The Quiet

Salvation

It was my day off. My day OFF! I had taken the longest and warmest shower possible. I️ put on a simple pair of black underwear and a flannel that met the middle of my thighs, and picked up the book that I had yet to read past the third chapter. Then I crawled into bed, and that was when my phone rang.

"Who the fuck is calling me at 11:30 at night?" I grumble as I reach over and unplugged it from its charger. "Bobby, shit." He only ever calls if he wants to watch Jeopardy or if someone is in trouble and he wants me to help out. Jeopardy wasn't on tonight.

"Hey Bobby, who's fucked this time?" I quip.

"Heh, funny you should ask kid. Listen there's a haunting not far from you and I know I told you I would have it taken care of, cause it's your day off-" I cut him off, "My only day off Bobby, come on it's just once a year, what happened? Couldn't find a dipshit smart enough to handle a little haunting? I get that it's Halloween, spirits get a little antsy tonight but seriously, it's a salt and burn, who fucks those up?"

"Idgits, O, idgits." He replies.

After relaying the info to me I headed up to Ottawa, Kansas. Just a half hour or so from Lawrence, where I live. I'm one of the only hunters that chose to stay in their home town and handle any shit that comes my way. Rather than go searching for it. I haven't always lived around home though. After Dad died, Mom decided that I needed to be able to defend myself, so I trained in everything. Kickboxing, karate, Brazilian jujitsu you name it, I did it. Then we started finding cases, traveling all up and down the U.S. even going up to Canada a couple of times. Then the rain came. The day the rain came was the single most horrific day of my life, and I saw F.R.I.E.N.D.S end.

Never mind that day though. I pull up to the two story rickety old wooden house. I hear shouts from within and grab my rock salt gun, slide an iron ring onto each of my fingers, and grab two of my salt filled hula hoops.

      "I sure hope these assholes are worth it." I mutter to myself as I trudge towards the demented house. Busting through the door, I don't even get two steps in before something, or someone, is thrown across the entry way and slams into the wall to my left. He shakes his head, dust falling from his short moussed locks and dusting the shoulders of his leather jacket, he looks up at me, confused. "Who the hell are you?" He demands. I simply roll my eyes and toss him a hula hoop, "Stand in this and stay out of my way," I snap back. If he looked confused before, he looks fucking bewildered now. Nonetheless, he steps into the hula hoop and gives me a lopsided smirk and a shrug.

      "I'm Dean," he states, "my brother, Sam, he went upstairs. That damn ghost got the jump on us. We were just supposed to be casing the house. Only brought one shot gun and when we ran out that bastard started tossing us around the house, I swear I heard it laugh." He continues to explain how they came to be in the shitty situation that I walked in on.

      I smirk to myself, "I'll go get Sammy boy. You, get comfy, I'll let you know when it's safe." I proceed to blow him a little kiss and stalk upstairs.

Several doors are crashed in and glass from the broken windows litters the floor, crunching under my boots.

"Sam?" I venture. I hear a groan a couple rooms down. I pick up the pace about to walk through the door way, when a man with a mangled jaw and a crazed look in his bloodshot eyes appears in front of me. I punch him through the face with my iron clad fist and he disappears. Sam is leaning against the wall ahead of me, blood leaking from his temple. I kneel next to him, grab a rag from my back pocket and apply pressure. "Hey Sam, don't worry I'll get you back down to your brother," I say gently, holding his head and making sure he understands me. He nods slightly and begins to stand.

      "Whoa there big guy, hold-hold on, give me time to steady myself man, you're like twice my size." Somehow we manage to clamber down the steps without stumbling.

      At the bottom of the steps Dean stands in his hula hoop only he is holding it around his waist now as he picks at the silver star stickers that decorates it, he peels one off and flicks it to the ground, "Hey shithead, don't ruin my stuff." He looks up at the sound of my voice and immediately drops the hula hoop, rushing to help me with his brother.

      "Sammy, Sam are you okay? Sammy?!" He begins to panic, "God will you stop yelling? Yes, he is fine, just banged his head a bit. Keep pressure and then head to this address," I hand him a note with my house address on it, "I'll deal with the salt and burn, you take care of your brother." He looked like he wanted to argue me but, intelligently, decided against it and just nodded, pausing at the door to turn around and let me know the name and burial place of "jawless". I nodded and pushed passed him, climbing into my trusty 1970 Ford pick up, and peeling out, ready to go end this ghost.

      As I pulled into my driveway, my hands smelling of gasoline and my hair coated with the smoke of a burning corpse, I spot Dean, with a significantly more conscience Sam leaning against my front porch.

      "You didn't say you lived in Lawrence." Dean states, rather defensively.

      "Didn't know I had to." I reply, just as defensively.

       "What Dean meant was, we used to live here, as kids, we just haven't been home in a few....years." Sam intervened, quick to diffuse the growing tension, as me and Dean eyed each other.

      "Okay, well why don't you guys come on in and I can let Bobby know you're safe and I saved the day." They furrow their eyebrows at that, "Wait, Bobby Singer?," I nod, "You know Bobby?" They ask as if it were surprising that I would know THE Bobby Singer. I scoff, "Please, Bobby knows me." I turn and unlock my door not bothering to check if they are following, I hear them scramble up the steps and enter, "Welcome, please do not make yourselves at home, I just cleaned." Sam laughs and rubs the back of his neck, "Hey I don't think I ever said this, but thanks for saving our hides back there, we usually aren't that...."

      "Stupid?" I offer.

      "Ha yeah I guess so, but anyways thank you."

      "Don't mention it. I mean really if it wasn't Bobby who asked me you guys would have been that ghostly boy's plaything for forever, but because it was Bobby who called, I spent my day off saving two rookie hunters from a ghost and not reading my book, again."

      "Day off? You're a hunter. We don't get days off." Dean quips eyeing me like I'm crazy.

      "Apparently not," I say, as I pour myself a shot of whiskey, "Happy fucking Birthday to me." I quip right before I down the shot.

Author's Note:
Okay so this is my very first story and I don't know if anyone will even read it but if you do, then please let me know if I should continue it or if it's absolute shit and I should stick to reading :) please and thank youuuu