Chapter Text
He ignores calls from his brother like you’re ignoring calls from Rufus.
“Should we patch it up ourselves?” he asks brightly. You’ve been catching the rain that drips down in pans and buckets. Finally, the sun has come out to stay for a while.
“I bet we could,” you admit. You take a minute to admire his focus as he scrawls something on a piece of scrap paper.
“List?”
He nods. You’ll have to go back into town together. You like going into town with him. He’s very quiet. It suits you fine.
On the edge of the counter is his stack of library books. It’s obscure stuff about the kind of thing Rufus likes. You don’t want to think about Rufus, so you haven’t commented. He keeps them stacked up so neatly. You’ve run your finger over the spines more than once, and you’re not sure why, not sure what kind of longing keeps pinging in your chest.
You mostly read novels. That’s all you tend to do besides let the TV run. And you cook. He came in, started to clean, which you’ve been loathe to try and do since she died, except what needs doing so you don’t get roaches or whatnot.
In turn, you cook.
He opens the door when the bell rings. You’re eyeing the spines of the books; you haven’t wanted company and aren’t about to start now.
“Who the hell are you?”
Damn, it’s Rufus. Maybe if you don’t move, you can pretend you aren’t home.
Sam laughs. “I’m Sam Winchester. I came to visit a grave and just...started staying here.”
Rufus scoffs. You try to stay very, very still. “Where’s he at? Asshole isn’t returning a damn call.”
Sam’s voice is so sincere and patient. “Why do you think that is?” he asks Rufus seriously, and you feel your tenseness fade a little. You’re in the next room and he’s covering for your ass.
“That’s his business, and not yours,” Rufus tells him. Rufus pauses, and Sam, who is really quiet, doesn’t say anything in return. Doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t challenge the idea.
“Well, why are you calling him?”
“Is he not here? Bobby!” calls Rufus.
“I can always take a message,” says Sam. Your eyes are boring holes through the dust covers on the library books. “He went into town.”
“Not without his truck, he didn’t. ‘Scuse me.”
Rufus pushes through the doorway and almost runs right into you.
“Singer, what the hell,” he says, and shakes his head at you.
“I don’t want to hunt.”
“You don't want to do anything. Do you need some more cash?”
“What do you care?” You feel twitchy and wrong with the amount of care he keeps showing. It doesn’t make any damn sense. You almost care about living again, with the stranger in the house. The stranger doesn’t offer you cash like Rufus.
“You have the skills,” Rufus says apologetically. “I like you. I found you in a bad way, and you’re...less bad now. You can do it. We can make it work. I trust you. This can be a hard game when you’re not white.”
You sigh. He’s speaking some truth.
“He’s white,” you gesture to Winchester. “Look at his books; I think he’s a hunter too,” you say boldly.
Rufus glances at the books. “Yeah,” he has to admit. “Was hoping they were yours.”
“No such luck.”
Sam steps toward the kitchen too. “I’m right here, you know.”
“We know!” the both of you tell him as one.
“Do you hunt demons, and crap like that?” you ask Winchester frankly.
“Yes,” he looks from you to Rufus and back. “I do. Been avoiding my family. Raised in the life.”
“Your mom?” you ask.
“She was the one who taught me everything I know,” Sam says plainly.
“His wife died in a hunt.”
Rufus wasn’t supposed to tell Winchester that. You lean toward the counter, lightheaded.
“Bobby?” calls Sam.
Rufus’s arm is around you. You have to lean into the comfort, eyes closing tightly.
“I’ll get a bottle,” murmurs Sam.
“Sure, sure,” Rufus says.
The kitchen is very quiet as they pour you a drink and guide you to one of your own kitchen chairs. You lower your head.
“I’ll let you tell him. When you’re ready,” Rufus says kindly. “I need some supplies. I’ll come back when I get ‘em. Will you be ready?”
You turn to look at Rufus and Sam. They both want you to want to be ready. They are offering something to be ready for.
“I’ll come with,” Sam says quietly.
Rufus sizes him up for a minute. “Let me see your books.” Rufus turns to take apart the neat stack and thumb through the pages. “They’ll do,” he admits. “You’ll do. Where you from?”
“Lawrence, Kansas.”
“But it’s not where she was from.”
“No,” says Sam. “She was from here. She’s buried in town.”
“You met him looking at a grave?” Rufus asks you dubiously.
“I met him stealing my flowers.”
Rufus eyes Sam, not understanding why someone would go out of their way to do something so stupid, especially in a world of white men and hunters, where there was some overlap too.
“Okay,” Rufus says.
“You hungry?” Sam asks him. Rufus pauses, looks at Sam cautiously.
“I’ll heat you up some of Bobby’s spaghetti,” he offers. We’ll see you when you get back.”
You take a deep breath in.