Wednesday Night Special, for sprbitch1313 (Sam/OFC, R)
Title: Wednesday Night Special
Author: theemer
Recipient: sprbitch1313
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/OFC
Summary: A Forest Ranger agrees to help Sam and Dean locate a “missing” mining town by letting them go through her late father’s old box of legends.
Author's Notes: Takes place Season 2 after “Everybody Loves a Clown”. My thanks to one of the premiere betas, clarksmuse
Mining towns had appeared and disappeared all over the West Coast. The big gold rush was in California, but that didn't stop the fever from spreading north. Some of the old mining towns had stood the test of time, managed to get Federal protection, and eventually become tourist attractions. Others simply disappeared and you never even knew they’d existed.
Maggie had heard the stories for most of her life - about the town that had once been in this part of the Pacific Northwest forest she was now charged to protect. Her old man used to say "Stories grow with time." She knew better than to pay attention to half of what the locals had come up with. If there had been a town, the forest had taken it back.
The new primitive campground had been open only a couple of months. It had been slated to open the year before, but flooding from that winter’s rains had delayed the work. Though the place had only been open two months, four people had been injured, one critically. The injuries were called flukes since there were never any witnesses to the accidents and the people injured couldn't recall how they'd gotten that way. The types of injuries varied from cuts and burns to a near drowning which had been the most critical. Maggie was temped to shut the campground down, but she didn't have the authority to do so. She also didn't have any proof that anything was going on, other than several accident prone people had made their way to her forest and to that campground.
Taking one last swig of her coffee before heading on her patrol, Maggie's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car that had no business being anywhere near a national forest. Bracing herself for a confrontation with the kind of chauvinist who matched the roar of the muscle car, she put on her hat and walked outside.
Two men were exiting an old Impala, and Maggie was unprepared for the lump in her throat and the hitch in her breath. Pops had a car just like that.
"Mornin'," a much too cheerful voice pulled Maggie from her memory. The voice belonged to the driver, a man a year or two younger than her. This one was as far from a typical outdoorsman as you could get. Well worn jeans, a brown beaten up leather jacket and boots that might pass for hiking if you didn’t know better. His hair was light brown, spiky but not fussy, and hazel-green eyes with eyelashes so long they were almost obscene on the very masculine face.
The other man was taller, jeans, button down shirt over a t-shirt and a jacket. His hair was darker and longer than the first's though the eyes were similar. Brothers? she wondered. There was something about their faces and their posture that identified them as possible family members.
"Help you?" Maggie asked. She was busy this morning and in no mood to play the game she knew leather jacket guy was going to want to play.
"Yeah we were wondering if the primitive campground at the top of Dry Creek Trailhead was reserved for the night?" he asked. Her lips curled into a rueful smile: If these two were going to go hiking and then campout with no facilities she was going scuba diving in Marshead Creek.
"That campground is closed until further notice." At least he'd helped her make up her mind about that one. Authority be damned.
"Why is that?" the other one asked. He took a few steps closer to her. Maggie took another look at him. Whereas the other one screamed "rugged playboy," this one was more down to earth, casual. Safe.
"There was an accident up there the other night, so until we can figure out what caused it, that campground is closed. Sorry guys, I can give you a map of the rest of the park, see if you can find something else." The two exchanged a glance that held an entire conversation.
"We'll just go on our hike then, thanks," Play Boy answered.
"Day hikers gotta register," Maggie replied, moving to walk back to the office. She heard the pair follow her up the two wooden steps and inside the Ranger's office. Play Boy stood too close, whereas Safe Guy hung back.
"So ah Ranger..." Play Boy was fishing for her name. Funny, because the ugly brass name tag engraved with "Klimek" stood prominently above breasts that a guy like that would have been hard pressed to ignore. Her response was to hand him the clipboard with the day hike registry and a pen.
"If you leave the car, you'll also need to put the make, model, and license plate number," she said, only because she had to. It wasn't that she didn't want his car to get towed: it was that she didn't want that car to get towed, because in her mind, there was a big difference. Play Boy finished printing the requested information and then passed the clipboard back to Safe Guy.
"So what should we be on the lookout for?" Maggie spared Play Boy a glance before returning her attention to the form she was filling out.
"The usual," she responded. Play Boy gave a chuckle.
"The usual like..." Maggie looked up at him again.
"If I have to describe the dangers lurking for a hiker in a national forest, then maybe you shouldn't be hiking."
Safe Guy handed her the clipboard. "My brother's just being a pain. We know what we're doing, Ranger Klimek. It's just a couple hours’ hike."
Maggie handed each of them their permits, wishing she had someone else in the office to place a wager as to how long into their hike it'd be before her or someone else would have to rescue their dumb asses.
Maggie watched from the doorway as they went to the back of the Impala and opened the trunk. She watched them each pull out a duffle bag...duffle bags, not day packs. She took it back: if Tom and Rich were around the wager would get higher than she could afford.
Throughout the course of the day, Maggie had to turn away four people who wanted to use the primitive campsite. The afternoon got busy with day hikers registering and the other duties Maggie had to perform.
When she had a few minutes, she pulled out the paperwork that the two guys from that morning had filled out. She expected to see a BS name and wasn't disappointed. Winchester. Sam and Dean. She wished she'd paid attention to who was who. She didn't buy for a second that they were interested in the scenery or hiking. They didn't look the type. There was something about them that made Maggie give pause. They hadn't questioned about the incidents at the campground, but it seemed to lurk under the surface. They weren’t here under any official capacity, Maggie was certain of that.
