new room, and I start to think of home. Then, I realize that my mom never replied to my text yesterday. I unlock my phone and open my messages. Underneath the message I sent her is the phrase Read: Yesterday.

Weird. Maybe she just got busy, I tell myself.

     After a moment of being lost in thought, I decide to rinse my face with cold water. I'm unsure why, but it just sounds refreshing and necessary. I suppose I'm just stressed because of everything. Being told by your long-lost father that you have to up and leave everything and then being ditched by him can really drain a person.

     Just as I pat my face dry, I hear Dean call for me from somewhere in the bunker. I exit my room and head out into the main clearing of the bunker. I head up the steps and into the room with the wooden tables, and I see the boys in there with plates of food in front of them. Sam sits at his own table with about fifteen books sprawled out in front of him. I sit in front of Dean where the third plate sits. On the plate is a sandwich that looks like it came straight out of Google Images. The turkey slices are all folded over themselves with white cheese and brightly colored lettuce and tomato on top of it.

     "What's wrong?" Dean says. "You don't like turkey?"

     "Did you make this?" I ask him.

     "Yeah. What, you don't trust me?" He teases.

     "No, it's just that it looks like a stock photo!" I say. "And I didn't really peg you for a chef."

"Don't underestimate him," Sam says with a full mouth. His sandwich is already half eaten. I laugh.

     I take a bite of the sandwich and am very pleasantly surprised. But then again, how many ways are there to make a turkey sandwich?

     "Eh? Eh? Good right?" Dean brags.

     I giggle at his pride. "You have exceeded my expectations, Chef Winchester."

     "You're welcome," he cockily says.

     I giggle again. I like it here. With them. Truthfully, I was never really happy at home. I didn't have many friends at all. And don't get me wrong, I miss her and all, but Mother was never really a joy to be around. Of coarse, that was when I thought she was crazy. Now that I know she was right about everything, I'm thinking maybe she wasn't so bad after all. Maybe I just couldn't see past my own opinion of her. I hope I can make it up to her one day.