The End's Beginning
Someone was watching her. She could feel it, that familiar tingling sensation at the back of her neck which made the tiny hairs there stand to attention.
The seat in front of her was empty, and the bus driver was humming the tune to a song Serena didn't bother to recognize. She adjusted the reflective aviator shades over her eyes, pressing it hard against the bridge of her nose and ducking her head between her shoulders. She dug through one of the front pockets of her jacket, her fingers closing around the powder compact she kept there.
She pulled it out and flipped it open, dusting an extra layer of powdery foundation over her cheeks, trying hard not to let the apprehension twisting inside her chest show in her expression. Discreetly, she angled the mirror away from her and towards the back of the bus, trying to get a good look at everyone behind her.
There was a young couple leaning against each other at the back of the bus, asleep, and a woman was reading a Catherine Coulter novel in the seat a little further up from them. Her heart almost leaped out of her throat when she caught sight of the young man grinning at her reflection in the mirror, but she forced herself to relax. Stop it, she told herself, He's harmless...
The young man was sitting two seats behind her on the other side of the large Greyhound bus, probably just trying to flirt with her. He was even handsome.
Serena flushed, putting away her powder compact and sinking deeper into the corner of her seat in a halfhearted attempt to disappear. She pulled the hood of her slimming blue pullover over her head, worn underneath her jacket.
She was anxious, but she told herself it was over nothing. No one noticed her except the young man two seats behind her, who had gotten on the bus at their last stop at Sioux City, Iowa. His hair was close-cropped and his cheeks were as smooth as hers, he couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than her. He wore a standard issue USMC Army Combat Uniform, and Serena guessed he might've been a Marine who was heading home from Iraq to spend some quality time with his family, and maybe a girlfriend. He wasn't after her, surely.
But someone was.
She wasn't naïve, not anymore. She'd been through too much to let her guard down now, or ever again.
With her fingers, Serena traced the flimsy white gauze wrapped around her forearm, hidden underneath her sleeve. The memories were still fresh in her head, but she'd long since developed a numbness which left her unfeeling every time she'd remember the whole ordeal, as if it had happened to someone else. It was her mind's way of coping. She could barely make out the images anymore, like looking through the unfocused lens of a bad camera, but perhaps it was better that way.
She pressed her forehead to the window beside her seat and stared at the looming sign coming up alongside the highway. It read Sioux Falls – 15 miles in bold white letters against a green backdrop.
Just one more hour, she thought desperately, just sixty more minutes, and I won't have to worry about any of that. No one knew about her Uncle Bobby, no one. At least for awhile, she'd be safe, and Serena was willing to take what little ephemeral sense of security she could get.
An hour later, the bus slowed to a stop, and when Serena carefully stepped out of it she was afraid for an instant that the young Marine would try to follow her. But he didn't, no one did.
As the bus ambled onward and blew ugly black smoke out of its exhaust pipes, Serena stood there, alone, shouldering a duffel bag full of eight sets of clothing she'd hurriedly grabbed from her closet. She stared at the young Marine one last time as the bus lazily drove off into the distance, and saw him turn around in his seat to watch her.
Serena tamped down on her nerves. She was glad for her shades, because then the Marine couldn't be sure if she was staring right back at him, and she was. But Serena was certain now, he had just wanted to flirt with her on the bus, not hurt her.
It was late into the month of April, and the climate was crisp but cold in Sioux Falls this time of year, the stinging chill nipping at her skin and flushing her pale cheeks and sensitive lips. It was a miserable weather for most people, but Serena didn't mind it too much. She had learned to survive on less, and was relatively comfortable in her leather suede boots and snug woolen gloves.
As she walked alongside the deserted rural highway, she thought absently that the Marine had lousy taste in women.
…
The house looked like a large, withered old shack amidst the salvage yard. It had two stories and many windows, most of which revealed very little besides dark foreboding shadow. There was a collection of rusty hubcaps pinned to the exterior of the house, which had once been painted a bright navy blue, but over the years the color had faded and was layered with a thin film of grime. Various other piles of car parts were scattered around the vicinity, but despite its old age and the organized chaos surrounding it, Serena imagined it might have once been a hospitable, typically All-American home.
But that had obviously been a long time ago, and now the house appeared far from welcoming. If anything, the place gave the impression that no one was welcome here at all.