The sound of the Impala's engine revving to life shook Maggie out of her thoughts. Jumping up from her desk and going to the door almost without thought, Maggie nearly collided with Tom and caught site of the car pulling away and toward the road.
"They check out?" Maggie asked him. Tom nodded and held up their two permits.
"Said they'd be back tomorrow. Asked about motels in town."
"Primitive camping my ass," Maggie muttered taking the permits from Tom's hand to file them away.
It was tradition, routine, habit. It was something she didn't want to let go of just yet, even though Pops had been gone more than a year. Wednesday nights were chicken fried steak night at Harpies. Her dad would have eaten it every day for every meal if he'd been allowed. Maggie hated it. But every Wednesday, she'd meet him for dinner and a shot of whiskey, something else she hated. Harpies chicken fried steak had appropriately been Pops’ last meal. For that reason alone, Maggie hated it. But tonight was Wednesday, and even though she'd told herself she wouldn't, Maggie found herself on autopilot and pulling into Harpies’ parking lot.
She recognized the Impala as soon as she spotted it, and for three heart wrenching seconds, she thought it was all a mistake, a joke. She thought Pops was there, meeting her like every other Wednesday night. She'd walk inside and he'd greet her like he hadn't seen her in years instead of hours.
She pulled up and parked next to it when realization dawned with all the subtly of a brick to her head. This wasn't Pops’ car because Pops wasn't here; he was gone and his beloved car was under a sheet in the garage. This car belonged to the Winchester brothers. And they didn't belong here. Not in her forest, not in her town, and sure as hell not in her father's car.
Maggie put her vehicle in park and slowly exited. This was a mistake. She should just get back inside and drive home. Reheat the chicken she'd baked the night before. Her favorite meal was her father's least favorite, but he’d eaten every single bite that her or her mom before her had made. But she wasn’t ready to let go of the Wednesday night special, not yet.
Maggie walked inside and Bill, the owner, greeted her just like he always did. She spotted the Winchesters at a table in the back corner. The place wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty either. Ignoring them, Maggie took a seat at a table near the door. Bill set a glass of wine down in front of her. "Dinner'll be right out," he said to her. He turned to leave before turning back. "Everything okay, Megs?" he asked.
Maggie forced herself to look up at her father's oldest friend, her godfather, and lie.
"Fine, Bill, just a long day."
Maggie took a sip of her wine when she caught someone approaching from the corner of her eye. Looking up, she saw one of the Winchester brothers, the one she thought of as "Safe Guy" standing next to her table.
"Ranger Klimek, right?" he asked with a smile that seemed so genuine Maggie had a hard time not returning it. "Do you mind if I join you for just a second?"
The guy sounded so polite, something Maggie wasn't always used to from guys in his age group. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was using it to his advantage and ask her out; but there seemed to be genuineness about his request, as if there were nothing he'd have liked better than to sit at her table. Oh why not? There were worse things than an attractive man wanting to sit with her. And he hadn’t hit on her, not yet anyway.
"Sure," she said, taking another sip of her wine as he sat down across from her. "But you'll have to remind me which one you are. I'm no good with names."
He gave her a smile - again with the genuineness - and said, "I'm Sam."
"I'm Maggie," she replied, feeling odd that this guy would be so formal with her. She couldn't have been that much older than him, and besides Ranger Klemik was her dad.
"I was just wondering what you knew about Peterstown, I mean since you work so close to the old site?"
Maggie took another sip of her wine as her original suspicions of these two came roaring back. "Some people doubt that it ever really existed, since there's never been any sign of a town up there," she replied.
"My brother and I are kind of history buffs. We used to go travel around with our dad looking for old ghost towns."
"That's kind of an odd hobby," Maggie remarked.
"Yeah well...my dad was kind of...odd," Sam replied. Maggie noticed a kind of wistfulness pass over his face - an emotion she recognized. Before she could stop herself she asked, "You said was. Is he...?"
Sam cleared his throat before looking away just over her shoulder at nothing. "He died about three months ago."
"I'm sorry," Maggie automatically replied. She knew how it sounded, knew it didn't really help though people felt compelled to say it anyway. How many "I'm sorrys" had she heard in the last year? Hell, in the last week? She cleared her own throat. "Look um my dad's gone too, almost a year now." She cut Sam off before he could offer her the same sentiment, "No, don't. Pops kind of collected the local legends. He got a kick out of them. The more outrageous, the better. He's got this old box he kept with stuff about the local legends. If you want, you can go through it, see if you can find what you're looking for."
Sam sat back hard in his chair as if taken aback by her offer.
Just then Bill arrived with her dinner. She waited until he put it in front of her and left before continuing. "I don't normally get all sentimental, but Pops loved those stories and if someone can use them to remember their own dad, well I think he'd get a big kick out of that."
She wasn’t sure where the offer to have two perfect strangers go through her father’s beloved box of legends came from. Maggie didn’t do “touchy-feely” and this guy and his Play Boy brother, Dean, had managed to piss her off simply by being in her forest. It was wanna-be macho men like them who caused most of the problems Maggie had to tackle as a Ranger. She still had the image of the two of them going hiking on a pretty advanced trail with duffel bags and no map.
