metrops | ( becky rosen open post )

If I die and go to hell real soon,
it will appear to me as this room.
And for eternity I'd lay in bed
in my boxers, half stoned,
with the pillow under my head.

I'd be chatting on the interweb;
maggots pray upon the living dead.
I had no interest in the things she said.
On the phone every day,
I'll permanently hit the hay hay.

I called her on the phone and she touched herself.
She touched herself. She touched herself.
I called her on the phone and she touched herself.
I laughed myself to sleep.

[ It's been a couple of years since the incident with the love potion, and Becky decided to take Sam's words to heart. He told her to follow her passion — not in so many words, but close enough. It took ganking her first demon to realize her passion wasn't really Sam, but hunting. And maybe she'd convinced Garth to help her out, even though Dean had pretty clearly expressed not to get anywhere near her. But the thing with Dean is he isn't nearly as intimidating when he's thousand miles away, so Garth taught Becky how to shoot a rifle and a shotgun and a pistol, how to properly draw devil's traps and the like — her very own crash course in hunting. She might've even kissed him once or twice in gratitude — maybe even a little more on nights when the adrenaline from a hunt got her heart throbbing more than just in her chest.

They were partners for a while, before Becky wanted to pursue a life of hunting on her own. Though, to be honest, she just wanted to stalk Sam and Dean without Garth picking up on it. She didn't want to creep him out with her stalker fangirl motives... And she didn't want to keep having to hide her fanfiction all the time. All legitimate reasons in her book.

It only takes about three months of following their usual pattern of motels and fake names and keeping a close eye on local newspapers — nothing as obvious as Vegas Night, no, that got her in trouble last time — and she thinks she's close to finally crossing paths with them again. She's excited to show off her new skills, hoping maybe she'll be able to impress Sam enough that those deep, deep hidden feelings for her will come out. Even after everything, she can still hope, right?

She hadn't actually attempted much hunting on her own, only a few beginner's cases of ghost hunting, nothing too big, but it's this case, the one she knows will attract the Winchesters' attention, this is the one she gets in too deep. This is the one she can't handle, and someone dies because of her amateurism. It's not the same as someone dying before you even get there — it's worse because she'd actually talked to the victim. She asked her questions, got to know her, even just a little. And now she thinks she knows what it really feels like to be a hunter. A real hunter. And maybe she doesn't like it as much as she thought. That thing is still out there and she couldn't stop it and someone is dead and it's not like reading a book, this is real life and Sam and Dean and Garth aren't here this time.

She dials Dean's number with shaky hands, tears still running down her face, over the dried ones from a few minutes ago while she tried to calm down and work up the courage to call one of the brothers. Garth had only given her their numbers for emergencies, and she's stayed true to her word. She never could go through with Sam's, still too guilty about what happened between them to ask him for help. She's not sure why it's easier to call Dean, the overprotective older brother who probably hates her guts — or at least resents her guts — but if she knows anything about the Winchesters (and she likes to think she does), she knows Dean won't just ignore her message, no matter how much he dislikes her. ]

Dean...? It's Becky. I — Garth gave me your number and I — I didn't know who else to call... But you're, like, the best there is when it comes to this stuff and — well, I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but... I just... I need your help. If it's not coming for me, it's coming for someone else, and I... I couldn't save her. I don't even know if I can save myself.

[ Dean may not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even Dean can be forgiven if he happened to forget the town Becky hailed from. So, it's definitely his surprise when he walks into a diner to fetch food for him and Sam after a long day out on the road and then sees Becky sitting at the counter.

Of course, he can't exactly cut and run because the waitress is already there, asking if he'd like to take a seat or place an order. And he's just hoping Becky doesn't hear him answer. ]

[ Oh, but Becky does hear him answer. She'd know that voice anywhere. And if Dean is here, there's no way Sam wouldn't be. She whirls around with an insane grin on her face, ready to exclaim "Sam!" but facefalls immediately when she is met only with Dean's grizzled appearance. ]

Oh. Dean. It's just you. Where's Sam?

[ She's only hoping the answer is "in the car" because as much as she enjoyed their separation in a fictional sense (even if it wasn't technically fictional, it still hurt so good), she's pretty sure her heart would actually shatter if they broke up again. She doesn't like when ~~her~~ the boys fight. (Though she can't deny it is excellent fic fodder... The other authors on morethanbrothers.net would certainly agree with her.) ]

I mean, not that it isn't great seeing you! Because it is great seeing you.

[ She nudges his arm with her fist awkwardly. ]

Are you just passing through or are you here on a job?

[ Her expression widens at the thought of a job being in her town, because she knows what that means. And boy would she would jump at the chance to help the Winchesters again. ]

[ his extreme distaste at seeing her again is evident as he shies away from every prod and sly, secret grin she throws at him. It makes him half ill just thinking of what's running through that crazy head of her. ]

Uh... Sam ain't exactly here at the moment, but if you want, I can always slip him your number.