There was an outdated, pale blue Ford tow-truck parked by the house which was, unsurprisingly, dilapidated and rusty. The paintjob was faded and chipped in some areas, revealing an undercoating of white underneath, but otherwise it appeared to be in a good enough condition to drive.
What did surprise her, however, was the enormous black Rottweiler lying idly upon the hood of the truck, one end of a long, thin chain attached to its collar and the other end tied loosely around the bough of a nearby tree growing alongside the house.
The Rottweiler growled, as if it could sense her presence even in its sleep. It blinked, fluttering its eyes open and regarding her with guarded disinterest.
Serena stood very still a few yards across from it, trying to appear as harmless as possible. She was careful not to let her own fear show on her face, or else the huge dog would mistake it for hostility and surely swallow her whole.
Taking care as to make no sudden movements, she slowly placed her duffle bag on the dirt floor, plucking her aviator shades off of her nose and tucking it into the collar of her pullover so that she was looking directly into its big brown eyes now, a wary smile stretched thin across her face. Her hands were trembling, but she tried to ignore it.
The Rottweiler raised its big wet nose and sniffed at the air, as if it could determine whether or not she was a threat just by her scent alone. Its nostrils flared, its breath coming out in thick white vapors.
And then it plopped its massive head back onto its forepaws with a grunt, disregarding her altogether. It was uncertain whether the huge dog had decided she was harmless, or it was just too lazy to bother with her.
Serena let out the breath that she'd been holding, exuding relief. Wispy white steam rolled off her parted lips, disappearing into the bracing April air as quickly as it manifested.
She tucked her shades over her eyes again and tugged at the hood around her head, as if to make sure it was still there. She'd hid her face behind them for so long that it felt odd without them on.
Shrugging her duffel bag over her shoulder once more, she walked across the short distance between her and the huge dog, and gratefully scratched behind one of its big floppy ears. The Rottweiler mewled appreciatively, licking her fingers with its enormous tongue when she'd pulled away to touch the thin metal tag fastened to its studded leather collar. The tag read: Rumsfeld.
Serena smiled a little. "Thanks for not eating me, Rumsfeld," she quipped. She'd always had a soft spot for pets, and they always seemed to warm up to her in return. It was no different with Rumsfeld.
"Good for nothing mutt never did make a decent watchdog…" A guttural, southern drawl grumbled from somewhere nearby.
With a start, Serena looked up, resisting the instinctive urge to turn around and run, her hands quickly falling to her sides as she twisted to face the general direction of the voice.
A bearded, relatively old man stood at the edge of the porch to the house. He was dressed in working boots, faded jeans and a flak vest over a flannel lumberjack shirt. His clothes gave her the impression of a burly trucker; he even had a trucker's hat over his thinning, grayish-brown hair to top it off.
Serena's gaze fell on the sawed-off shotgun dangling from his right hand. He wasn't aiming it at her, but that didn't make the firearm any less dangerous.
Serena ignored it. She might have been afraid, had she honestly believed he would hurt her. She couldn't bring herself to fear this man, not really. But she still had the sense to be careful, guarded. She was always guarded these days.
"Hi," She managed to say, her voice unusually flat. Her hand gingerly rose to touch Rumsfeld's head, as if seeking protection or maybe comfort, but the huge dog was already asleep.
Bobby Singer's fingers tightened around his shotgun imperceptibly, but he did not raise it at her. He peered down at her, wary. "Who're you?"
He didn't recognize her, Serena realized, but that came as no surprise. She'd met him only once when she was seven, and couldn't quite remember much about him herself. All those years ago, her parents had been fighting, and her mother had taken Serena with her to stay at their estranged brother-in-law's for a few days. Serena didn't remember him owning a dog back then.
She took off her shades and pulled back the hood of her pullover so that it fell around her neck. She shook her head slightly and bright, wheat-gold hair tumbled past her shoulders in a current of soft curls.
Bobby's eyes widened faintly in recognition, but he was still uncertain. "Irene?"
Serena smiled wryly. "No, I'm her daughter. Serena, remember?"
Bobby stared, and an odd, incredulous look crinkled his forehead. "You got… big…" He managed to say, awkwardly trying in vain to hide the sawed-off shotgun behind him, as if he'd been caught with something unseemly. It was almost comical, seeing a grown man look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Yeah, ten years will do that to a girl." Serena laughed gently, and then she gestured to the firearm behind him, "You don't have to hide that, by the way. Poppa had one just like it; he liked to flash it around, too. You know, men and their toys."