She could hear her father’s voice in her head, telling her how he wanted her settled and happy. While she knew he was proud of her for following in his footsteps, she also knew he had small town old fashioned ideas about a woman’s place in the world. He wanted her married and giving him grandbabies by the half-dozen.
“Maggie?” Sam’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Everything okay?”
She nodded. “If you want to look through the box, I’ll bring it by the ranger station tomorrow. No offense, but I don’t want it too far out of my sight.”
Sam gave her that smile again. It wasn’t mocking, teasing or otherwise annoying her. In fact, it was creating the smallest stirrings of something Maggie forced herself to ignore. She wasn’t the kind of girl who mooned over an attractive man smiling at her.
The following morning, Maggie dug the box out of the back of her closet and dusted off the cover. It was a box Pops had gotten from the back of Harpies that once housed a half a case of whiskey. Bill had unloaded the whiskey and handed over the box. That had to have been 20 years ago. Maggie knew the contents of this box better than she knew what was in her mom’s jewelry box. Genuine smile or not, it would be a cold day in hell before she’d let any stranger take off with it.
Sam and Dean showed up at the station exactly when Sam said they would. Maggie had cleared off the old brochures on a never used desk in the back of the room and set her dad’s box on top of it. She showed them to it and then turned to walk to her own desk.
“Maggie, we’ll take good care of your dad’s stuff,” Sam stated.
“You’re damn right you will,” Maggie countered.
Just like the day before, people came and went and Maggie was busy. She still kept one eye on the brothers. Between them were a couple of maps, including one that - if Maggie didn’t know better - looked like an antique. She couldn’t help but notice how cautious they were being with her dad’s stuff. They only kept a couple of things out a time and treated everything with diligence and care. More than once Sam had caught her eye and Maggie always quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She was only watching that they took care of Pops’ stuff.
Tom and Rich seemed curious as to why the “two dumb asses from the day before” were now holding conference in the station on a forgotten desk with an old whiskey bottle box full of papers and maps of the area. They knew better than to ask Maggie outright and Maggie didn’t volunteer any explanation.
Around mid-afternoon Sam walked up to Maggie’s desk, the box in his hands.
“All done?” she asked, standing and taking it from him while trying not to notice how it looked like a child’s toy block in his large hands.
“Yeah, this was a really big help. Thanks a lot,” he replied.
“So, Peterstown, think it ever existed?” Maggie asked.
Sam smiled down at her. “Yeah, I do. I think your dad would be happy to know that some of his stories are true.”
“So, that’s it then?” she asked. She took in a quiet deep breath to quell the sudden sense of yearning that filled her. If she didn’t shut it down, she’d have to admit she didn’t really want this man to go. She wanted him to tell her the rest of Pops’ story, the one that he never got to finish himself.
“Yeah, we’re gonna head out, I think,” Sam said. “Thanks again, Maggie.” Maggie just nodded and then watched the pair go. A few minutes later, the Impala’s engine roared to life and grew more distant as it headed down the road. Moments later, it was gone.
Maggie stopped at the Miller’s Variety Store on her way home. They had a small craft section, and Maggie bought a couple of archiver’s boxes. She hated the thought of Pops’ stuff not being in that old whiskey box, but she hated the idea of all those clippings and his notes yellowing and crinkling even more.
That night Maggie pulled on her favorite sweats and a t-shirt, and began going through Pops’ box herself. Piece by piece, the legends that occupied her pops’ stories and time was placed into the protective boxes. It was when she was almost to the bottom that Maggie realized something was wrong. One of the pictures he’d found at an antique store on the other side of the state was gone. It was an old picture of a storefront that had the word “Peterstown” in its window. A notation on the back had identified it as belonging to a Jacob Peters, the man that Pops thought lay the first claim in Peterstown.
Quickly, Maggie began carefully pawing through the pages that she’d already transferred into the box. The pit of Maggie's stomach got more and more hollow. Sam and Dean. They had to have taken it; that was the only explanation. She’d been with Pops the last time he’d gone through that box, and the picture had been there. She and Mom had even talked about getting it framed for him. He’d died less than a week later.
Without thinking, Maggie grabbed her keys and ran to her car. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this angry, this upset. Son of a bitch had played her, but what was worse was that she knew it. She knew it and let him. There were only two motels in town and driving to the first one Maggie wondered if maybe they'd already left town, hunting for their next ghost town.
She saw the Impala at the end of the long building, parked in front of the last room. Pulling her car into the empty spot next to it, she walked up to the door and began pounding as hard as she could.
"Jesus, Dean, don't break the door down. Maybe if you remembered your ke..." The door opened and Sam seemed surprised to see her. "Maggie, I thought you were Dean coming back with dinner."
Maggie didn't think; she just pulled her hand back and swung. Her palm connected with his face hard, and the pain that radiated down her arm made her mad enough to do it again. She went to do it a third time when he reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled away from his grip and began swinging her arms.
"Where is it?" she screamed. Sam finally got a hold of her, and before she realized what was happening, she was being pulled into the room. "Let go of me!" she screamed. He did just that and she stumbled backwards almost colliding with the door.
"What is wrong with you?" Sam demanded angrily.
"What's wrong with me?" Maggie countered taking a step toward him with every word until she was almost nose to chest with him. "You and your brother you stole a picture from my dad’s box. I want it back and I want it back now."
Sam walked over to the table in the room and handed her a manila envelope.
“I’m sorry, Maggie, really. But we needed it. I was going to drop it by the ranger station on the way out of town tomorrow.”
