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"I just don't get it, Dee."
Sam and Dean were staying at Bobby's until the Impala was fixed. It was his form of stress relief. Dean worked on the car until the sun went down, then went right back out the first sight of sunlight. Sam had to force him to eat most of the day.
Speaking of the younger brother, Sam chose to talk to Eden about everything. He even had a nickname for her; 'Dee.'
He wasn't sure why it stuck, but it did.
They were now sitting in her room, which was as small as a nursery and smelled of baby powder, vanilla, and book pages. She had a mattress, a dresser, and a safe. The walls were brown, matching the rough hardwood floors. Sam was sitting at the end of her bed, playing with a loose string from her blanket. "He's grieving. People grieve differently, Sam, but he'll come around. You're all he has besides Bobby." Eden comforted. He looked up at her and huffed.
"Maybe I should start paying you for these therapy sessions," He joked, making her laugh. Eden nudged him gently and Sam collapsed dramatically, placing his head on her lap. He was now on his back, looking up at her. "Can you try talking to him?"
"Sam, no offense, but I doubt Dean wants to hear about grief from someone he met two weeks ago," Eden responded.
"But Dee, you know what we're going through. You can help, right?" He asked, hopefully. She groaned.
"Get up."
Sam smiled up at her and closed his eyes, not making a gesture to move. "I will later."
Eden pushed his hair out from over his eyes, then leaned down so they were eye to eye. "You're a little diva, y'know that?"
-
"I brought you a beer."
Eden stood over the Impala, shivering slightly at the sight of the blood-covered interior. "I don't need it," Dean stated harshly, rolling out from under the car. He sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then looked up at the girl. She gave him the 'I know that you want it' look and handed him the bottle. "Thanks." He murmured shamefully.
Eden sat down in front of him, crossing her legs on top of one another. "Sam wanted me to come out here and talk to you. Tell you about my dad. How he died. How I grieved. I didn't wanna come out here and bullshit you. It doesn't heal, but it slowly becomes a new normal. It just depends on how you look at your days from now on. You'll see your dad in your dreams. You'll see him everywhere: When you're passing somewhere you used to go with him, when you smell a familiar scent... He'll be everywhere. But, Dean, it does get better." She said.
"Did your dad died for you by selling his soul to the same demon that killed your mom? No? Yeah. You don't get it." Dean scoffed.
"I listened to my dad's body get ripped apart by hungry monsters for two hours. My mom died when I was a baby, so I had to face his body-- what was left of it." She confessed. Dean scratched the back of his neck.
"That... yeah that sucks."
"I don't understand what you're going through completely, but what I do know is that you have a little brother upstairs, waiting for his big brother to stop pushing him away. Sam misses you. So, Dean, I'll help you scrub the car and you boys can get back doing what you do best."
Dean sighed and handed her the rag that sat on his shoulder.
"C'mon, E."
They worked for a few hours before Sam came out with drinks and a phone. "This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this." He said, holding out the object. Dean huffed and reluctantly took it. He played the voicemail and pressed the flip phone between himself and Eden.
"John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me."
The woman's voice was smooth but demanded. She sounded like a middle-aged woman. Still, nothing was interesting about it. Dean looked at Sam, expecting more. "That message is four months old," Sam stated.
"Dad saved that chick's message for four months? Dad saved that chick's message for four months?"
"No. But I ran a trace on her phone number and I got an address." Sam answered suggestively.
"Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars-- bring Ankle Biter," Dean instructed, glancing at Eden and walking inside.
"We can go whenever. I have a car," Eden laughed.
"Okay, Dee, let's go." Sam chuckled, swinging her over his shoulder.
"Sam!"
"Lets see... Where's your car?" Sam hummed.
"Put me down so I can grab my keys." She lied. The boy put her down and Eden poked him before breaking out into a sprint to her '55 Chevrolet Bel Air. It was tan with a black hood and trunk. Inside, there was black leather seats and a brown steering wheel. "I drive." Eden clarified, getting her keys from her pocket.
"I get shotgun." Dean said from behind Sam. "I told Bobby we were leaving."
Sam grunted and got into the backseat. Dean chuckled and slid into the car.
"Not bad, Eden." Dean admired. Eden smirked proudly and began driving down the gravel to the main road. Dean rolled her eyes at her cockiness.