Bobby's brows rose, not expecting her clever remark. And then he sighed, almost ruefully, "You're definitely Irene's girl." He gave her a measured look, a single brow raised, until he finally asked, "What're you doin' in Sioux Falls?"
Serena shrugged. "I needed a place to stay for awhile, and I remembered my Uncle Bobby in Sioux Falls."
"Where are your parents, Serena?"
"They… they're gone."
Bobby's brows furled. "What do you mean gone?"
"Gone," Serena repeated, suddenly withdrawn. She was staring at the empty space over Bobby's shoulder, unable to look him directly in the eyes as she spoke to him. "I was hoping that I could stay here for awhile. I won't bother you, I promise. It's just until I'm eighteen. I'm still considered a minor, so I can't live alone right now. It was either this, or foster care."
Bobby's head was bowed, his thumb and index finger pinching the space between his furrowed brows as a grim look fell over his face. "How?"
Serena blinked. "How what?"
He looked up at her then, abruptly. His gaze was fierce. "How did they die?"
The question struck her like a physical blow. She heard the righteous fury in his voice, and even the grief carefully hidden underneath. It reminded her of her own despair, the initial feelings of anger and anguish upon realizing her parents were dead and they were never, ever coming back.
Serena's throat felt tight. She brought her hand up against the hood of the tow-truck, using it as a crutch, suddenly unable to hold herself up on her own.
"Serena, tell me!"
"I—I don't know!" Serena snapped, "I woke up, and it was dark. 3 AM, I think. I went upstairs to look for them, and their bedroom door was open. They looked like they were sleeping but… but there was so much blood." She didn't know why she was saying all of this now, dredging up that terrible memory she'd fought so hard to forget, to move on. She'd gone so long without even thinking about it, and yet somehow the words seemed to burst out of her mouth unbidden, as if all of her pent-up anger and pain were finally spilling over and she had no control over it.
Serena shut her eyes tightly, struggling to suppress the image of red, red blood seeping through thin linen bed sheets and dripping onto the carpet, splattered on the walls.
She sucked in a deep breath and willed herself to calm down, working through the pain until she felt nothing for the memory, for the loss. It was the way she coped: putting up barriers around herself, hiding behind a pretense of optimism and naïveté, running away from the truth. The truth hurt, the truth terrified her, and so she buried it with the rest of her despair.
Bobby made a move to walk up to her, but Serena visibly balked at this, so he hesitated. He decided to keep his distance.
"Do you know what might have killed them, Serena?" He demanded, the urgency thick in his voice.
Serena looked at him as if he were a stranger, a madman. "What are you talking about? They were men. Two of them…I think." She blinked hard, brows furrowed; her head felt like it was spinning.
"Was there anything strange about them, anything at all?"
"Yeah," Serena spat, furious that he'd ask her these unusual questions without any consideration to her frail emotional state, "They were dead."
"What?"
"They were dead, and much worse off than my parents," She explained tightly, fighting to keep her breathing even. Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry in front of this man. She wasn't weak, not anymore. "It was like their entire bodies were burned, inside and out. It was horrible. Their faces were completely melted off, but I know they were the murdering bastards that did it. The knives were still clenched in their hands…"
"Where were they?"
"I… I found them like that in my bedroom," She explained stiffly, staring at the dirt beneath her feet as if in confusion.
"Your bedroom?" Bobby spoke, alarmed, "Where were you?"
He was asking out of concern, that's all it was, but Serena mistook it for suspicion. Her mind was reeling.
She held her hand to her head, kneading the area around her temple which seemed to throb painfully. "I was downstairs. I—I think I fell asleep on the couch that night, but… I don't remember. I don't want to remember! I don't—!" She couldn't remember. It hurt too much, her head was pounding, her eyes suddenly unfocused. She felt her knees buckle beneath her, the world was spinning and she was falling.
She would've hit the ground headfirst in a miserable heap were it not for Bobby's surprisingly quick reflexes. He was fast for an old man, she noticed absently. His burly arms caught her in time and held her upright, her head awkwardly lolling against his shoulder.
Bobby was calling out her name, urging her to stay awake, and she tried, but her eyelids weighed like lead and the darkness crept around the edges of her vision until it swallowed her whole. When she finally resigned herself to oblivion, her head no longer hurt, and the tragic memories of blood and death were gone at last. She welcomed it with a tiny smile.
...
