Title: 'That' Story, or 10 Reasons Why Priestly Doesn't Like Chicago
Fandom/s: Supernatural, Ten Inch Hero
Summary: "I'm not this Dean Winchester guy. My name's Priestly. Always has been, always will be. I've lived here my whole life, and never set foot in Missouri. Or Milwaukee. I went to Chicago once, but there's no power on Earth that can make me tell you that story."
Timeline: Pre-movie, and series. But spoilers for the film though (in the form of Priestly's first name). Yes, I have finally seen it.
Notes: This takes place before Why Wasn't I Notified? and runs concurrently to What Was and What Could Have Been, but you don't need to know any of that to read this story. It's just a note for those that are reading/have read those others.
1. The Little Old Lady | 2. The Weather | 3. The Computer Genius | 4. The Bars | 5. The Crazed Psycho | 6. The Women | 7. The Tripper | 8. The Lost Boy | 9. The Skateboard | 10. The Little Old Lady (Again) | 11. Epilogue
He knew something was up from the moment he stepped off the bus. For one thing, the grumbling elderly lady that had sat behind him had given him a swift jab with her cane, pushing him off the bottom step. He turned around to see her giving him an unsavoury glare as she hobbled her way off the bus. Not that it was anything new.
From the second he sat down she had cast him a suspicious glance and leaned over to her companion and clearly said, "Look at that ruffian. No respect for clothing. Youths today don't have any regard for manners and appearance. Why just look at his hair, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to hijack the bus."
He glanced down at his clothes. Sure the jeans were a little torn and the shirt was faded, but no one wore their best clothes when they were riding across country in a bus, for crying out loud. Well, no one except Granny back there, apparently.
Because he couldn't resist, he stuck a finger up his nose and pretended to scope out the bus. When he came face to face with the woman in question, he pretended like the nose-picking wasn't intentional and conspicuously removed his finger, taking care to wipe it on the seat in front. He then stuck out his hand to the one he assumed made the comment – the one currently leaning back with a look of revulsion on her face was a safe bet – and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Bo.”
She didn’t shake his hand, and he didn’t expect her to. Still, he put on the show of looking crestfallen. Her companion was just smiling politely, and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear she was amused by the whole thing.
“Uhh, nice hair.” He offered, trying not to snicker. The woman who was quick to condemn his own locks – which granted, were getting a little long… and messy – had purple hair. Purple. Hair. At least his was a natural colour. And besides, it hid the piercings on his ears. He wondered what the lady would say if she knew he was thinking of getting another one on his lower lip. “Help, I’m having a stroke!” would probably be up there on the list. “He’s got a gun!” might run a close second.
He kept it to himself and instead focused on the journey ahead of him. He was visiting Uncle Jasper because his mother had decided he needed discipline, and to get out of the house. He’d graduated high school over a year ago and his time since then had been spent loafing about doing a whole lot of nothing. He suspected that the other reason for this visit was so that his mum could have all his things in a nice, tidy bundle on the front lawn by the time he got back. Which meant he’d have to get a job. Joy.
Having decided he didn’t really want to think about it at the moment, he spent the rest of the trip counting mile markers. He gave up every time he got to twenty. Which meant that there were x times 20, plus 9 mile markers between Santa Cruz and Chicago.
But back to getting off the bus…
He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, making his way down to the terminal. He had to find a cab to take him to Jas’ place, because it was well known amongst the family that Jasper Priestly didn’t do anything except work, work and sleep when he could work no more. It was assumed that he also ate, but no one had yet to see any proof, so the jury was still out on that one. He lived in a two room apartment in… Chicago – check address – and never came to family events unless he happened to be in town on business. So sending Boaz to stay with him was really a lesson in self-suffiency.
And the first aspect of an autonomous individual was being able to get from the bus depot to an address that he’d apparently lost along the way. Crap, he was gonna need quarters.
He bumped shoulders with someone who was rushing into the terminal, sending all his change flying. “Yeah, thanks a lot buddy!” He called after, but the other guy either didn’t hear, or couldn’t spare the time to turn around as he zipped into the building. When he’d picked it all up, Boaz bee-lined for the phones. As the phone dialled, he could hear the shrill voiced Granny going off at someone else. Poor bastard.
He’d written down his Uncle’s address for the second time and made his way out to the taxi bank. He was about to hop in when his hand was smacked away from the door. “Ow, Jesus Christ!” He looked over to see Granny glowering at him. “…Our Lord and Saviour?”
She swatted him again, this time in the leg. “Christ lady, what the hell is your problem?”
Probably not the best thing to say, as she turned a nice shade of red before she started swinging the walking stick at him with as much force as she could muster, which was a lot for an old lady. She kept rambling about youths and respect and Boaz was going to go nuts if she hit him one more- oww!
“Alright lady,” He caught the cane mid-swing, “I don’t know what your problem is-”
“Rape!” She screamed “He’s trying to rape me!”
“Lady, I’m three feet away!” He shouted, effectively cutting her off. “Look, I have no idea what happened to your meds, but will ya stop swinging your cane at me and tell me what’s going on?”
The old lady was too chuffed to speak, and had worked herself into such a frenzy that a few more breaths were needed to calm down, so her companion spoke up politely. “We were wondering if we could perhaps hail this cab?”
Boaz looked at Purple, then to the cabbie. His eyes were impossibly wide and his jaw slightly dropped. He doubted he’d ever seen someone go to such lengths to get a cab when there was another lying in wait right behind him. He let go of the cane and Granny yanked it back ferociously. He opened the door and stepped back. Far back.
Normally he wouldn’t push his limit, but since Granny had hit him about ten times, he couldn’t resist. Just as she turned away from him, he said, “Would you like some drugs to help you with your problem?”
She whipped around. “What?”
“I said would you like me to help you with your bags?”
From the way she clutched her handbag to her chest he gathered that she thought he was trying to steal them. He tried not to smile.
When she was in the cab, she shuffled along to the other side and called out a brusque “Come along, Hilda.” Which he could only surmise was directed at her companion. He turned to said lady who didn’t seem surprised at the order. In fact her attention was on him, eyebrow raised. For some reason, her being disappointed in him meant a lot more than it did coming from ‘The Old Bat’. He offered a sheepish smile.
She held out her bag, and Boaz put it in the trunk for her. When he was done, he turned to see her standing at the door smiling at him. “Your brother is inside looking for you.”
I don’t have a brother, whilst being the correct response, didn’t seem the right thing to say, so he simply replied, “Uhh, thanks.”
She nodded and ducked into the cab. Boaz could hear Granny Purple starting up another tirade about him as the door slammed shut.
He sorely hoped that would be the last he saw of them as he stepped back to allow another taxi to roll into its place.
Just before he got in, he stopped to admire a sleek, black Chevy that passed by. That was definitely going on the list of things to buy when he got a job.
He hopped into the cab and headed off to his Uncle’s, where many a joke about being blind and "turning on bubbles" awaited
[ cont>> ]
Even though it doesn't seem like it, there is a plot. For some reason Priestly had to get the crap beaten out of him by an old lady before it could happen though. My bad.