Bury A Friend Chapter Two || Say it, Spit it Out, What is it Exactly?
Same Warnings as the last chapter.
Mentions of Death.
Word count: Almost 3200.
Y/N and Amanda had met almost two and a half years ago. Amanda wasn’t a hunter, just a victim of the yellow-eyed demon. Of course, you hadn’t put the pieces together at that time— you’d chalked it up as another random attack.
Azazel had sent one of his minions to finish a job he started— kill Amanda and her mother, Mindi. You saved Amanda and killed the minion, but only after Mindi was dead.
Azazel had already succeeded in killing Amanda’s father, Larry, when Amanda was only six months old.
The yellow-eyed demon knew that he would get his revenge, so he didn’t worry when you had killed one of his minions.
Amanda realized just what was really out there and joined Y/N on the road. She was a quick study under you, and the two of you became unstoppable forces.
Two days had passed since Dean, Sam, Y/N, and Amanda had met in the bar.
Amanda anxiously scanned the newspapers in front of her, eyes bouncing back and forth quickly. The two of you were looking for demonic signs, anything, really, and were coming up blank. It was making her nervous.
You and Amanda had been following the trail of the yellow-eyed demon for almost six months— lightning storms and full herds of cattle just dropping, both signs of a trail— but as of last week, nothing. The trail went cold just east of Sioux Falls, and that scared Amanda. She knew how you felt about Bobby, despite the feud between your father and him. Bobby had been like a second father and Cameron had messed that up.
Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. You weren’t going to like this development one bit. You had a bit of a temper and something like this would definitely set you off.
Amanda stood from her spot at the table.
The best friends were in a run-down hotel just off the interstate. It wasn’t anything special, just a roof over their heads, but it wasn’t a car. The walls, while sporting chipping paint, were insulated. The door, while squeaky, was solid oak and prevented rain from leaking on their belongings.
Amanda began pacing in the room. She looked out the window, hoping you would be back soon. The sun was beginning to set, and Amanda didn’t like being left alone at night. She was adept with weapons, as you had taught her what you needed to know, she had a fear of being killed in the dark. It wasn’t totally irrational— her mother had been killed in their home in the middle of the night. She knows monsters and demons hid in the shadows and that set her on edge.
Amanda decided to busy herself by cleaning her gun. It was perfectly clean already as you’d cleaned it earlier that day, but you found comfort in the motions. She smiled as she recalled your first lesson in gun maintenance.
You had been such a no-nonsense hardass when you’d first met. You still were, but not to Amanda.
“The first thing you need to know about guns is to treat them as they are always loaded,” you instructed. “I don’t care if you’re ‘100 percent sure’! You never know.”
Amanda removed the magazine and peered in the chamber, then barrel to make sure there weren't any rounds left.
“The second thing to know is don’t aim at anything you don’t intend to kill,” Y/N said in a stern voice. “One slip of the hand and you could kill me.”
Amanda quickly and deftly disassembled her gun. It was all muscle memory to her.
“I won’t let you carry a gun until you can properly unload, disassemble, reassemble, load, aim, and fire in under three minutes.”
Amanda had thought it was impossible at first, irritated at the standards set before her. One night, after a particularly grueling hunt, the pair were cleaning their guns when the door burst open— two stray werewolves that had somehow made it out.
Despite the fact that her gun was in pieces, you had both werewolves down in less than thirty seconds.
Amanda became dutiful to become a master like you that very same night. you exceeded your expectations by the end of that week.
Amanda dragged her cleaning cloth through the barrel of her gun, but there was no gunpowder to be found.
Amanda cleaned the outside of her gun to quickly reassemble and reload it. you placed it in its holster on her hip and paced anxiously.
Y/N should have been back by now— Amanda peered out of the hotel room and was greeted by the sight of your car pulling up. Finally!
Amanda sat back at the table and pretended that you hadn’t been anxiously waiting for her best friend.
The key rattled in the doorknob and the door swung open and you came storming in, arms full of ready-to-make food.