With shaking hands, Maggie took the envelope from him and opened it up. The picture was there, unharmed.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” She demanded.
“You wouldn’t have given it to us,” Sam answered, as if he knew her. He’d known her less than 24 hours and had no right to presume anything.
Before she could open her mouth to start yelling again, he covered it with his own. That, combined with the gasp of surprise she let out, Maggie had no air - she was being suffocated by this man. Panic turned into something else, something that had been missing for a long time. Something that couldn't be filled by the Wednesday night special at Harpies or by allowing two strangers to go through Pops’ box and take something that he'd loved. Anger boiled inside her at the last thought and with all of her might, Maggie pushed herself away from Sam. She felt like slapping him again, and as if he'd anticipated her thought, he grabbed her forearms and shoved her back into the wall. The envelope fell from her hands onto the floor by her feet.
"What did you come here for, Maggie?" Sam asked her. There was a tone in his voice that she'd never heard before and she knew he didn’t mean the picture. Gone was the man she'd initially thought of as safe; he'd been replaced by another, by the kind of man that Maggie had never allowed to get the better of her. The kind that she knew would strip away the tough bitch facade that she showed to most of the world. If she didn't get out of this room she'd be lost and she wasn't sure that it was worth it.
"Get off me!" she shouted. She didn't think it was possible, but his body moved closer to her own and she felt the heat and the hardness of him.
He didn't reply with words, but bent his head to take her mouth with his again. Maggie wanted to fight him off, not because she didn't want this but because she did. It should bother her that he wasn't stopping, that her demands both spoken and not weren't being heeded.
Unless he knew she wanted this.
"My dad died, too," he breathed into her mouth. "And I'm pissed. Don't think I haven't looked for every excuse I could to just pound the shit out of someone."
Maggie pulled away as much as the wall behind would allow. "Than why don't you?" she asked, almost, almost challenged.
"Because this feels better," he replied. This time when his mouth found hers, Maggie didn't fight - she let lust replace anger. He wasn't being remotely gentle, but she could tell it was in him somewhere, somewhere buried deep. If they both let go, this would be a whole different kind of experience. In haste to get to skin clothes were torn, buttons were popped off shirts. His mouth and teeth were everywhere nipping, sucking, pulling. Pain blurred with pleasure. Then his hands were at her opening and it wasn't enough. She wanted him inside of her.
"Bed," she gasped out.
"No," he nearly growled. Was this how he was going to take out his anger, by denying her the one thing she needed? She tried to find her own anger again, tried to demand he give her what she wanted, what she knew he wanted. She felt him press her harder into the wall. Her back was going to be bruised and sore after this was all over. It suddenly dawned on her what he was trying to accomplish as he pulled away enough to roll a condom on himself. It couldn’t possibly work.
"No, Sam…the bed…it won't work this way," she managed to get out. Then his entire body was wrapped around her. Somehow he lifted her not-remotely-petite frame part way off the ground and he was inside of her.
Maggie was no longer really a participant in this act. All she could do was cry out at the newness of an angle that hit spots inside that had never been touched this way. She gripped at the muscles in his back, but they kept shifting with his movements. Before she understood what she was doing, her blunt nails were drawing red scratches as she tried to somehow steady herself.
His mouth was at her neck; nipping, biting, licking. He widened his stance and hit something far deep inside of her. Each stroke was building to a crescendo inside Maggie. When this began, she didn't think she'd survive but had meant it as a metaphor. Now she was truly, literally worried about the woman she’d be when this was over.
"Sam, Sam please." She didn't know what she was begging for and the slow, deliberate angry strokes were now being replaced by faster, sharper ones.
The precipice came before she could prepare herself. She'd always been able to tell before she came, able to prepare and let the pleasure wash over her. There was no preparing for this. Every single horrible cliché about orgasms was there, magnified times a thousand. She couldn't even yell because she lacked the ability: every cell in her body was focused on the agonizing pleasure between her legs.
All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and hope she survived.
She didn't remember ending up in the bed but there she was, covered with the sheet, Sam sitting on the foot of the bed, his back to her. The scratches she’d drawn on his back angry and red. She sat up and he turned around.
“Hay,” he said, his voice soft, the “safe” guy back in play.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“After midnight. You should get some sleep,” he replied.
“No,” Maggie said, standing and keeping the sheet over her body, which was being a tad bit juvenile considering what they’d just done together. “I should go.” She caught his eyes and could tell he wanted to ask her to stay. Dropping the sheet, Maggie began to get dressed - all the while feeling his eyes on her.
“Um, the picture?” she asked. Sam stood and once again retrieved the envelope from the table.
“Maggie, um…”
She cut him off. “Sam, don’t, okay? You don’t have to say anything. And I’m not going to say anything. Just ‘see you around’ and then I’m going to walk out the door.”
He gave a chuckle.
“What?” she asked. He smiled again.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how you hooked up with the wrong brother.”
“Bye, Sam. See you around,” Maggie said and then opened the door and hurried to her car before she did something stupid like kiss him.
Once home, Maggie took the picture from the envelope and noticed a small piece of paper fall out and flutter to the floor. Maggie picked it up. It was written on a note pad from the motel Sam and Dean were staying at. In small neat handwriting, it said:
Maggie, you can open up that campground again. The people of Peterstown won’t mind. Thanks again. Sam
Smiling, Maggie placed the picture and the note in one of the archiver’s boxes, put the top on and then went up to bed. She’d open the campground in the morning.
