Author's Note

Greetings. This is a story referred to the "Omaha" things Bobby and Rufus argued in 6.16. So, yeah, this is Bobby-Rufus fic. It's kind of my own version of what happened in Omaha.

Sorry for the grammatical errors you might find. English is not my first, second or third language and I haven't got any beta yet.

Hope you enjoy reading. Give me some feedback (anything about the story, plot, diction, or the grammatical errors) and if I you think you liked it; please tell me so I could continue writing this story :)


Bobby sipped Rufus' favourite drink—Johnny Walker Blue Label—after pouring some of it to the grave. He exhaled heavily as the memories circling around his mind. He tought of Dean's words; about he and Rufus are being family in the end. That's quite right, Bobby thought so. Blanket apology for all the crap. Yeah. Bobby really hoped that Rufus would gratitiously send apologies for him after all those crap—especially after he stabbed Rufus till death.

And Bobby wished he could tell those boys about the fact he had finally revealed after Rufus' death. The fact from the past that linked him to Rufus, to the boys, and every shit that happened in their life afterward. Instead, Bobby drank his whisky, and left the grave in silence.


Sandusky, Starlight Cannery, midnight.

Bobby's ancient cranial saw buzzing as Rufus plug the cable on. He teased Bobby for his dumpster-diving hobby—a term Rufus used when they were hunting together. Bobby was good on finding and keeping useful tools, that's one thing Rufus like from Bobby.

But Rufus hated it when Bobby started babbling about Omaha. Tracing his memory back to year 1993, in the day when everything went wrong had never been a pleasure to him. Rufus heard it clearly that Bobby was apologizing again, maybe this counted as the hundredth times. An apology. Was it enough to feel sorry of what you've done? A regret wouldn't change a thing. What had been done is done. It's over. She would never return, and Rufus would never forgive Bobby for what happened there.

Damn, Rufus thought. Once a trigger about Omaha being pulled, that moment would just replayed vividly in his mind. He tried to focus on the cranial saw when suddenly Samuel got up from the table. For a second Rufus was glad, for he got something to distract his mind from Omaha. From her.

South Dakota, decades ago, one warm noon

That warm fine day in Sioux Falls can be counted as a custom hunting-trip-day for Rufus. But letting a demon escaped before he sent that thing back to hell wasn't a part of his hunting customary. Rufus never really like the exorcise thing. He would prefer killing Ghouls or other things than facing devils.

The demon possessed an old lady who owned a fine pie shop. He was about to start reading the lines of the Rituale Romanum, threaten her to tell Rufus why she was there—a demon won't walk freely on earth without a brief reason. She was some pigheaded demon who kept her mouth shut no matter how hard Rufus tried to make her talk. Rufus had emptied his holy water on her nonetheless she wouldn't say a thing. Then suddenly out of nowhere, the wind blew,smacked the windows open, blowing the salt circles that surrounded the demon. (Rufus didn't have enough time to draw any Devil's Trap). As always, the angry demon cursed, said that Rufus would pay for torturing her. Then it was gone as a chirping black cloud, left the old lady lifeless that Rufus had to bury her. He feel sorry for the old lady-who looked like the old-version of Julie Andrews, one of the young rising star at that time.

Rufus slammed his trunk, throwing shovel he had just used to bury the Julie-Andrew-looked old lady in the old abandoned farm, few miles from the town.

"One more failure", Rufus sigh, felt a little pissed off. But then Rufus decided to multiply his pissed-o-meter when he couldn't start his engine. He jumped out from his seat only to see how broken and wrecked his truck was. One of the headlights was broken. There were dents everywhere. He remembered hitting a draug and some gravestones in a cemetery. There was also a night when a large loup-garou fell into his truck. And the other night when he was to sleepy to drive that he hit a lamppost somewhere he couldn't remember. Rufus had no other idea what made his truck looks more fit to be put in the savage yard. He only knew that his truck needed to be repaired before his next hunting trip.

That's when Rufus thought that he…

"Need a lift?" a sound completed his sentence.

Rufus looked up to see a man in a crane wagon, couldn't be any older than him who had just celebrate his 26 birthday. Singer Auto Self Service Salvage Yard was written on the wagon's door. Rufus gave a quick scrutinize to him. That man didn't seem harmful—his hunter instict has been shaped to always-suspicious-to-stranger-mode."Well, yeah, absolutely," said Rufus when he was quite sure that that man was somewhat trustable.

"And that thing looks like need a lift too." The man in the wagon nodded to the ruined truck.

Rufus grinned sheepishly. "Obviously. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Singer." Rufus threw a lucky guess on the man's name.

"No worries. Bob Singer at your service. You can also call me Bobby anyway."

Rufus answered with a smile.

No worries. Rufus liked the way Bobby said that words effortlessly. But somehow, there's something Rufus still worried about the demon who didn't give him a clue or reason about her presence in South Dakota. Something, as his hunter instinct told him, was wrong.

"By the way, what's your name Mister Stranger?" Bobby asked as he drove.

"It's—" Rufus was about to tell Bobby that his name was Luther Vandross, instead he said, "Turner, Rufus Turner."

Bobby grinned. "Well, Rufus, nice to meet you."