Fighting Through It All [Dean Winchester fanfic] #Wattys2015

Chapter Twenty Two

I've never been in the bunker without the guys in it for more than a couple hours at most.

The place is large, and by yourself, it's a bit eerie. I've talked to my parents, Lily, Mark, Elena, and Daniel, and everyone can come on Friday, AKA tonight, for dinner. I've started getting ingredients together, considering the dinner is later on tonight.

Sam has been calling me every night, giving me updates on the case. He says they should be back for the dinner, because they've pinpointed the next victim and they should be able to kill the ghost.

The ghost's name was Derek Johansen. He died a couple months ago after teenagers caught his house on fire, not knowing he was inside sleeping, and he didn't have enough time to get out. He saw their faces though, watched as they stared in terror of the burning man, beating on the second floor window, screaming for help. He'd hunted down 4 out of 5 of the teens, and Sam and Dean tracked down the fifth, so they were be able to catch Derek last night. They're on their way back right now.

I gather all of the ingredients in the kitchen, with all of the utensils that I bought as well considering the bunker lacks a lot of the things you need in order to cook a proper meal. All three parties are bringing different foods, according to the meal I've orchestrated.

Lily and Mark are bringing the vegetables: potatoes, carrots, asparagus, and fiddle heads. Mom and dad are making the turkey, and Elena and Daniel are making the salad, as well as a pasta salad. I am cooking my chicken and gnocchi soup the brothers, Lily, and Mark all love, as well as my homemade bread.

I begin by making the bread dough, putting it in the bread mixer that I bought earlier today. Once that is in there, I begin on the soup, chopping up and cooking chicken in a pan, with only salt and pepper for seasonings. While that sits for a second, I go ahead and start making the broth, putting everything in a crock pot with an airtight seal, which is something I also bought today. Today's grocery and utensil list was expensive, but credit card fraud will get you anything.

After hours and hours, I finally have everything cooked and ready to go. I put the hot loaf of bread in a large bag, twist it and tie it so it doesn't dry out. I shut the cover on the crock pot, lock it, and just hit the button that keeps what's inside cool.

I look down on myself, discovering I'm caked in flour, my hands have egg on them, and I can feel the flour on my face as well. I sigh and wash my hands, cleaning off the counters quickly with a damp cloth. Once everything is cleaned up, I head into my room to get changed.

I shower first, blow drying my hair quickly, and leaving it be for the moment. I then change into a navy blue and white striped sundress, with off the shoulder t-shirt sleeves, that comes down to about mid-thigh. I wear my lace flats with them, the ones I've worn a million times, and then I loosely curl my hair for a beachy effect. To finish it all off, I do a light smokey eye and red lips.

When I'm finished getting ready, I grab a white, knit cardigan to wear over my dress, and head out to the kitchen. I curse under my breath as I unplug the crock pot, wrapping the chord around a nob in the back, and piling the bread on top. Trying to balance the bread on top of the crock pot fazes as a difficult task, as I maneuver my way down the various halls until I reach the garage.

Discovering I can't hold both the crock pot and get my keys out of my cardigan pocket, I curse under my breath again, and set the crock pot down, unlock the car, and then set the pot in the passenger side seat. I do a check list in my head to make sure I've remembered everything, and groan when I realize I've forgotten my phone.

I sprint inside, and tear apart my room looking for it. I rip the blankets off my bed, go through every drawer in my dresser, and search the cracks in my living seat. As I do so, I smack my hand on my forehead as I remember leaving it in the kitchen after cleaning up.