The Quiet

Pour

      Once Bobby knew his idgits were safe and sound, the boys plopped down on my couch and propped their feet up, effectively doing what I said not to do.

       Making themselves at home.

       I kick their feet down as I cross to get to my comfy-as-hell lazy boy. Once I'm situated I simply stare, waiting for one of them to break. Sam coughs, "So how long have you lived in Lawrence?"

        "Thirty years give or take a few when me and Mom were zig zagging the country." I respond, lazily sipping on my fresh glass of whiskey. I hadn't bothered to offer, it's my liquor, I worked for it and these guys stopped me from enjoying it with my book.

      "So...what? You get tired of the work? The constant driving? Decide to retire and live out your life back home? While the rest of us are out there fighting the fight?!" Dean starts to get heated. It's almost amusing the way this one vein begins to show itself on his temple.

      "Did I look retired to you back there?" I ask. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, not quite knowing what to say. "Look I stay in Lawrence, and I fight what comes my way. I save a lot of people in this town doing it. Just because I don't run around the country like a headless chicken searching for trouble, doesn't mean it doesn't find me. I take care of myself and I take care of this town." I finish my rant, and down the rest of my drink.

      "Can you pour me a glass of that?" Dean asks.

      I almost say no, but decide against it and get up to get him and myself a fresh glass.

      "How'd you make that ghost disappear just by punching it?" Sam asks, "I saw you, when you came to the room I was in. That ghost appeared right in front of you and you didn't even flinch. You just swung a right hook and it was gone before your hand came down." It was Dean's turn to look confused as I raised my hands, still decorated with the pure iron rings, "Iron rings. What? You guys do know that ghosts hate iron right?"

      Dean scoffs, "Yeah, we just...never thought of that...", he trails off, "and what was up with the hula hoops?" He asks.

      "Oh, they're filled with salt. It's a lot easier than constantly having to re-up my salt supply." They both stare, conflicted and a little impressed with my genius but unconventional methods.

      "Okay, enough about me, what are your stories?"

       "Wait, you don't know us?" Dean asks.

      "Should I?" I retort.

      "We're the Winchesters. We stopped the apocalypse, closed a gate to hell, fought Lucifer himself." Dean continues, as if any of these statements would jog my memory.

      "Sorry, but no, never heard of you. I mainly stick to Lawrence PD and Bobby for my info and he never mentioned you two." Dean looked offended.

      "Well, our mom died when we were young and our Dad brought us up in the life. We've been on the road since then," Sam tells me, shooting Dean a look.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I state as I hand Dean his glass and remain standing. "Look I don't know about you guys but I am just about ready to crash. You're welcome to take the couch or the lazy boy, and we can talk in the morning," I offer. these guys are obviously used to cheap motels and they look a bit shocked at my suggestion.

"Um uh, yeah, yes-yes thank you, uh wait we don't even know your name," Sam replies. Dean simply stares at me, eyes glued to mine in an unstated staring contest.

I lift my eyes from Dean's to look at Sam, "Ophelia," I say, "Ophelia Storm."

"Thank you, Ophelia." This time it's Dean who speaks. His intense gaze still unwavering. Ever since I defended my choice to stay in Lawrence he hadn't stopped staring.

I nod and retreat to my room. I shower and cleanse myself of the smell of death. Then I put back on my trusty flannel and a pair of black underwear, and crawl into bed. Determined to read at least one chapter of my book before going to sleep.

Three lines in and there is a knock at my door. I sigh and pad across the room swinging the door open.

Dean stands on the other side, mouth slightly open as he stares down at my small frame.

Dean's POV

Her eyes were kind, not guarded like they were before. It's like she had forgotten her shield by the bed and as she stood in front of me she was vulnerable. Her hair was damp and hung by her waist, her pink lips were held in a pout, she was upset, I had disturbed her.

She stared at me expectantly, I had forgotten to speak, "Um, Sam...Sam wants blankets," that was a lie, but I couldn't come up with a better reason to have bothered her. She sighed and went back into her room rummaging through a closet until she returned carry two large comforters.

"Anything else?" She asks, impatient.

"No, thanks." I say, accepting the blankets and retreating back into the living room.

Ophelia's POV

Curling back under my covers, I give up on reading for tonight and turn off my light.

He has freckles, I thought as drifted off to sleep. I hadn't noticed before.

Author's Note:
Alright second chapter: DONE. I honestly have no clue what I'm doing or where I'm going with this but I'm just gonna see where it takes me. Let me know what you thought. Predictions and suggestions are welcome!!