Author: theemer
Recipient: sprbitch1313
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/OFC
Summary: A Forest Ranger agrees to help Sam and Dean locate a “missing” mining town by letting them go through her late father’s old box of legends.
Author's Notes: Takes place Season 2 after “Everybody Loves a Clown”. My thanks to one of the premiere betas, clarksmuse
Mining towns had appeared and disappeared all over the West Coast. The big gold rush was in California, but that didn't stop the fever from spreading north. Some of the old mining towns had stood the test of time, managed to get Federal protection, and eventually become tourist attractions. Others simply disappeared and you never even knew they’d existed.
Maggie had heard the stories for most of her life - about the town that had once been in this part of the Pacific Northwest forest she was now charged to protect. Her old man used to say "Stories grow with time." She knew better than to pay attention to half of what the locals had come up with. If there had been a town, the forest had taken it back.
The new primitive campground had been open only a couple of months. It had been slated to open the year before, but flooding from that winter’s rains had delayed the work. Though the place had only been open two months, four people had been injured, one critically. The injuries were called flukes since there were never any witnesses to the accidents and the people injured couldn't recall how they'd gotten that way. The types of injuries varied from cuts and burns to a near drowning which had been the most critical. Maggie was temped to shut the campground down, but she didn't have the authority to do so. She also didn't have any proof that anything was going on, other than several accident prone people had made their way to her forest and to that campground.
Taking one last swig of her coffee before heading on her patrol, Maggie's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car that had no business being anywhere near a national forest. Bracing herself for a confrontation with the kind of chauvinist who matched the roar of the muscle car, she put on her hat and walked outside.
Two men were exiting an old Impala, and Maggie was unprepared for the lump in her throat and the hitch in her breath. Pops had a car just like that.
"Mornin'," a much too cheerful voice pulled Maggie from her memory. The voice belonged to the driver, a man a year or two younger than her. This one was as far from a typical outdoorsman as you could get. Well worn jeans, a brown beaten up leather jacket and boots that might pass for hiking if you didn’t know better. His hair was light brown, spiky but not fussy, and hazel-green eyes with eyelashes so long they were almost obscene on the very masculine face.
The other man was taller, jeans, button down shirt over a t-shirt and a jacket. His hair was darker and longer than the first's though the eyes were similar. Brothers? she wondered. There was something about their faces and their posture that identified them as possible family members.
"Help you?" Maggie asked. She was busy this morning and in no mood to play the game she knew leather jacket guy was going to want to play.
"Yeah we were wondering if the primitive campground at the top of Dry Creek Trailhead was reserved for the night?" he asked. Her lips curled into a rueful smile: If these two were going to go hiking and then campout with no facilities she was going scuba diving in Marshead Creek.
"That campground is closed until further notice." At least he'd helped her make up her mind about that one. Authority be damned.
"Why is that?" the other one asked. He took a few steps closer to her. Maggie took another look at him. Whereas the other one screamed "rugged playboy," this one was more down to earth, casual. Safe.
"There was an accident up there the other night, so until we can figure out what caused it, that campground is closed. Sorry guys, I can give you a map of the rest of the park, see if you can find something else." The two exchanged a glance that held an entire conversation.
"We'll just go on our hike then, thanks," Play Boy answered.
"Day hikers gotta register," Maggie replied, moving to walk back to the office. She heard the pair follow her up the two wooden steps and inside the Ranger's office. Play Boy stood too close, whereas Safe Guy hung back.
"So ah Ranger..." Play Boy was fishing for her name. Funny, because the ugly brass name tag engraved with "Klimek" stood prominently above breasts that a guy like that would have been hard pressed to ignore. Her response was to hand him the clipboard with the day hike registry and a pen.
"If you leave the car, you'll also need to put the make, model, and license plate number," she said, only because she had to. It wasn't that she didn't want his car to get towed: it was that she didn't want that car to get towed, because in her mind, there was a big difference. Play Boy finished printing the requested information and then passed the clipboard back to Safe Guy.
"So what should we be on the lookout for?" Maggie spared Play Boy a glance before returning her attention to the form she was filling out.
"The usual," she responded. Play Boy gave a chuckle.
"The usual like..." Maggie looked up at him again.
"If I have to describe the dangers lurking for a hiker in a national forest, then maybe you shouldn't be hiking."
Safe Guy handed her the clipboard. "My brother's just being a pain. We know what we're doing, Ranger Klimek. It's just a couple hours’ hike."
Maggie handed each of them their permits, wishing she had someone else in the office to place a wager as to how long into their hike it'd be before her or someone else would have to rescue their dumb asses.
Maggie watched from the doorway as they went to the back of the Impala and opened the trunk. She watched them each pull out a duffle bag...duffle bags, not day packs. She took it back: if Tom and Rich were around the wager would get higher than she could afford.
Throughout the course of the day, Maggie had to turn away four people who wanted to use the primitive campsite. The afternoon got busy with day hikers registering and the other duties Maggie had to perform.
When she had a few minutes, she pulled out the paperwork that the two guys from that morning had filled out. She expected to see a BS name and wasn't disappointed. Winchester. Sam and Dean. She wished she'd paid attention to who was who. She didn't buy for a second that they were interested in the scenery or hiking. They didn't look the type. There was something about them that made Maggie give pause. They hadn't questioned about the incidents at the campground, but it seemed to lurk under the surface. They weren’t here under any official capacity, Maggie was certain of that.