He was calling out to her still when she woke up the next morning, stunned and vaguely disoriented.
Serena stiffly opened her eyes, wincing as the light stung her pupils and a dull pain blossomed inside her skull, starting at the space between her eyebrows and spreading all over her face. Even her teeth hurt.
Serena groaned. Bobby was shaking her lightly, his callused fingers firmly closed around her shoulders, holding her tight as if he were afraid she'd fall to pieces if he just loosened his grip. His grip on her shoulders was protective, powerful, almost comforting, but her senses were oversensitive and even the slightest movement seemed to add strength to her headache.
She tried to push him away, her movements sluggish, but he stopped shaking her once he'd realized she was awake. She blinked hard, refocusing her vision until Bobby's face was no longer just a blur of primary colors, and she saw the ragged look about him. He was sitting on a folding chair close beside her, and a low coffee table was behind him. His hat was gone, his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his hands through them for hours, and he didn't look like he'd slept for at least a day.
"Uncle… Bobby?" She mumbled, her brows furrowing. She stared at his hands gripping her shoulders, and then her gaze slowly met his, confused. "What happened?"
Bobby carefully let go of her, his hands falling to rest on his knees. "You passed out," He managed to say.
Tiredly, Serena rubbed her eyes with her hand. "Oh."
She wasn't outside in the yard anymore, but lying on worn, comfortable cushions—an old sofa, she realized, as she took in the new environment. She was in the living room of his home, if you could call it that. There was an old fireplace nearby, deep orange flames crackling gently within the hearth, and there were masses of books piled against the walls, and a small writing desk nearby. But there were no pictures on the walls, and somehow that saddened her more than it should have.
A woolen blanket surrounded her, bundled up around her waist as she sat upright. Her jacket and gloves were gone, as well as her boots. She was still in her blue pullover and skinny jeans, and a pair of socks that didn't quite match. Her clothes felt slightly damp, matted with sweat.
Serena tried to imagine a burly bear of a man like Bobby Singer carrying her tiny body into the ramshackle house, laying her over the sofa and pulling off her jacket and shoes before tucking a blanket over her sleeping form. She would have laughed if she had had the emotional stability to do so.
"Are you alright?" Bobby asked.
Serena didn't answer right away. She wasn't sure. She felt tired, and sad—just very sad. She didn't know why. "I think so," she said slowly. "How long have I been asleep?"
Bobby hesitated. "All day yesterday, and this morning," he admitted.
Serena's eyes widened slightly, her brows rising up over her forehead. "How come you only woke me up now?"
"You were screaming."
Serena blinked. "Oh," she mumbled, and then she eyed him, curious, "What about?"
Bobby brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "Listen, Serena… I'm sorry I asked you all those questions the other day," he apologized, changing the subject, "I wasn't thinking about how it might've affected you. I was being insensitive to your situation by acting the way I did."
Serena remembered now. Her parents were dead. She'd come to Sioux Falls, to Bobby, unsure of what she should expect from her estranged uncle, but hoping it would be refuge. Instead he'd interrogated her, asking her questions the other day—strange, seemingly pointless questions which only seemed to cause her pain.
But he apologized, even though it was clear he had no experience in comforting others. He'd gone through the trouble of letting her sleep on his sofa, pulling off her sneakers and her jacket to make her comfortable, and covering her with a blanket to keep her warm. It was apparent that he'd stayed up all night watching over her, too. These were small gestures of kindness, but they were enough to make Serena forgive him. She could never stay truly mad at anyone for a long time, anyway. It just wasn't in her nature.
She leaned back against the sofa and pulled the blanket over her collarbone, trying to relax. "I should be the one apologizing, Uncle Bobby. I guess it's a little alarming, seeing your niece for the first time in ten years—only for me to tell you that my parents are gone and I need a place to stay. It's a lot to take in. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."
"I understand why you did," Bobby reasoned, and then he shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry about your parents, Serena. I… I loved Irene as if she were my own blood."
Serena nodded, not trusting her own voice. She didn't want to talk about her parents anymore. She wanted to move on and never look back. She didn't want to be sad anymore, she was so tired of feeling miserable.
"Here, drink this," Bobby ordered suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. He had a silver flask in his hand, and he was gesturing for her to take it.
Serena eyed the small silver flask in mild confusion. "What is it?" She asked, but took it anyway. It was cool in her hands, circular in shape, and she could feel pentacles softly engraved on each side as she ran her fingertips over it.
