Genre: gen, minor character fic, episode coda 10x22 "The Prisoner"
Characters: Tamara (the hunter from 3x01 "The Magnificent Seven")
Word Count: 676
Summary: 24 people were killed in Shreveport, Louisiana last night--3 more missing, presumed dead. Someone has to be there to pick up the pieces, and it's not going to be Dean Winchester.
She knows him. So does Sid, because he knows her everything--about Isaac and Gluttony, and yes, even the dismal A-levels that sent her Stateside in the first place.
Tamara's been working social services in Shreveport for about eight months. She'd been at LSU before that, and a Publix before that, and a brief stint at the Sister's House before that, and before that up north in Georgia, hunting monsters as had been her usual.
Sid fits in somewhere in the middle.
He'd found her trying to down floor cleaner, which is how he found out about Isaac so quick.
(Gluttony, of course, came later).
And now she's trying to tell him that yeah, she knows Dean Winchester. Or she'd known him, back in 2007. But it's a rum thing that's just gone on, and whatever 2007 earns her it's not going to make it any easier to explain to the ladies Styne just what had happened here tonight. And it won't be any easier when she goes down to the high school--two students, dead and gone forever.
No more pre-calc, no more gym class.
Sid is typing his sermon in the kitchen. They haven't heard anything more from the police department. She'd gone down to the station earlier, but even the probies had been crossed with black, mourning their own. She didn't linger.
You told me you believed in demons, Tamara says. She's in the living room, TV alive but on mute. She knows the news anchors, prim-lipped and hastily green-screened, are talking about the massacre, but they show no pictures. Their bodies and numbers have been ravaged, but the power of the Stynes is alive and well; the family permits no images.
I'm a Baptist minister, Sid tells her. It would be a sin to disbelieve in Satan.
He's terse. Backspacing more than he's writing. He doesn't like it when he's reminded of what Tamara had been before they'd met--what all she'd done.
You said it wasn't like that, he says after a space of silence. You read for signs.
It wasn't, Tamara agrees. Demons don't use silencers. And they don't leave prints.
Then it wasn't like that, he says, with finality. (He does not like to be reminded of the past.)
Tamara spends half an hour imagining tomorrow's worst case scenarios. A wife who'd signed a pre-nup and now regrets it, she thinks, eyes narrowed. At the school, maybe a girl classmate who "hadn't known him" but after reading all the Facebook memorials felt that she did; and now she is sad, sad, sad. A boy who'd been in love with Cy. (Cy, she knew because they read the same books. She'd see him in the library from time to time. The boy she knew because his mother sent him to her.)
The town is better off without them, she says to Sid, still at the table but typing no longer. The Stynes, I mean.
Sid's answer is flat and simple. Is that meant to be a vindication? he says. Dean Winchester, the recuperated?
Sometimes, Tamara wishes she were more religious. She'd have stayed at the Sister's House, if this were so. Maybe she would have learned how not to hate the women she's about to counsel, how to feel grief for the massacre that was, and not relief at the pest-control she sees it as. Not that this darkness makes her any different from the rest of the world. She's seen it in the eyes of passersby as she walks through department stores, or has reservations for fine dining. Her neighbors in this fine state of Louisiana. She feels she's allowed.
She doesn't tell Sid.
We're beset with all the rotting aftermath, says Sid. His tone is harsh. We're the ones who will have to live with the town that will always remember this. Violence leaves wounds, he says. And our town--our town--will hold these scars in its bones.
It turns things mean and dark, he says.
And Tamara says, I know.
Why Tamara? Because of that one time Sam mentioned she knew a hoodoo priestess outside of Shreveport, ooooobviously! So of course, Tamara!