The sound of the Impala's engine revving to life shook Maggie out of her thoughts. Jumping up from her desk and going to the door almost without thought, Maggie nearly collided with Tom and caught site of the car pulling away and toward the road.
"They check out?" Maggie asked him. Tom nodded and held up their two permits.
"Said they'd be back tomorrow. Asked about motels in town."
"Primitive camping my ass," Maggie muttered taking the permits from Tom's hand to file them away.
It was tradition, routine, habit. It was something she didn't want to let go of just yet, even though Pops had been gone more than a year. Wednesday nights were chicken fried steak night at Harpies. Her dad would have eaten it every day for every meal if he'd been allowed. Maggie hated it. But every Wednesday, she'd meet him for dinner and a shot of whiskey, something else she hated. Harpies chicken fried steak had appropriately been Pops’ last meal. For that reason alone, Maggie hated it. But tonight was Wednesday, and even though she'd told herself she wouldn't, Maggie found herself on autopilot and pulling into Harpies’ parking lot.
She recognized the Impala as soon as she spotted it, and for three heart wrenching seconds, she thought it was all a mistake, a joke. She thought Pops was there, meeting her like every other Wednesday night. She'd walk inside and he'd greet her like he hadn't seen her in years instead of hours.
She pulled up and parked next to it when realization dawned with all the subtly of a brick to her head. This wasn't Pops’ car because Pops wasn't here; he was gone and his beloved car was under a sheet in the garage. This car belonged to the Winchester brothers. And they didn't belong here. Not in her forest, not in her town, and sure as hell not in her father's car.
Maggie put her vehicle in park and slowly exited. This was a mistake. She should just get back inside and drive home. Reheat the chicken she'd baked the night before. Her favorite meal was her father's least favorite, but he’d eaten every single bite that her or her mom before her had made. But she wasn’t ready to let go of the Wednesday night special, not yet.
Maggie walked inside and Bill, the owner, greeted her just like he always did. She spotted the Winchesters at a table in the back corner. The place wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty either. Ignoring them, Maggie took a seat at a table near the door. Bill set a glass of wine down in front of her. "Dinner'll be right out," he said to her. He turned to leave before turning back. "Everything okay, Megs?" he asked.
Maggie forced herself to look up at her father's oldest friend, her godfather, and lie.
"Fine, Bill, just a long day."
Maggie took a sip of her wine when she caught someone approaching from the corner of her eye. Looking up, she saw one of the Winchester brothers, the one she thought of as "Safe Guy" standing next to her table.
"Ranger Klimek, right?" he asked with a smile that seemed so genuine Maggie had a hard time not returning it. "Do you mind if I join you for just a second?"
The guy sounded so polite, something Maggie wasn't always used to from guys in his age group. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was using it to his advantage and ask her out; but there seemed to be genuineness about his request, as if there were nothing he'd have liked better than to sit at her table. Oh why not? There were worse things than an attractive man wanting to sit with her. And he hadn’t hit on her, not yet anyway.
"Sure," she said, taking another sip of her wine as he sat down across from her. "But you'll have to remind me which one you are. I'm no good with names."
He gave her a smile - again with the genuineness - and said, "I'm Sam."
"I'm Maggie," she replied, feeling odd that this guy would be so formal with her. She couldn't have been that much older than him, and besides Ranger Klemik was her dad.
"I was just wondering what you knew about Peterstown, I mean since you work so close to the old site?"
Maggie took another sip of her wine as her original suspicions of these two came roaring back. "Some people doubt that it ever really existed, since there's never been any sign of a town up there," she replied.
"My brother and I are kind of history buffs. We used to go travel around with our dad looking for old ghost towns."
"That's kind of an odd hobby," Maggie remarked.
"Yeah well...my dad was kind of...odd," Sam replied. Maggie noticed a kind of wistfulness pass over his face - an emotion she recognized. Before she could stop herself she asked, "You said was. Is he...?"
Sam cleared his throat before looking away just over her shoulder at nothing. "He died about three months ago."
"I'm sorry," Maggie automatically replied. She knew how it sounded, knew it didn't really help though people felt compelled to say it anyway. How many "I'm sorrys" had she heard in the last year? Hell, in the last week? She cleared her own throat. "Look um my dad's gone too, almost a year now." She cut Sam off before he could offer her the same sentiment, "No, don't. Pops kind of collected the local legends. He got a kick out of them. The more outrageous, the better. He's got this old box he kept with stuff about the local legends. If you want, you can go through it, see if you can find what you're looking for."
Sam sat back hard in his chair as if taken aback by her offer.
Just then Bill arrived with her dinner. She waited until he put it in front of her and left before continuing. "I don't normally get all sentimental, but Pops loved those stories and if someone can use them to remember their own dad, well I think he'd get a big kick out of that."
She wasn’t sure where the offer to have two perfect strangers go through her father’s beloved box of legends came from. Maggie didn’t do “touchy-feely” and this guy and his Play Boy brother, Dean, had managed to piss her off simply by being in her forest. It was wanna-be macho men like them who caused most of the problems Maggie had to tackle as a Ranger. She still had the image of the two of them going hiking on a pretty advanced trail with duffel bags and no map.
She could hear her father’s voice in her head, telling her how he wanted her settled and happy. While she knew he was proud of her for following in his footsteps, she also knew he had small town old fashioned ideas about a woman’s place in the world. He wanted her married and giving him grandbabies by the half-dozen.