"Don't worry, it ain't whiskey," Bobby explained.
Serena sighed. "Too bad. I could use some right about now."
Bobby scowled, "Are you crazy? You ain't even of age!"
"I was just kidding." Serena bit her lip, suppressing a laugh, "So, what's really in it?"
Still slightly miffed at the joke, Bobby muttered, "Water."
"Water," Serena repeated, giving him a blank look.
"Just drink it," He ordered sulkily.
Slightly amused, Serena did as she was told. She undid the lid and took a swig of the flask. The water was lukewarm, but she made sure to drink every last drop, assuming Bobby would not be satisfied otherwise.
When she finished, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked at him expectantly, "Well?"
Bobby gave her a grave, measured look. With a determined set of his jaw, he said, "Christo."
Serena blinked. She furrowed her brows, clearly perplexed. "What?"
Bobby let out a sigh that was not quite relief, but he didn't explain himself. "Nevermind."
Serena eyed him, brows knitted even closer as her confusion grew. "Were you always this weird?" She wondered out loud, "Actually, I don't remember you being around much the last time I was here…" She frowned, recalling the few days she'd spent here all those years ago as a child, when she was only seven.
"I was never good with kids," He admitted sheepishly.
Serena smiled sympathetically. "How good are you with young adults?"
"Probably not much better," He grumbled dryly, chuckling.
"It's only until I turn eighteen, and then I'll be out of your hair, I swear," Serena started, "I promise I won't get in your may. I'll clean up after myself, do the laundry, and I can cook, too. Well, I'm actually a terrible cook, but I can try." She was babbling and she knew it, but it was an old habit she tended to fall back to when she was nervous.
"Serena," Bobby cut in, sighing, "Of course you can stay—for as long as you like. I'd be a right bastard if I let you come all this way fer nothin'. Besides, ain't no way in hell I'd let a little thing like you be out there on your own." He smiled wryly at his small attempt at humor.
For the first time in what felt like too long, Serena grinned. It didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was genuine. She flung her arms around Bobby's neck in an unexpected hug and Bobby stiffened, clearly not accustomed to such open displays of affection.
"Thank you so much, Uncle Bobby," Serena gushed, sincerely grateful.
He barely knew her, and they weren't even related by blood. He had no obligation to her, and yet here he was, allowing her to stay with him and live in his home, helping her in her time of need. He could've easily turned her away, he had every right to. But he didn't. He was willing to let her stay, to protect her. He was practically her savior.
Knowing this, Serena didn't feel so hopelessly alone anymore.
Bobby patted her back awkwardly, not quite returning the hug, but not resisting it either.
Serena pulled away, realizing he was uncomfortable, but her smile never faltered.
Clearing his throat, Bobby said, "Listen, Serena, you don't need to call me uncle. I mean, I ain't related to you, not anymore. Not since… since your Aunt Karen passed away."
Serena's smile faded. She recognized the pain and loss in Bobby's eyes, the same pain and loss that would stare back at her whenever she looked into a mirror.
She didn't remember her mother's older sister, didn't even know how the woman had died. She had been only six months old when her Aunt Karen had passed away. Growing up, her parents had always seemed to tip-toe around the subject of her late aunt. The only thing she really knew for certain about Karen Singer was that she had had golden hair and blue eyes, genes which Serena had inherited.
But it was clear that Bobby had loved her dearly, Serena could tell just by the way he'd said her name. She must've been a wonderful woman. Serena wished her parents had told her more about her aunt, but with a heavy heart she realized it was too late now. She just had to look forward to getting to know her Uncle Bobby.
"I want to call you uncle," Serena spoke, gently taking his large hand in her tinier ones, "I know we don't know each other very well, but you're the only family I have left. So if it's okay with you, I'd like to call you Uncle Bobby." She gave him a tentative smile.
Bobby said nothing, his ears flushed and his expression growing sheepish. He nodded noncommittally, clearing his throat as he stood, pulling his cap out of his jeans' back pocket and tucking it snugly over his head. He excused himself, muttering, "Uh. Well alright. Wait here, I'll prepare a guest room for ya."
Serena watched him hurry up the staircase, disappearing upstairs. She tore her gaze away from the flight of steps and sighed. Bobby apparently wasn't the sentimental type, and she was willing to bet he almost certainly had no idea how to raise a teenager. But that was okay. She didn't need a parent, just a place to stay.