“Hey,” Y/N said.
“Hey,” Amanda said.
The door slammed behind you, and you sat the food on the “kitchen counter.” A loaf of bread, peanut butter, jelly, and some chips. It would make do until they could hustle some pool money.
Y/N knew something was wrong with her best friend instantly. Chalk it up to your years of hunting experience and trusting your gut. You went over and wrapped an arm around Amanda from behind, resting her head on Amanda’s shoulders.
Amanda leaned into the contact.
“What’s the matter?” you asked softly.
Amanda shrugged. “Just antsy, I guess,” you said, not convincing Y/N in the slightest that she was okay.
You hugged Amanda tight then walked away— Amanda would open up when she was ready. you began making a PB&J, scooping a generous amount of peanut butter onto her bread.
Amanda closed the laptop carefully —too carefully— and you whipped around. The air shifted when you began to glare at Amanda. “Okay, spill,” you demanded.
Amanda almost squeaked. “I don’t know what you think—” you started.
“Uh uh,” you chided. “Spill.”
Amanda drew a big breath in. This isn’t going to end well, Amanda thought to herself. you steeled her nerves, then— “There’s no sign of Azazel.”
You blinked stupidly. “What?”
Amanda pushed the laptop away from her then stood. “You heard me,” you said as you smoothed her hair away from her face. “No sign of him. Anywhere.”
You set down the now-dirty knife on the counter, still covered in peanut butter. “What?” you asked again, voice low.
Amanda gulped. “The trails just stopped— I’ve searched every website I can think of—”
You held up a hand to stop Amanda. You looked at her friend, down at the floor, up at the ceiling, then at her friend again. You took a steeling breath, not unlike the one Amanda had just taken. “Okay. No need to freak out, right?”
Amanda was almost unnerved by the tone that you used. It was too calm, too cheery.
“Sure,” Amanda mirrored. “No need.”
Amanda wearily eyed you as you ate and as you too-calmly got ready for bed.
Amanda wearily got into the king-sized bed with her best friend—she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure that you weren’t going to shoot her.
Amanda made a show of checking to see if her gun was loaded and you rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.
You both put your guns under their pillows and turned off the lights. Amanda scooted to you. You wrapped her arm around Amanda, as you had done almost every night for two years.
When you had first started hunting together, you would get rooms with two beds, but Amanda’s nightmares were more easily sated by your presence, so you gave up on the whole two-bed thing and just shared.
If one of you happened to pick someone up from the bar, a courtesy text was sent, and the other would stay in the car.
You usually got your rocks off at the bar, much to Amanda’s dismay. It’s not classy, Amanda would say to you. You would shrug. We’re hunters. Everything we do is quick and dirty. Why not sex? This way you don’t have to sleep in the car, you would respond.
Not ten minutes after you had laid down, the doorknob started rattling. You pressed a finger to your lips and indicated that Amanda should hide behind the bed.
Amanda silently slipped off the bed and snaked her gun.
You stealthily made your way behind the door. You’d wait for whoever it was to come in and shoot the fucker. Just in the knee, make sure they can’t run away.
You leaned closer to the door— good god, it was Sam and Dean!
“You’re going to wake them up, Sammy!” Dean ‘whispered.’
“Yeah, you wanted to kick the door down,” Sam bit back, not even trying to be quiet.
You stifled your laughter and clicked your safety on and off twice, your signal to the other that whoever was near them was okay. Y/N waited for Sam to pick the lock— you thought he’d be better— impatiently. You were debating about just opening the door when it swung open.
“Let’s just get in and get my wallet,” Dean grumbled.
You waited until both men were in the room and slammed the door closed behind them.
Both Sam and Dean jumped about three feet in the air as Amanda switched on a bedside lamp. They both drew their guns and pointed them at the door.
You leaned against the door and rolled your eyes. “Dean,” you said coolly. “How are you?”
Dean took a steadying breath but didn’t lower his gun.
