She had fond memories of the salvage yard. Whenever she thought of it, she pictured a heated sun beating down on dry, yellow gravel. She heard it crunch like it always did under her feet as she saw herself hide behind the towers of crumbled cars all those years ago. She remembered the old, sleepy Rottweiler lazing on the hood of a faded, blue Ford truck and how it used to exhale loudly through its nose every time she surprised it by giving it a pat on the head. These events hadn't transpired over a long period of time. In fact, she estimated that they had all taken place during a few months before she moved to Nebraska, but their mundanity had left a lasting impression on her, maybe because it was the last time she had felt truly normal.
As she parked her Ute, however, she knew something was wrong. Rumsfeld did not lift his head up in interest at her arrival. He was missing from the Ford altogether. It was because of his unexplained absence that she knew she had miscalculated the severity of the situation that had been vaguely explained to her over the phone.
Cautiously, she approached the door and knocked. Bobby came in his usual trucker cap, beard and worn jeans, pushing the fly screen open. "Thanks for coming," he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "It's good to see ya." Then he shook her affectionately and she couldn't help but smile at him.
"Where is it?" she asked, making her way into his house.
"Living room."
She turned into said room and felt a brief spell of surprise at the unexpected presence of two men. They were crouched in front of something, blocking her view of it, with their backs facing her. Bobby never had visitors.
"Oh yeah, forgot to tell you," he said, coming from behind. His voice caused the two strangers to stand and turn. They had assumed they were the ones being addressed so it came as a shock when they saw her; a petite, olive-skinned woman with her black hair parted in the middle and tied in a low ponytail. "Sam and Dean Winchester."
She stared at them, wondering where she had seen them before. The name was definitely one she had heard but it wasn't just that that seemed familiar. As she looked at them, she took in their hair, brown and shaggy, short and sandy, and their clothes, that boyish style of jacket and jeans. Her gaze fell onto the necklace one of them was wearing. Its gold sheen battled with the blue of his denim shirt, left unbuttoned to reveal a dark grey tee within. There was no mistaking that she had seen it before.
"Aggie Munn," Bobby said, and the two men nodded at her. The taller one made an effort to smile but, at this point, she didn't know who was Sam and who was Dean. What she did know was that, when she looked at the taller one, he sensed familiarity from her, too. But, just like her, he couldn't remember from where and couldn't fathom why.
She looked towards what they had been inspecting before her arrival, what she had come here for—the dead body. One glance told her that it was a woman. Her hair was short and bleached blonde, blood trailing down several parts of her face and even pooling at her Cupid's bow. Another glance at the surroundings—the ceiling, the disarray of the room, the chair in the middle—told her the cause of death. "Demonic possession?" she guessed, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from the back pocket of her jeans. She immediately sensed a shift in the atmosphere after she said this. The Winchesters relaxed now that they knew she had come here for a reason, a supernatural reason that saved them from awkward explanations, but they also felt the need to be a little more guarded. Who exactly was she and why was she here?
"Yep," Bobby said. He turned and began to herd the boys into the kitchen towards the backdoor. "You better hurry up and beat it, before the paramedics get here."
"You called the paramedics?" she said, displeased. It meant that she now had to hurry with her job.
"What are you gonna tell them?" the shorter one asked. He had a pleasant voice.
"You think you boys invented lying to the cops? I'll figure something out." Bobby plucked a large book from the dining table and handed it to the other brother. "Here, take this. You might need it."
"Thanks," he said. The first word that popped into Aggie's head was 'soothing'. She supposed he did well comforting others with his tone.
"Thanks," his brother agreed, "for everything. Be careful, all right?"
"You just go find your dad," Bobby said, "and when you do, you bring him around, would ya? I won't even try to shoot him this time."
They left and, by the time Bobby turned around, Aggie had taken care of Meg's body. Her clean-up speed never failed to astound him and although he never asked how she did it or where the bodies went, he always wondered.
"So which one's which?" she asked, throwing some things in the bin in the kitchen.
"Tall one's Sam," Bobby said. He watched her nod and ponder something for a moment. "What?"
"Nothing." She shook her head, as if shaking away her thoughts. "Care to explain the body?"
And so, over a much needed cup of coffee and some stale biscuits he had lying around, Bobby told her about the Winchesters' hunt for the so-called 'Yellow-Eyed Demon' and the history behind it.