“Maggie?” Sam’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Everything okay?”
She nodded. “If you want to look through the box, I’ll bring it by the ranger station tomorrow. No offense, but I don’t want it too far out of my sight.”
Sam gave her that smile again. It wasn’t mocking, teasing or otherwise annoying her. In fact, it was creating the smallest stirrings of something Maggie forced herself to ignore. She wasn’t the kind of girl who mooned over an attractive man smiling at her.
The following morning, Maggie dug the box out of the back of her closet and dusted off the cover. It was a box Pops had gotten from the back of Harpies that once housed a half a case of whiskey. Bill had unloaded the whiskey and handed over the box. That had to have been 20 years ago. Maggie knew the contents of this box better than she knew what was in her mom’s jewelry box. Genuine smile or not, it would be a cold day in hell before she’d let any stranger take off with it.
Sam and Dean showed up at the station exactly when Sam said they would. Maggie had cleared off the old brochures on a never used desk in the back of the room and set her dad’s box on top of it. She showed them to it and then turned to walk to her own desk.
“Maggie, we’ll take good care of your dad’s stuff,” Sam stated.
“You’re damn right you will,” Maggie countered.
Just like the day before, people came and went and Maggie was busy. She still kept one eye on the brothers. Between them were a couple of maps, including one that - if Maggie didn’t know better - looked like an antique. She couldn’t help but notice how cautious they were being with her dad’s stuff. They only kept a couple of things out a time and treated everything with diligence and care. More than once Sam had caught her eye and Maggie always quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She was only watching that they took care of Pops’ stuff.
Tom and Rich seemed curious as to why the “two dumb asses from the day before” were now holding conference in the station on a forgotten desk with an old whiskey bottle box full of papers and maps of the area. They knew better than to ask Maggie outright and Maggie didn’t volunteer any explanation.
Around mid-afternoon Sam walked up to Maggie’s desk, the box in his hands.
“All done?” she asked, standing and taking it from him while trying not to notice how it looked like a child’s toy block in his large hands.
“Yeah, this was a really big help. Thanks a lot,” he replied.
“So, Peterstown, think it ever existed?” Maggie asked.
Sam smiled down at her. “Yeah, I do. I think your dad would be happy to know that some of his stories are true.”
“So, that’s it then?” she asked. She took in a quiet deep breath to quell the sudden sense of yearning that filled her. If she didn’t shut it down, she’d have to admit she didn’t really want this man to go. She wanted him to tell her the rest of Pops’ story, the one that he never got to finish himself.
“Yeah, we’re gonna head out, I think,” Sam said. “Thanks again, Maggie.” Maggie just nodded and then watched the pair go. A few minutes later, the Impala’s engine roared to life and grew more distant as it headed down the road. Moments later, it was gone.
Maggie stopped at the Miller’s Variety Store on her way home. They had a small craft section, and Maggie bought a couple of archiver’s boxes. She hated the thought of Pops’ stuff not being in that old whiskey box, but she hated the idea of all those clippings and his notes yellowing and crinkling even more.
That night Maggie pulled on her favorite sweats and a t-shirt, and began going through Pops’ box herself. Piece by piece, the legends that occupied her pops’ stories and time was placed into the protective boxes. It was when she was almost to the bottom that Maggie realized something was wrong. One of the pictures he’d found at an antique store on the other side of the state was gone. It was an old picture of a storefront that had the word “Peterstown” in its window. A notation on the back had identified it as belonging to a Jacob Peters, the man that Pops thought lay the first claim in Peterstown.
Quickly, Maggie began carefully pawing through the pages that she’d already transferred into the box. The pit of Maggie's stomach got more and more hollow. Sam and Dean. They had to have taken it; that was the only explanation. She’d been with Pops the last time he’d gone through that box, and the picture had been there. She and Mom had even talked about getting it framed for him. He’d died less than a week later.
Without thinking, Maggie grabbed her keys and ran to her car. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this angry, this upset. Son of a bitch had played her, but what was worse was that she knew it. She knew it and let him. There were only two motels in town and driving to the first one Maggie wondered if maybe they'd already left town, hunting for their next ghost town.
She saw the Impala at the end of the long building, parked in front of the last room. Pulling her car into the empty spot next to it, she walked up to the door and began pounding as hard as she could.
"Jesus, Dean, don't break the door down. Maybe if you remembered your ke..." The door opened and Sam seemed surprised to see her. "Maggie, I thought you were Dean coming back with dinner."
Maggie didn't think; she just pulled her hand back and swung. Her palm connected with his face hard, and the pain that radiated down her arm made her mad enough to do it again. She went to do it a third time when he reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled away from his grip and began swinging her arms.
"Where is it?" she screamed. Sam finally got a hold of her, and before she realized what was happening, she was being pulled into the room. "Let go of me!" she screamed. He did just that and she stumbled backwards almost colliding with the door.
"What is wrong with you?" Sam demanded angrily.
"What's wrong with me?" Maggie countered taking a step toward him with every word until she was almost nose to chest with him. "You and your brother you stole a picture from my dad’s box. I want it back and I want it back now."
Sam walked over to the table in the room and handed her a manila envelope.
“I’m sorry, Maggie, really. But we needed it. I was going to drop it by the ranger station on the way out of town tomorrow.”
