Alone (A Supernatural Fanfiction) [[ON HOLD]]

Chapter 2: Comfortably Numb

Maggie woke up, a bright light greeting her. The sun. She realized. She couldn't remember the last time she had woken up with the sun greeting her in the morning.

"Wake up, sunshine." She heard a voice say.

She leaped out of the bed and turned towards the noise. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Gosh you nearly scared the crap out of me."

Dean put his hands up, defensively. "It's not my fault your a psychopath."

"I told you." She said, smiling. "I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research, Gramps."

"Sam's out getting some grub." He took out a gun and opened it, showing the bullets inside.

"Don't shoot me, Sherlock." He put the cartridge back in the gun and handed it to her. "Safety's on, and keep it that way. I don't need another bullet wound."

She nodded and put the gun on the side table. "Is Sam that other dude? Long hair, freakishly tall?"

"Yup. He's my brother."

"Must be tough living in his shadow." She tried to hold back a laugh.

"Hardy har har." Here are some clothes. You look like a mental case."

"That's cause I am." She took the clothes from him and went into the bathroom to change.

After taking a short shower and putting on the clothes Dean had given her, Maggie looked in the mirror at her foggy reflection. The clothes Dean had given her must've been his old ones from when he was younger. They were loose on her, but not large enough to fit his current, broad frame. Her hair was a mess. She tried to flatten it out and get the knots out with her hands to no avail.

An idea popped into her head. "Hey Dean!"

"Yeah?" She heard through the door.

"Does Sam have a brush?"

"Yeah. One second." A knock came from the other side of the door.

"I'm dressed, you arse."

The door opened and he peaked his head in, handing her the brush. "What are you, British?"

"You did call me Sherlock." She took the brush from his hand. "Watson." She smirked.

He rolled his eyes then closed the door.

When she finally got her hair tamed, Maggie made her way out of the bathroom. She was greeted by Sam, who was going through his guns.

"Hey." He said. "You look better."

She handed him his brush. "Well I'm no longer in an institution for nut cases. And your brother let me borrow your brush. My hair was a crime scene."

He handed the brush back. "You can keep it. I was thinking of cutting my hair anyway. Just don't tell Dean that. He'd freak."

She laughed. "Alright." She cocked her head to the side and surveyed the room. "Where is the old man?" 

Sam chuckled. "Out in the car loading it up. This is the last bag. Here's your gun." He handed her the small gun Dean had given her.

"Dean's a real masterpiece ain't he?" She said, holding the quaint firearm in her right hand.
"Like this pice of crap's going to protect me."

"That's an engraved slotter derringer your holding there, missy!" A voice came from the doorway. Dean walked across the room and took the gun from her hand in one swift motion. "This gun was made in 1851, and killed Abraham Lincoln." Maggie's eyes went wide. "It deserves some respect."