A/N: I don't know what's happening to me. After posting that last oneshot, I just wanted to keep writing about Bobby. I'm trying to make her as not-Mary-Sueish as I can, but I did want her to have something cool about her. Voila, necromancer!
Now, I know the way I portray necromancers is different than the way the show does, but I have an excuse. If you ever get the chance, read "Hold Me Closer, Necromancer" by Lish MacBride (or is it McBride?) and it's sequel. It's funny and odd and makes Monty Python references, so it wins in my book. But, I always thought there should be a wider definition to necromancy instead of "doing stuff with dead people" (which sounds a lot like necrophilia, but let's just leave that out completely).
I've started watching "Buffy" again, so the reference just slipped in. And my Doctor Who love peeked in as well. Because if I'm going to make a daughter OC, she's at least going to be a geeky OC. This is going to be a two-shot, so be expecting another chapter sometime in the next two weeks. I'm not sure when, as I have school and music stuff coming up, but I will try to get it up soon.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters. I only own my OC, Bobby, and the plot.
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
(Saying, "Don't be afraid")
"(Don't Fear) The Reaper" -Blue Öyster Cult
She's just celebrated her 23rd birthday almost two weeks ago, so when Bobby wakes up around one in the morning to see an old man with a scythe standing over her, she's a bit pissed off.
She's too young to die.
"Come on, cutie, time to get up," Dean yells from the kitchen. They've got a big day ahead. Maggie and Amanda want to have a big family photo shoot in the snow today, so everyone needs to be fully packed and bundled before 11:30. But it's 10:53 and his daughter has yet to appear.
"Bobby!" Dean looks up the stairs, waiting for his (Oh, God) 23 year old progeny to burst out on the foyer and start freaking out.
Nothing.
He's getting a little annoyed now. He marches upstairs, raising his voice to say, "Mary-Joan Winchester, if you don't get up right-", but he cuts off when he throws her door open.
Because his daughter is still in bed, but she's not breathing.
"Help," Dean manages to squeak. He's taking slow steps over to the bed, looking at the body curled up in her "wubby", the quilt her mother made for her from his old flannel and t shirts. He finally gets there and barely grazes his fingers over her ice cold cheek.
There's this ringing in his ears as he picks her up and cradles her in his arms. He realizes he never stopped saying "help" and he starts saying it louder.
"Help. HeLP. HELP. HELP!"
But it's too late.
"Necromancers are special," Her mother croons in the back of her mind. "We help the dead. And God. We can live as long as we want, and when we choose to die, Death himself is our reaper."
This is what Bobby is thinking when she is suddenly transported from her bedroom to Brooklyn Bridge by Death himself. She's standing there in her Star Wars pants and Doctor Who shirt, barefoot and very confused.
"Did you know that over 150 people try to jump off this bridge each year?"
Bobby looks over at the old man. He's gazing over the water almost wistfully.
"More people try and kill themselves on Valentine's Day than any other day of the year, you know," she offers. Death's eyes snap over to her and he smirks. "Of course you know, you're Death."
"And you're Mary-Joan Winchester. The daughter of a necromancer and a hunter, an oxymoron."
"Gee, thanks."
"Simply stating a fact. There was only a slight chance of you being conceived, a smaller one of being a girl, and the smallest chance of surviving this long. And yet, here you are," he said, leaning against the stone railing. Bobby joined him.
"But I'm dead now, so what's the point?"
"The point? There is no point really. I've just decided it's time for your training."
"My mo-"
"Your mother never planned on making you one of her kind. But, you have a purpose to fulfill and you weren't going to fulfill it with them."
"I thought there was no point."
"Well, I lied."
They stand there in silence for a few minutes before Bobby speaks.
"Why did you kill me?'
Death looks over at her and smirks. "Did your mother never tell you anything about being a necromancer?"
"Well, some stuff, I guess, like you being their reaper and the big "Those People Are Not Really Necromancers, They Are Blood Witches Who Think They're Necromancers" speech. But if she wasn't going to train me, like you said, why would she tell me any more?"
"Christ, you really are her daughter, " Death says and starts walking down the sidewalk, motioning for her to join him. "To have a full understanding of death and the dead, a necromancer needs to die themselves. Then they can start learning."
Bobby stares at him as they stroll down the snowy bridge, the lights of New York City lighting their way. "Learning what?"
"Blood magic, how to read and speak teloah, oth-"
"Teloah?"
"The language of the dead. Literally means "death" in Enochian. As I was saying, other forms of basic magic, how to create a book of worship, defense, secrets to the resurrection, yada yada yada."
"Sounds intense."
"It is. It will take a long time anywhere between a year to fifteen . Depends on how much effort you put into it."
By then, they had reached the end of the bridge and were standing on the curb, as if they were waiting for something, Bobby wasn't sure what.
"And who will teach me these things?"
"I will."
"Why?"
"As I said, Mary-Joan, you have a purpose. And a holy one at that."
Bobby contemplates this as a white Cadillac swoops up next to them. Death opens the passenger door and holds it as she gets in, cold air swooping up her pajama pant leg. Death appears in the driver's seat and raises his eyebrow at her. "Why are you staring at me?"
"If we're gonna do this, if you're gonna be the Giles to my Buffy, you're gonna need to start calling me Bobby. I'm not Mary-Joan, despite whatever records you have. I'm Bobby with a "y", not an "ie", or an "i". Just Bobby."
"Duly noted. And what is this "Giles" you speak of?"
"Ohmygod, really?"
Onto Part Two!
Please rate and review!