With shaking hands, Maggie took the envelope from him and opened it up. The picture was there, unharmed.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” She demanded.
“You wouldn’t have given it to us,” Sam answered, as if he knew her. He’d known her less than 24 hours and had no right to presume anything.
Before she could open her mouth to start yelling again, he covered it with his own. That, combined with the gasp of surprise she let out, Maggie had no air - she was being suffocated by this man. Panic turned into something else, something that had been missing for a long time. Something that couldn't be filled by the Wednesday night special at Harpies or by allowing two strangers to go through Pops’ box and take something that he'd loved. Anger boiled inside her at the last thought and with all of her might, Maggie pushed herself away from Sam. She felt like slapping him again, and as if he'd anticipated her thought, he grabbed her forearms and shoved her back into the wall. The envelope fell from her hands onto the floor by her feet.
"What did you come here for, Maggie?" Sam asked her. There was a tone in his voice that she'd never heard before and she knew he didn’t mean the picture. Gone was the man she'd initially thought of as safe; he'd been replaced by another, by the kind of man that Maggie had never allowed to get the better of her. The kind that she knew would strip away the tough bitch facade that she showed to most of the world. If she didn't get out of this room she'd be lost and she wasn't sure that it was worth it.
"Get off me!" she shouted. She didn't think it was possible, but his body moved closer to her own and she felt the heat and the hardness of him.
He didn't reply with words, but bent his head to take her mouth with his again. Maggie wanted to fight him off, not because she didn't want this but because she did. It should bother her that he wasn't stopping, that her demands both spoken and not weren't being heeded.
Unless he knew she wanted this.
"My dad died, too," he breathed into her mouth. "And I'm pissed. Don't think I haven't looked for every excuse I could to just pound the shit out of someone."
Maggie pulled away as much as the wall behind would allow. "Than why don't you?" she asked, almost, almost challenged.
"Because this feels better," he replied. This time when his mouth found hers, Maggie didn't fight - she let lust replace anger. He wasn't being remotely gentle, but she could tell it was in him somewhere, somewhere buried deep. If they both let go, this would be a whole different kind of experience. In haste to get to skin clothes were torn, buttons were popped off shirts. His mouth and teeth were everywhere nipping, sucking, pulling. Pain blurred with pleasure. Then his hands were at her opening and it wasn't enough. She wanted him inside of her.
"Bed," she gasped out.
"No," he nearly growled. Was this how he was going to take out his anger, by denying her the one thing she needed? She tried to find her own anger again, tried to demand he give her what she wanted, what she knew he wanted. She felt him press her harder into the wall. Her back was going to be bruised and sore after this was all over. It suddenly dawned on her what he was trying to accomplish as he pulled away enough to roll a condom on himself. It couldn’t possibly work.
"No, Sam…the bed…it won't work this way," she managed to get out. Then his entire body was wrapped around her. Somehow he lifted her not-remotely-petite frame part way off the ground and he was inside of her.
Maggie was no longer really a participant in this act. All she could do was cry out at the newness of an angle that hit spots inside that had never been touched this way. She gripped at the muscles in his back, but they kept shifting with his movements. Before she understood what she was doing, her blunt nails were drawing red scratches as she tried to somehow steady herself.
His mouth was at her neck; nipping, biting, licking. He widened his stance and hit something far deep inside of her. Each stroke was building to a crescendo inside Maggie. When this began, she didn't think she'd survive but had meant it as a metaphor. Now she was truly, literally worried about the woman she’d be when this was over.
"Sam, Sam please." She didn't know what she was begging for and the slow, deliberate angry strokes were now being replaced by faster, sharper ones.
The precipice came before she could prepare herself. She'd always been able to tell before she came, able to prepare and let the pleasure wash over her. There was no preparing for this. Every single horrible cliché about orgasms was there, magnified times a thousand. She couldn't even yell because she lacked the ability: every cell in her body was focused on the agonizing pleasure between her legs.
All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and hope she survived.
She didn't remember ending up in the bed but there she was, covered with the sheet, Sam sitting on the foot of the bed, his back to her. The scratches she’d drawn on his back angry and red. She sat up and he turned around.
“Hay,” he said, his voice soft, the “safe” guy back in play.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“After midnight. You should get some sleep,” he replied.
“No,” Maggie said, standing and keeping the sheet over her body, which was being a tad bit juvenile considering what they’d just done together. “I should go.” She caught his eyes and could tell he wanted to ask her to stay. Dropping the sheet, Maggie began to get dressed - all the while feeling his eyes on her.
“Um, the picture?” she asked. Sam stood and once again retrieved the envelope from the table.
“Maggie, um…”
She cut him off. “Sam, don’t, okay? You don’t have to say anything. And I’m not going to say anything. Just ‘see you around’ and then I’m going to walk out the door.”
He gave a chuckle.
“What?” she asked. He smiled again.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how you hooked up with the wrong brother.”
“Bye, Sam. See you around,” Maggie said and then opened the door and hurried to her car before she did something stupid like kiss him.
Once home, Maggie took the picture from the envelope and noticed a small piece of paper fall out and flutter to the floor. Maggie picked it up. It was written on a note pad from the motel Sam and Dean were staying at. In small neat handwriting, it said:
Maggie, you can open up that campground again. The people of Peterstown won’t mind. Thanks again. Sam
Smiling, Maggie placed the picture and the note in one of the archiver’s boxes, put the top on and then went up to bed. She’d open the campground in the morning.