Sam put his gun away immediately, waiting for his brother to do the pissing-match-thing.
You looked around Dean and smiled at Sam. “Sammy,” you greeted.
Sam smiled back. “Hey.”
You returned her gaze to Dean. “Gun down, Winchester.”
Dean almost snorted. “You first, sweetheart.”
You did snort. “If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done it when you were trying to pick my lock. You’re noisy.”
Dean shot his brother an I-told-you-so face and Sam shot Dean his classic bitch face.
Dean apprehensively lowered his gun and you mirrored his actions.
“See,” you said, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I just want my wallet back.”
You playfully pouted. “But I won it, fair and square.” You put your gun down and opened the fridge. “Beer?” You asked, waving one behind you without looking.
Dean glared. “You didn’t win anything. You nicked it.”
Amanda laughed. “Not her fault that you were too turned on to think straight.”
Sam laughed, too.
Dean opened and closed his mouth before taking the beer from you. He took a swig and looked around the room, eyeing the bed situation.
You waited for Dean or Sam to say something, anything, for a few awkward moments before drawing, “Took ya long enough to find us.”
Sam grinned but Dean pulled a bitch face. “Your aliases have changed in the past few years.”
“No shit, sherlock,” Amanda muttered, stealing your beer and sitting at the table. “Why would she keep the ones from 10 years ago?”
Sam opened the fridge and grabbed a beer before joining Amanda at the table. “We’ve been looking for you. Finding you is like catching smoke in a bottle.” He looked at you with pride in his eyes.
“Have to be hard to pin down as a female hunter,” you offered.
“Well, you’re damn good at it,” Dean muttered, now moving around the room, picking things up and looking in drawers.
You whipped around. “Can I help you, Dean?”
“Yeah. You can tell me where my wallet is.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “So dramatic,” she stage-whispered to Sam. She stood, opened her duffle, and handed Dean his wallet.
He opened it and balked at you then Amanda. “Where’s the cash?” he demanded.
You held up her beer then took a swig. “Right here, sweetheart.”
“You can’t just–” Dean started.
“Hey, you’re one to talk,” you interrupted. “Pretty sure you’re the one who taught me how to be a pickpocket. Don’t see how this is different.”
Sam laughed loudly.
Dean didn't have a reply.
“Well, boys,” Amanda started.
“As much as we love your company,” you added, “it’s time to leave. Some of us still have a chance at getting beauty rest.”
Sam finished his beer and took you into a sweeping hug. “We really need to catch up one of these days,” he said as he let you go.
You squeezed his biceps, smiling up at your friend. “One of these days.” you turned to Dean. “Alright, Winchester, you got your wallet. I want my knife back.”
Dean started to protest, but you weren’t having it. You approached Dean and leaned close and lowered your voice. “Be a good boy and hand over the knife.”
You could see that you were affecting him, but he muttered out, “One bed, huh? Saw the way you kissed her at the bar. Makes a guy wonder.”
“Wonder about what?” you asked seductively, running your hands up his arms.
Dean swallowed hard but tried to keep his resolve. “You know, things,” he choked out.
You leaned closer, ran your hands over his chest, and gave him an earth-shattering kiss. You bit his lower lip and waited for him to gasp before slipping your tongue in his mouth.
Once his resolve had fully waivered, you slipped your hands into his jacket and pulled your knife from his pocket. You pulled back, grinned at Dean, and put the knife on the table.
“Glad to do business with ya, Winchester,” you purred.
Dean shook his head and stumbled out the door.
Sam waved at you and Amanda before following his brother, stifling laughter the whole time.
“Dude,” Sam said when he and his brother were in the car.
“Don’t,” Dean hissed.
Sam snorted. “This is the second time we’ve had this conversation in three days. That woman does something to you.”
“Yeah, she’s hot and her best friend is hot too. Sorry for having hormones.”
Sam shook his head. “Not what I meant.”
The next day, you decided to call Ellen and see if Ash was busy. You needed help trying to find the yellow-eyed demon and Bobby wouldn’t answer the phone.
