Bobby Singer's Daughter - A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen - Who's Hungry?

It's early afternoon when we arrive in town dressed in our FBI gear after an early pause at a rest stop; the boys are wearing suits and I'm wearing a gray pencil skirt and white blouse that still fits me from before my pregnancy with Cassie. I take a seat in the restaurant 'Bigersons' while the guys go and talk with the Ranger who is in the middle of eating a very large sandwich which seems to be the new hot thing here. Dad had went to the coroner's place to take a look at the dead body that was strung up in the tree in his sleeping bag; a waiter and or waitress hasn't bothered to come take my order or anything yet but it's not like I was really hungry anyway. After a bit, the door at the front of the place rings and dad comes into view; I wave him over as the two finish their conversation with the Ranger. Dad sits next to me as the boys sit across from us in the booth; Dean clasps his hands on the top of the table before looking up at us.

"So?" he asks and dad shrugs, "well I took a look at the cadaver, what's left of it. Not a happy camper; don't have any stats on the Jersey Devil, but the bite radius on the vic's wounds," he shakes his head as if confused by what he saw, "it's too small for a Leviathan, and he's still got a ventricle and some change. So, I doubt we're talking werewolf, and a wendigo don't leave no scraps."

"Hmm," Dean smirks, "Lunch?"

"Starving," dad agrees.

Leave it to those two men to get hungry talking about dead bodies and missing parts; they have stomachs of steel. After a solid five minutes Dean is able to flag down a waiter named Brandon whose attitude is so far up his nose that he reeks of idiocy; wonder what set him off today. When he walks away with our order Dean reaches across the table and takes my hand that I laid down and rubs the back of it with his thumb in a soothing gesture; he smiles at me as I lift my head to look at him which I try to return the gesture, but it just doesn't feel right.

"You doing okay Lennie?" he asks softly.

"Yeah, yeah," I nod, "no dancing monkeys or anything so far today; maybe I'll get lucky."

Dean keeps a hold of my hand squeezing it and drawing hearts on it until the waiter, Brandon, comes back looking even more pissed off than usual.

"Sidewinder soup and salad combo goes to Big Bird," he slides the meal in front of Sam followed by another in front of Dean, "TDK slammer to Ken Doll," then another in front of dad, "and a little heart-smart for creepy uncle."

Of course I didn't get anything, not really feeling hungry or thirsty for that matter although I should have gotten a coffee to keep myself awake and to keep the hallucinations away.

"What is your problem?" I grunt and he stares at me, "You! All of you are my problem, Tinkerbell!"

I move to take a swing, but dad grabs my forearm hard and holds me down in the seat.

"Brandon's got his flare all up in a bunch," dad mutters releasing me once he's gone and Sam says, "yeah, there goes his 18%."

"Anyway," Dean cuts in, "Chief Ranger, I don't think he believes in the Jersey Devil."

To me he looked more interested in his sandwich than the guys' conversation when Sam adds, "did he seem a little, uh stoned to you?"

"Ranger Rick?" Dean asks, "yeah, definitely growing his own on the back 40 and smoking all the profits."

The group digs in and after another long minute Sam starts again, "he did seem to think that there was something," his words are drowned out by Dean moaning as he bites into his sandwich, "oh, that is a good sandwich," pieces of said sandwich are sticking out his mouth as he talks and I grimace reaching over with a napkin and wipe it away he grins and leans forward to kiss me but I back away.