[ and he'll just kindly avoid that other little question but having Becky hanging off every word is certainly not what he needed on this job. He's had enough dealing with the idiot ghostfacers. ]

[ Aw, Dean, don't be like that. It's been how long since that whole little love potion debacle? She did help, in the end... after she'd made the mess in the first place. But let bygones be bygones! She's obviously moved on since then...

She looks down for a moment, her lips quirking as she pushes some of her hair behind her ear. To be honest, Dean still sort of intimidates her. ]

Um. Sure, that'd be great! Are you sure he'll even talk to me, though... after, you know?

[ She rolls her eyes with the words for emphasis, giving Dean a particularly pathetic puppy dog look. ]

OOC: Have an image to go off of instead, idek! 8D

[ Of course Becky had to be at a convention when Garth calls her and says it's urgent. She's not even really sure why he's calling her of all people until he mentions it's Richard who's in trouble. Richard, who, last she saw him... well, let's just say Dean absolutely hit the nail on the head if he really had been trying to set them up.

She's only vaguely been in contact with him over the past six months or so, mostly emailing him about translation stuff, but never really anything on the lines of the supernatural or hunting... unless it had something to do with a fanfic she was writing. She's incredibly thorough with her research, even for fanfiction. Being true to the Supernatural books is being true to real life, after all. Just... most of her fans don't actually realize that.

She doesn't even have time to change before she's speeding down the highway in her purple sedan. Her destination is about five hours away and she wants to get there before dark. She was really looking forward to the cosplay contest, too. Oh well.

By the time she gets there, she's forgotten entirely that she's still in full Loki cosplay and asking the victim's mother where the seediest motel in town is probably didn't help the situation in trying to find Richard. At least she hadn't tried to ask the mother any questions about the case while dressed as the god of mischief.

She still hasn't changed by the time she finds Richard's motel room. Really, she just wants to make sure he's okay first, then she can get back to her normal frumpy attire accented with every hunter's average dose of plaid.

Now all she has to do is wait for him to answer her knock on the door, which is entirely more nerve-wracking than it has any right to be. Please don't be dead, please don't be dead... ]

[It sounds absurd, but it's entirely possible that Richard wouldn't have even known somebody was at the door if Click didn't go crazy barking. He's so engaged in what he's doing that he's pretty lucky he's managed to eat at least once in two days, let alone go outside or sleep.]

[There are books in three languages spread out across the bed, the laptop is running about 18 tabs of firefox alongside Richard's experimental translation software, and all the empty space is full of gingerbread houses and post-it notes. The floor is littered with cans of red bull and there are more gingerbread houses on the chairs, the desk, absolutely everywhere. His phone has been out of battery for well over 12 hours.]

[Along with the barking, there's the sound of tripping and metal clanging before Richard makes it to the door. He has dark bags under his eyes, he smells strongly of red bull, his clothes haven't been changed in two days, but hey, he's not dead. Click growls from behind his master's legs, ears pushed back, but doesn't try anything further.]

B-becky?

[Richard blinks hard, then rubs roughly at his eyes.]

You-- okay, wow, you look really cute in that.

[He shakes his head lightly and groans.]

Wait, shit. What're you doing here? Did-- shit, I haven't charged my phone in over a day, did Garth send you?

[ Becky lets out a huge sigh of relief when Richard finally opens the door and doesn't even notice his haggard appearance until after she's pulled him into a rib-cracking bear hug. She might be a little overzealous with the physical affection, but she's immensely glad he's alright. Especially in this business.

She pulls away more prematurely than she'd like when she catches a whiff of the stench of Red Bull. Sure, she understands the need for caffeine — she dated Chuck for five months — but couldn't he at least drink something that doesn't smell so awful?

She's distracted from his state of being momentarily, his somewhat delirious flattery making her blush. This really isn't the time, Richard, she's supposed to be upset that you clearly haven't been taking care of yourself! ]

And you look awful.

[ She purses her lips into a pout, looking him up and down just to make sure he's not injured or anything. He mostly just looks exhausted. ]

He called me in the middle of a con. It's a miracle I even heard my phone ring. You know how awful the reception is at cons.

[ She sets her hands on his shoulders and attempts to guide him back toward the only bed in the room. ]

Anyway, come on, mister, we need to get you into bed.

( becky rosen open post )

you don't know me. but hi.

A THOUSAND YEARS LATER omg i'm so sorry i hope this is okay??? ;;

[ prompt ] because I'm too lazy to hunt up pictures/gifs or any of that other stuff /o/

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I couldn't think of an prompt so.. have a picture instead? OTL I can change it if you want me to!

IN WHICH BANSHEES

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