Wayward Son

Chapter 9

Ruthie smoothed the skirt of her black dress on her way through the parking lot toward the funeral home. She'd decided she had to go for Brandon, that only a coward would call in sick to a friend's funeral. But she'd begun to regret her decision. A lot of people from the hospital were bound to be there, all in one place. Her heart thumped faster with each step. As she followed Sam and Dean up the front stairs, she blurted, "Don't leave me alone with these people."

Dean paused, then offered her his arm. She slipped her hand through it gratefully, and allowed him to escort her inside.

By design, they'd arrived right as the funeral was scheduled to begin. They slipped into three empty seats in the back. A middle-aged man in a black suit stepped up to the microphone beside an enlarged portrait of Brandon, and introduced himself as Brandon and Amy's pastor. His voice cracked as he recalled officiating their wedding just weeks earlier. He read scripture through tears, and described Brandon in heaven, well and whole and happy again.

Ruthie suppressed a sniffle and swiped at her cheek, cursing herself for forgetting to bring kleenex. A flash of white above her lap caught her eye. She glanced down to see Dean's hand holding out a folded tissue. He must have pulled it from his pocket. His simple gesture brought fresh, hot tears welling to the surface. Glancing at him, she took the tissue, but he kept his eyes up front, on the minister. As if he had offered it to her through a little gap in his fence.

Several others spoke, including Amy. She held it together throughout her eulogy, even laughing once when she told how Brandon had been so nervous on their first date he'd spilled his drink all over her. Ruthie remembered that Brandon had come to work the next day devastated, sure he'd never get a second date. Maybe she'd tell the guys that story after the funeral. Beside her, Dean's watchful gaze roamed the room, never settling, always hunting. But Sam looked entirely engrossed in Amy's story.

After having them all stand to sing Amazing Grace, the pastor spoke once more. "The Reeves and Amy thank you all for being here to honor their son and husband. They'd like to invite you to stay for a time of fellowship and reminiscing about Brandon." He gestured toward the back. "The church has provided refreshments, which are just in the next room. Please remember to sign the guest registry as well. God bless you."

Ruthie grabbed her purse, leaned over to Dean and murmured, "Let's go."

He nodded, but then frowned. She followed his gaze. Sam was already out of their row, making his way toward the front of the room. "What is he doing?" she hissed.

Dean's lips compressed, and he shook his head. "Widows."

All over the room, black-clothed people were standing, milling around, drifting in their direction. Sitting in the back had backfired now that she and Dean stood between the crowd and the room the minister had directed them to. Ruthie tensed, and lowered her face.

"C'mon," Dean said, and offered his arm again.

She tucked herself in close to his side as they made their way to the back corner nearest the exit, hoping no one would notice her. Dean parked them beside a potted plant. Ruthie scanned the front of the room, easily spotting Sam, who towered over Amy and an older couple who must have been Brandon's parents. She clenched her teeth, willing him to hurry up.

Instead, he turned, searched the room until he spotted them, and beckoned for them to come join him.

"I'm going to kill him," she growled to Dean.

"Hey, if you want, we'll walk out right now. I'll take you out to the car, then come back in here and kick his ass. And anybody else's you want."

He looked down at her with sincerity written all over his face. And maybe a little eagerness. His protectiveness was touching, but it also embarrassed her. Hadn't she decided her running and hiding days were done? What did she care what any of these people thought anymore? She had a new life now, with Sam and Dean. They were the ones who mattered.