Ellen said, yeah, come on by whenever and that Ash wasn’t going anywhere.
You, Amanda, and Ash were all sitting at the bar, digging through lore and articles when the door crashed open.
You turned around to see what the ruckus was and you were greeted with a seething Dean Winchester. He stalked toward you and slammed his fist on the bar, making you flinch and knocking over your drink.
“Tell me it isn’t fucking true, Y/N,” he growled.
“Hello, to you too, Dean,” you growled back, swiping your drink before it made more of a mess.
“Don’t play games with me, Y/N. If you weren’t a woman, I’d have killed you by now. Tell me it isn’t fucking true!”
You stood and jabbed a finger into Dean’s chest. “Fuck you and your fake ass feminist bullshit. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll knock you out myself!”
Sam came running in and restrained Dean from the back. He resisted Sam’s pull, but Sam just tightened his grip.
Jo and Ellen stood behind you, ready to do the same if they had to.
You looked at Sam. “What the fuck is he talking about?”
Sam muttered something to Dean and shoved his brother in the direction of the door. He refused to make eye contact with you.
“We, uh, caught up with Bobby and told him you were in town.”
Oh, shit, you thought. Just great.
You licked your lips and took a steadying breath. “Let me guess, he found out what Daddy did about ten years ago. And he’s pissed.”
“You could say that.”
“Did Bobby also tell you that I called him the day Daddy died and begged him to come to the wake? That I begged your dad to come? That I had to set my Daddy’s body on fire myself?” You had started out calm, but by the end of your rant, your arms were flailing and you were screaming.
Sam looked up at you, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Dean doesn’t want to hear it.”
You crossed your arms and fought the urge to scream and the youngest Winchester.
“Fuck him,” you finally muttered, stalking back to your seat.
“Ellen, can I have a shot of whiskey, please?”
“Only if you tell me what your Daddy did to Bobby.”
You sighed and attempted to clean up the mess that used to be your drink. “Daddy and Bobby… they were on a hunt together. Bobby was right and Daddy didn’t want to admit it. They got into a huge fight and that…” you trailed off and cleared your throat. “That is why Bobby has that big gash on his leg. Wendigo almost killed him.”
Tears sprung to your eyes, but there was no way you could fight them. You had been so mad when your father had pulled that stunt that you had given up hunting.
You looked up, but nobody was making eye contact with you, not even Amanda. She knew the story and how it made you feel.
Ellen sat two shot glasses down and you took both in succession, flipping them when they were empty. “And he never apologized,” your might-as-well-be mother surmised.
“And he never apologized,” Amanda confirmed.
You were glad for your best friend at this point in time. Especially at this point in time. You weren’t sure if you could even talk.
The tears were coming down faster now.
Sam swooped you up in a hug and held you until the sobbing had subsided.
“It’s not fair for Bobby to hold that against you,” he murmured into your hair.
“But he does,” you croaked out. “And so does Dean.”
Sam squeezed you to him. “I can talk sense into Bobby. I don’t know about Dean.”
“I’ll talk to Dean,” Ellen offered.
“What?” you squeaked out, pulling yourself from Sam’s arms.
Ellen shook her head. “That boy is bull-headed as ever and he just got Bobby back. He’s gonna be pissed. But he can’t be pissed at you. I’ll talk to him.
You nodded, grateful for her offer.
You wiped your eyes and looked at Sam. “Dean has a lot of nerve, coming after me like that. I know John wasn’t the perfect hunting partner, either.”
Sam snorted and pushed some of your hair back. “You have no idea.”
Ellen and Jo had disappeared, leaving you, Ash, Amanda, Sam, and two unfortunate patrons who witnessed the whole debacle.
Amanda and Ash were looking over lore and websites again. The two patrons were looking anywhere but at you.
You joined Amanda and indicated to Sam to pull up a chair.
“While you’re here, tell me what you know about the yellow-eyed demon.”