He had already agreed to let her stay, but she was beginning to feel something like guilt twist in her chest. She felt like an intruder, butting into Bobby's life like this when he was clearly not prepared for it. But she had no other options, didn't know anyone else to turn to.
She shook her head, as if to shake loose her insecurity. Bringing her hands up to rub against her arms, she swung her legs over the edge of the sofa and sat upright, now free to properly observe her surroundings.
Bobby lived like a packrat. Serena didn't consider herself very organized, but even she found the clutter a little disconcerting. There were so many books, but not enough bookshelves. It was odd; she would've never pegged Bobby for a bookworm. She vaguely remembered how he'd owned an impressive collection of books even back then, though he seemed to have accumulated even more in the ten years since she'd last visited the salvage yard. She wondered if he had read them all, and what they could be about. She wondered if he'd let her read some of them.
Growing restless, she pushed the blanket off of her and slowly attempted to stand. Her legs felt numb from disuse, her muscles tingling in protest, but she worked through the dull pain and carefully stepped forward, toward the fireplace. There was an iron poker leaning beside the fireplace, and she grabbed it, prodding the poker into the smoldering ash and firewood, rifling through the flames and leaning into the comforting heat.
Out of the corners of her eyes she caught the light filtering through the shutters of another room. Her curiosity grew when she peered through the gaping doorway, revealing the contents inside: more books, but also pictures of symbols and newspaper clippings lining the walls, and a desk at the far corner with a typewriter sitting over it, among other things.
Drawn in a way she didn't quite understand, she stepped towards the room, dropping the poker without realizing it. It clattered heavily against the paneled flooring.
…
Bobby had pulled out his cell phone from the pocket of his flak vest, deftly punching in a sequence of numbers. Bobby didn't keep contacts in his cell, there was no need; he'd already committed every phone number to memory. He pressed the cell to his ear and waited, his anticipation growing with every second the receiver hummed, unanswered.
The phone rang once, twice, and then, "Hello?"
Bobby frowned, not recognizing the voice. "Dean?"
"Um—no, I'm his brother. Who is this?"
Bobby finally recognized the voice, but it was deeper since the last time he'd heard it. "Sam?" His brows rose, mildly surprised. "Well I'll be damned, it is you."
"Sorry, but who is this?" Sam repeated, wary.
Bobby rolled his eyes. He growled into the phone, "It's Bobby, ya idgit!"
"Oh. Oh! Bobby! Wow. I mean, sorry. It's been…awhile."
"You're tellin' me," Bobby agreed, scoffing, "Last time I heard, you went off to some fancy college. Good for you."
"Yeah. Um. Thanks."
Bobby did not miss the discomfort in Sam's voice. He was hiding something.
"What're you doin' with Dean's cell?"
There was a measured silence on the other line, and then, "Dad's… missing. We're trying to find him," Sam admitted, withdrawn. "You don't by any chance happen to know where he is, do you?"
"I haven't spoken to your father in years. He and I didn't exactly see eye to eye the last time I saw him," Bobby confessed, brows knitting even further together. He wasn't surprised that John had abandoned his boys, leaving them in the dark. It wouldn't be the first time. Bobby clenched his jaw and thought, Obsessive bastard.
Sam replied dryly, "That makes two of us."
Bobby furrowed his brows. "You boys alright?"
There was another bout of silence. Bobby opened his mouth to speak, maybe change the subject and get to the matter at hand, but Sam beat him to it.
"You wanted to speak to Dean? It's why you called, right?"
"Yeah," Bobby confirmed, relieved. "He around?"
"Hold on."
There were sounds of shuffling and footsteps, and then he heard Dean's voice, a distant rumble mingling with the background noises. There was a short exchange of words between the two brothers, and then Dean's voice rang clearly through the receiver, deep and guttural and lively, as always, "Good to hear from you, Bobby. You're on speaker. Go ahead."
"I could say the same for you boys," Bobby said, and he meant it. Though he wished it had been under better circumstances, he was glad the Winchester brothers were reunited.
"What can we do ya for?" Dean quipped.
Bobby hesitated. "I need you to look into a double homicide for me," He relented.
"You think it could be our kind of job?" Dean said eagerly.
"I'm almost certain it is," Bobby answered, serious.
"Lay it on us."
