The River

Chapter 12 - Explosions

"Listen here, withholding information from a federal investigation is a felony, as I'm sure you know. You give my men what they want or I'll have your operation shut down by the end of the day," I spat into the household phone.

"Yes ma'am," the shaky voice of a sheriff in Kentucky said on the other end.

I slammed the phone down to hang it up and grinned. Bobby's operation wasn't such a bad gig and I could hear him chuckling to himself in the other room. Clearly, he overheard my conversation.

Although Bobby was a great hunter, he was older and stayed off the front lines as much as possible. Instead, he had multiple phone lines that a circle of hunters used. They would phone Bobby for advice or give the numbers to various feds to hold up appearances to get their hands on the information they needed for a hunt.

It wasn't as thrilling as being on the front lines but it was fun pretending to be the head of the FBI, amongst other different aliases. If I was lucky (or damned) enough to live long enough to retire, I could see myself carrying out a similar operation.

I hobbled back into the living room with a crutch under either arm. I let myself fall back on to Bobby's couch. It had been two weeks since the vampire had crippled me and I was sure the print of my ass would soon be permanently etched into the old sofa.

I wasn't happy to be laid up but I was a little grateful for space away from Dean. He and Sam had been keeping busy hunting things. They returned home every couple of days for the night but were always gone again by morning.

I had gotten even closer to Sam because I stuck to him like glue when the brothers were around, avoiding Dean at all costs. No matter how bad my nightmares got, I would sit on Bobby's couch all night shivering and panting for breaths before I would dare sneak up to his room. I had too much pride but even if I did seek Dean's comfort, I was pretty sure he would turn me away anyways.

Even though I wasn't hunting, I was keeping busy. I helped Bobby man the phone lines and in return, he was teaching me how to research. When a hunter would call for Bobby's wisdom and expertise that wasn't exactly urgent, Bobby would have me research and find the lore the hunter needed, giving me helpful tips and pointers along the way. In the span of two weeks, I had gotten pretty good at it.

Although I spent many hours learning to work the job differently, it was hard not to be bored. All the cigarettes in the world couldn't keep me going and although Bobby didn't seem to be impressed with my dirty habit, he started to pick me up a pack every time he left the house.

One night I had run out of cigarettes and I panicked, needing something to do with my restless fingers. If I wasn't smoking, my fingers yearned to push patterns into six strings, creating beautiful sounds from the instrument to ease my stress. I hadn't touched the old guitar in the back of my truck in nine years and I wasn't about to face that baggage any time soon... I had enough on my plate.

Instead, I downed a flask of Bobby's whiskey that night, and when he asked why as he practically carried my drunk ass from his front step back to the couch, I slurred that I had run out of smokes. He made sure I was well stocked ever since.

We were expecting Sam and Dean back today and although I had been dreading it, I couldn't help breathe a sigh of relief when the front door opened that evening and the pair stepped inside.

"Sam!" I exclaimed as he stepped over to hug me. I couldn't get off the couch fast enough so he was crouched down next to me. "How's the leg?"

I rolled my eyes and turned the cast from side to side, pretending to show it off. "Never better," I retorted sarcastically. "Seriously though, I think we should cut this thing off tomorrow to see."