Second Fanfic Attempt
Title: Please Come to Boston
State: Massachusetts
Characters: Ash
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Tiny one for "Everybody Loves A Clown"
Word Count: 1235
Disclaimer: They aren't mine and I'm making no money.
Notes: Done for the Supernatural 50 States Ficathon.
The first time he saw Boston was in September. The air seemed to vibrate with barely suppressed excitement. Sunshine glinted off the Charles, thousands of college freshmen were getting their first taste of freedom, and the Red Sox were headed for the playoffs. He had never been much of one for poetry, but he thought it must have been a day like that one that prompted someone to write “God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.”
His guidance counselor had gaped like a landed trout when he told her where he wanted to go to college. Hell, she’d looked pretty damn surprised that he was thinking about college at all. Tiny Memorial High School was not known for its physicists and Engineers. It was more known for its mechanics and plumbers - and those were the good students, of which he was not one.
She had gotten over her shock, though, after he told her about his near perfect SATs and three software patents. She’d taken charge of his application process with an almost maniacal glint in her eye as if this were her one chance to make a real difference in the life of a student, which - well - maybe it was. In any case, he was soon the proud recipient of an acceptance letter from MIT and the grateful beneficiary of enough grants and scholarships to allow him to go. His mother had been pleased but bewildered and Juli, well, Juli had promised to wait for him.
He thought of her often as he explored the city and learned his way around. Every time he saw something he knew she’d love but she wasn’t there to share it, it caused him almost physical pain…as if part of his body was missing. He wanted to show her Paul Revere’s grave and the shining gold dome he’d put on the State House, take her to a sidewalk café on Newbury Street and people watch over Boston Cream Pie, walk with her over the Harvard Bridge and explain why it’s 364.4 Smoots long.
Missing her was the only thing that made those early days in Boston less than perfect. He had even found the perfect bar with the perfect don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy regarding IDs. It was a bit of a hike from Cambridge (which was full of rich preppies and hipsters drinking martinis and microbrews) but Southie was his kind of neighborhood. J.J.’s Pub had mass-market American beers and good old boys who weren’t all that different from the ones he had grown up with in the south. He made new friends, but never forgot who was waiting back home. Late at night, when the dorm was quiet, he’d sit at his desk and write long letters full of everything he couldn’t bring himself to say over the phone. They all started the same;
Dear Juli,
Please come to Boston…
* * * * *
By the time he saw February in Boston, he wanted to shoot himself in the head. Winter had started back in November and he had enjoyed the picturesque novelty of the snow at the time. Even drank a hot chocolate instead of his usual PBR just because it seemed like the thing to do. The boys at the bar had laughed at him. “Just wait,” they said with the sadistic glee that only born New Englanders can muster, “See how much you like it in a few months.” A bare two months later and he would rather kill himself than see another snowflake, but spring was still too far away to offer the slightest hope of reprieve. They were right, the bastards, they were right.
He hurried from dorm to class and back with his shoulders hunched against the cold and his face hidden in a large, ugly scarf. He never stopped to look around; there was nothing to see; only dead gray sky over dead gray snow. Whatever ancient theologians had decided that Hell was a place of fire and brimstone had obviously never suffered through a New England winter. Hell is bone chilling cold and soul crushing monotony.
One day he braved the city’s wind tunnel, determined to find a worthy Valentine’s gift on Newbury Street. As he was crossing Clarendon a gust nearly blew him off his feet and he stepped in a puddle of frigid water up to his ankle. He ducked into a nearby café and bought her a selection of exotic teas, then ran to the nearest subway station. By the time the T returned him to campus he was shivering violently. He spent the next week in bed with pneumonia. Feeling sorry for himself, he wrote more letters;
Dear Juli,
I’m miserable without you. Please come to Boston…
* * * * *
May in Boston was like being reborn. Spring arrived with sudden force - as if she fully realized how late she was. Everything started growing at once, coaxing students and professors alike into having lunch outside. A flashing red light on top of the old Hancock building no longer signaled snow storms; just a rain-out at Fenway Park. Even the most stoic of New Englanders seemed like giddy schoolgirls on beautiful early spring days.
He walked through the Public Garden and stopped to watch the Swan Boats, thinking how much Juli would enjoy a ride. He planned the tour he’d give her; the Freedom Trail to Old North Church, Cannoli and coffee at Mike’s on Hanover Street, a moonlit walk down the esplanade, live music and drinks at Bill’s Bar. He’d get her to come visit someday. After all, he had at least three years of school left.
Much to the annoyance of some classmates, he cruised through finals. He was packing to go home for the summer when the letter came. To his surprise, it was from Juli’s mother. The paper was tear-stained.
Dear Ash,
I am writing with horrible news. Juli went fishing with her father and brother last week and disappeared. They found her body when they dredged the lake yesterday. I am so sorry.
Julie was so proud of you and she loved you so much…
* * * * *
He hated Tennessee in June. He had a feeling that he’d hate it every month now that Juli was gone. He had missed the funeral by two days. They didn’t like to keep drowning victims lying around waiting for their erstwhile boyfriends. They said that the whole town had come for the service. Too many people knew how it felt to lose a loved one to that lake.
His analytical mind saw the pattern easily once he bothered to look. So many deaths could not be a coincidence. A quick internet search gave him some good leads on what the problem was, and instructions on how to stop it. It was mind blowing, really, how much was out there that he had been ignorant of.
He killed it, finally, with the help of men who simply called themselves hunters. It didn’t make him feel any better. He couldn’t stay in that town; there were too many memories of her. He couldn’t go back to Boston either; he knew he’d feel her absence there just as much. Ultimately, when the hunters left town, he went with them. Nothing in his life could turn out the way he had hoped it would, but there was still work to be done.
More notes: Most of the places mentioned in the story are real, with the exception of Ash's high school and his bar in southie. Cool points to anyone who can identify the place where Ash bought Juli her Valentine's gift. And even more points if you can figure out why I named his girlfriend Juli. Title and Ash's home state come from the song "Please Come to Boston" originally, I believe, by Dave Loggins.