"Their names were Irene and Kenneth Campbell," Bobby explained, his throat clenching a little. It was hard to say it out loud; it only made the tragedy of their deaths that much more personal. He stomped down on his anger. "They were murdered in their own home late at night by two men. Odd thing is the murder suspects were found dead at the scene, too, from what I heard."
Sam spoke, "Sounds pretty unusual, but… Bobby, are you sure this is a hunt?"
"The murder suspects were burned to a crisp, inside and out. Their faces were melted off. Apparently they were much worse off than their victims."
"What about the victims?" Sam asked grudgingly, curiosity getting the better of him. It was clear he didn't seem too thrilled about this hunt.
"They were… gutted. The knives were still clenched in the murder suspects' hands when they found the bodies."
Dean spoke, "When did it happen and where?" By the sound of his voice, he'd already made up his mind. He was going to take on this hunt.
"I'm not sure," Bobby admitted, somewhat sheepishly. He was frowning. "The Campbell's were like nomads, they didn't stay in one place for too long."
"You don't know?" Dean started, a hint of amusement and disbelief in his voice. "Bobby Singer doesn't know every detail about a potential hunt?"
It was odd, considering Bobby's borderline obsessive tendencies when it came to hunting. Bobby was usually methodical in his research, he was always prepared, but nothing had prepared him for Serena Campbell, Karen's beautiful, broken little niece. She had thrown him completely for a loop.
Bobby bristled. "Listen, I'd handle this myself if I wasn't already indisposed. You gonna take it or not?"
"Relax Bobby. We'll check it out," Dean relented, hoping to mollify the older man. Dean hadn't meant to anger him.
"Sam?" Bobby said, somewhat imploring. He had a feeling Sam wasn't as gung-ho about hunting as Dean was. "Are you in?"
"Of course he is," Dean insisted, and then, "Ow! What the—bitch, what'd you hit me for?"
"I have my laptop with me. I'll see what I can find about the murder online," Sam conceded stiffly.
"I owe you big time, boys," Bobby said, the relief and gratitude exuding from his voice. "Report to me with what you find, ya hear?"
"Yes sir," Dean complied.
"Fine," Sam grumbled.
They exchanged quick, impersonal goodbyes. Bobby was the first to hang up, switching off his phone. He snapped it shut and stared at the device, a concentrated frown pursing his mouth.
He wondered, not for the first time, if it was a good idea to let other hunters know of Irene and Kenneth's bizarre death. But he couldn't investigate their murders himself, no matter how much he wanted to. Serena was his first priority; he had to be there for her, to keep her safe.
Dean and Sam were good hunters, weren't brash and unreasonable like the rest. What's more, they were practically family. He could trust them. He had to.
"Damn it," Bobby grumbled, regretting his decision already.
…
Serena slowly paced the room, peering at the clutter of curios taking up the room. Three large windows occupied one wall, the dull sunlight slivering in through the shutters.
It appeared to be like some travesty of a home office. There was a bulletin board hung up on one wall, overflowing with memos and sketches of strange Arcanum symbols she only vaguely recognized. There were notes and papers of such symbols hung around the walls, too. An outdated computer monitor was propped on top of a filing cabinet, and the layer of dust covering it indicated it had not been used in awhile.
There was an antique breakfront filled to the brim with books, and she stood in front of it, taking the time to read the titles of a few. She didn't understand most of them, but a chill ran the length of her spine as she recognized the words witchcraft and Satanism. She stepped back in alarm, her brows drawn up to disappear behind her bangs.
Growing increasingly uncomfortable, she thought it would be best to just leave the room entirely, but her curiosity overcame her when her eyes fell on the nameless spine of a thick book tucked against the far end of the breakfront. It seemed to have been used recently, because it was not covered in dust like the others.
The book was plain and off-white in color, worn and yellowing from old age, and there was no title, just an illustration: a simple, almost crude sketch of an angel drawn in gold ink. The angel was lovely, with soft hair that fell to her feet, a gown worn snug around her bosom and fanning out around her in an empire waistline, and two powerful wings stretching out behind her. Her arms were reaching up, as if to cup the emblem above her, an upturned crescent moon.
A sense of familiarity struck Serena at the sight of the illustration, but she couldn't place where she had seen it before. She pried open the book, her fingers skimming through the pages, but there were no more pictures and the words seemed to be in a language she didn't quite understand. Still, that undercurrent of recognition remained, even as she stared at the strange arcanum symbols strewn across the pages.
"Serena."
