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The large clock on the wall ticks eleven as the rain hits the window. Grace Singer should have been home hours ago but she has a stack of cases on her large pine desk that all need to be neatly tied up in a pretty bow. She became a cop because she thought it would be a good cover for being a hunter she never knew that she would actually enjoy it. However, she has a little boy at home who needs his mother so she finishes the file in front of her. Her radio turns itself on and there is nothing but static making the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. She has learnt that the sound of white noise usually means troubles coming. The light bulb in the lamp starts to flicker and then there's this sound so high that it breaks the glass of the window on the door of her office. Her ears hurt with the power of that sound.
What the hell?
She grabs her trusty gun, not her regular pistol but her hunting gun with the salt bullets and the cult symbols. She might love being Sheriff of this small little backwater but she's a hunter first. She is after all Bobby Singer's little girl.
Dean Winchester is saved.
A voice is in her head and it tells that Dean is safe. She so wants it to be true, that Dean could be free from the pit and it unnerves her because what has that sort of power? Nothing good and that's for sure.
The radio turns off and the air is still with tension. It's over. She picks up the broom and tidies up, she'll blame it on some drunk smashing it and as the CCTV camera in the corridor by her office conveniently never works they will have to believe her.
She leaves her office and all that paperwork right where it is and goes home. Dean might be alive. Those four words echo in her mind forcing everything else into the background and her body on autopilot. She picks up her phone and calls her Dad.
"Grace?" His voice asks.
"Yeah it's me, Dad this is going to sound mega crazed but is Dean there?" She asks leaving room for laughter.
Only Bobby doesn't laugh he does the worst thing possible, he goes quiet and there's them Goosebumps again.
"Dad?" She calls needing him not to freak out on her.
"No need to shout scout," he answers. He sounds drunk but then he's grieving the loss of a son. "Dean is dead baby; Lilith collected her debt like the repo-men who took the TV."
Grace stares at the receiver like there's dangerous blue sparks dancing off it. Her Dad's analogy leaves her cold, he's right of course but Dean's soul was more important than some idiot box. "They took the TV?" She asks trying to push the image of Dean being ripped apart from her mind. She needs the trivial right now. She could even handle that file on the shoplifting teenager over that image.
"I missed a few payments, still got the radio," he answers pushing it under the carpet. "Scout you know that Dean isn't coming back, don't you?"
"Then why did we burry him?" She asks. It's a fair question as hunters usually are burnt on pyres like Vikings as too much bad stuff can happen to an empty corpse like procession or ghouls.
"Because of Sammy," Bobby sighs. Grace can pretty much hear him frown. "Why do you think he's back anyhow? What was it a dream, or something?" He asks, it's another fair question but one she has no clue how to answer.
"Uh, something like that," she sighs. "Must have dosed off at work again, you know too much paperwork not enough coffee that kind of thing." She hates lying to her father not even when she's playing cards and so she babbles.
"Scout what's wrong?" He asks, "Gracie?"
"Nothing, I just miss him is all." She massages her right temple like she does when she's stressed, it's her only tell. "Sorry to worry you Dad, but I'm fine and so is Sean."
"Good, keep it that way,"
She smiles, "Yes sir." She hangs up the phone and gets out of the patrol car. She's home now with her pink tinted yellow roses and the tyre swing in the front yard, she built a proper home for her and her boy. She was brought up in a scrap yard and Sean's father lost his home when he lost his mother.
Sean is sat at the dining table with his homework and his favourite babysitter Quinn. He looks up at her with carbon copied green eyes and smiles; there is nothing physical off her in him he's all Dean. "Mom," he beams and her heart swells with pride and that tidal wave of unconditional love.
"Hey champ," she smiles roughing up his brown hair. "How's senior year going Quinn?" She asks smiling at the pretty red head in her cheerleading uniform.
"Fine Sheriff," she smiles back.
"Are we still okay for Thursday?"
"Yeah sure," she smiles. Grace never had much time for cheerleaders they usually spent too much time with Dean for her liking. Stupid freaking Dean, why does everything have to come back to him?
She sees the cheerleader home across the street and closes the door on the big bad world. She lays down some fresh salt and tries to forget the weirdness at the cop shop.