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Chuck had his own unique way of taking care of his girlfriend. He never gave her flowers, stuffed puppies and teddy bears, never took her for a picnic in a park and was utterly terrified of the idea of meeting her parents.
Instead, he made sure she knew her way around exorcisms and protecting spells. He found a friend of a friend who made her an anti-possession tattoo. He found another friend that taught her to handle a gun – although he himself had no idea what to do with it. “That archangel on my shoulder,” he said once, “sure will protect me, no matter what. And he even might protect you, if you’re right next to me. But he wouldn’t do shit if you’re even in the next room. You should be able to take care of yourself.”
When he was sure that she’d learned her spells and exorcisms, he’d taught her a couple of prayers – in English, Greek and Enochian. He didn’t speak Greek or Enochian, and when Becky asked him how he knew the prayers, he laughed and answered that he wasn’t drunk enough just yet to be able to tell her. She left it at that, and learned the prayers, even if her boyfriend couldn’t quite tell her where and how to use them. He didn’t think that going to church or praying to God every day was a good idea.
Apart from that, even though he was not your typical perfect boyfriend, he was obviously making effort. He took her to a movie once, and looked incredibly cute with two cola bottles and a huge bucket of popcorn. He sent her flowers, two days after he forgot about her birthday. He even did meet her parents – her dad hated him at first sight, the feeling was mutual, but he tried, he really tried.
Which was exactly why his “I respect you too much” speech came as a total shock. One day everything was perfect, and the next day he comes to her place, looks like he hasn’t slept for days and tells her he’d met someone else and he’s breaking up with her.
Of course, Becky didn’t believe it at first. She was sure something had been wrong, and tried to make him talk. When it didn’t work and he left anyway – she tried calling, several times. When, after three (or maybe six, or twelve) calls, he finally picked up, he told her, in a very, very patient voice, that he was really, really fine, and he would really, really appreciate her not calling him ever again. A female voice in the background asked “who’s calling, sweetie?” and Becky hung up. The bastard.
***
At first she tried to drown her sorrow in soft drinks and strawberry ice cream, but when it didn’t really work – she went back to fanfiction, which she’d really lost interest in, for a while. Now she stayed away from Supernatural for some time – watching TV shows and reading “real books” – the ones, you know, without monsters. She even wrote several fics in other fandoms – Doctor/Master mostly, but also a couple of Clark/Lex and such – she was really into hate!sex those days. But eventually, couple of dozen bad fics and hundreds of hours of TV shows later, she suddenly realized, that her Grey/Jack were actually Sam/Dean, and her Doctor/Master were suspiciously resembling Michael/Lucifer, and so on, so on... So she figured – what the hell, and bought the books she’d missed.
After she read the last one she actually cried. It’s one thing to watch a sad movie or to read an upsetting book – knowing that, however good the plot is, it’s not real. It’s totally different when you know that Sam has actually gone to hell to save the world. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could possibly do about it.
She even swallowed her pride and tried to call Chuck after that. His phone was switched off, and a call to the publisher revealed a romantic story that “Mr. Edlund” disappeared from his house right after having finished the last book, and no one had seen him ever since. The numbers Becky believed to be Sam’s or Dean’s didn't answer either, none of them. With Chuck missing, and the numbers not answering, she didn’t have much left but to get back to her pathetic little SPN fanfiction world. It’s funny how she’d never noticed before how silly all those girls were. She would read a new fic and her only thoughts would be “Sam would never say that!”, “Dean would never act that way!”. And really, how stupid is it, to write fiction about real people. Real people who saved the world, and sacrificed themselves in the process.
She wrote a fix-it, of course she did. Sam was magically brought back to life as a side effect of a good old fuck-or-die spell, everyone got married and lived happily ever after. Yeah. That didn’t help, not even a little. After you’ve met the real heroes, after you’ve dated a prophet and seen real monsters, it’s, as it turned out, really impossible to go back to your cosy little life with a stupid office job, badly-written fiction and a cat, and be even a little bit happy. She figured that much. After you’ve seen all that, there’s no going back to your simple suburban world, no matter how much that, other real world doesn’t want you.
And it’s not like she was just sitting there angsting over her messed up life. She changed a job – from one stupid underpaid office routine to another. She went to comic cons. She volunteered – helping people, even without killing things, was supposed to be satisfying. Helping little sick children, bringing food to lonely disabled people, spending all her spare money on various charity projects – that was supposed to make her feel better. It didn’t. Nothing did.
Sam was in Hell, Chuck was missing, Dean was wasting his life living a dream he never had. And Becky was struggling through her pathetic regular life with a stupid job and a cat. Probably she should take up hunting. Yes. That’s a good thought. Someday.