She dropped the book with a start, and it hit the floor with a resounding thud. She whipped around to find Bobby standing solemnly under the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a vague look of displeasure crinkling his forehead.
Serena flushed. The look he was giving her made her feel as if she'd done something wrong. "I'm sorry," She blurted, not knowing what else to say. She felt an apology was the only appropriate thing to say. She bent down and retrieved the book from the floor, hastily pushing it back into the bookcase.
Bobby didn't respond. Instead, he told her plainly, "Your room's ready." He casually turned on his heel, gesturing for her to follow him as he headed back upstairs.
Serena did as she was told without a word, scurrying after him. She stared at his back for a moment as she trailed behind him, and then bit her lip as she spoke tentatively into the silence, "Uncle Bobby, why do you own so many books?"
"I study the occult. It's a hobby." He explained evenly, not missing a beat.
"Oh." More like borderline obsession, Serena thought. She supposed everyone had their quirks, some quirkier than others. Her mother had liked to read a lot, too. She tamped down on the memory before it could really bother her.
The staircase led up into a hallway on the second floor, and Bobby walked up to the first door they saw. "This'll be your room," He said, almost sheepishly, "I took the liberty of putting your bag in here while you were asleep."
Serena looked at Bobby, surprise in her widened eyes. And then she couldn't help it, she smiled, gratitude overcoming her at that moment. He had decided to let her stay all along, even before she'd woken up.
Bobby closed his hand around the brass doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open. He stepped aside to allow Serena to enter first, gesturing for her to go in.
The light came in through the only window in the room, illuminating the tiny dust particles in the air. It filtered through the sheer yellow curtains and pervaded the room with the warm buttery glow of noontime. The floor was veneered paneled wood, the wallpaper was a warm taupe color, and the room itself was sparse and somewhat dusty from disuse.
There was a wrought-iron singles bed in one corner, under the window, with feathered pillows and white sheets underneath thick beige comforters. The sheets looked to have been recently made. There was a nightstand by the bed, and a six-chest dresser nearby with a mirror propped over it. At the other end of the room there was a door, which she assumed led in to a closet.
The room was old and faintly dusty, but it was spacious and kept in good condition. Serena felt it was more than she deserved.
"It's perfect Uncle Bobby, thank you," She spoke sincerely, unable to hold herself back from hugging him again despite knowing that he was so obviously uncomfortable about it. She quickly let go, mindful of his revered personal space, and eagerly strode into the room.
Bobby blinked owlishly, not expecting her excitement. "Uh. You're welcome."
Serena went straight towards the bed and sat on it, bouncing slightly against the springy mattress. She saw her duffel bag at the foot of the bed, and smiled slightly to herself.
Bobby remained at the doorway, just observing her. He felt vaguely confused, unsure of what to think. It almost seemed as though Serena had completely switched personalities overnight. Where was the withdrawn, emotional wreck from yesterday? Now, she seemed almost cautiously optimistic, peaceful even.
Admittedly, he wasn't sure if he should've felt worried, or relieved about these turn of events.
"Serena," He spoke cautiously, walking up to stand beside her. "I know that it might be hard, but whenever you're ready, I need to know what happened to you… and to your parents."
Serena was quiet, her eyes cast down and staring unseeingly into her lap, as if in meditation. After awhile, it seemed as though she'd never respond. But then she glanced up at him, a smile on her face. It was tight and pained, but it was still a smile. "How about after lunch, huh? I'm starving."
Bobby felt himself relax just a little. "I don't have much in terms of food," He admitted sheepishly.
"Then we'll go out to eat, my treat. It's the least I could do." She flashed him a dimpled grin, and for a moment she looked like how he'd remembered Irene: calm and amiable, and just a little melancholic.
The nearest town was within five miles of the salvage yard. They drove out in a beat-up old van. Bobby had explained how it was the only working vehicle he owned besides the tow-truck. Serena had quipped that with a little orange and blue paintjob, it could've passed as The Mystery Machine.
After heading into town, they stopped at a local diner. It was relatively empty, and Bobby chose a booth at the far end where no one could overhear them.
Serena had ordered a bacon cheeseburger, french-fries and a strawberry milkshake with a whipped cream topping and a cherry on top. Bobby had simply chosen the daily special, a roasted turkey sandwich. He hadn't ordered a drink, but Serena suspected he kept a flask of something in his vest pocket.
Serena devoured her bacon cheeseburger with enthusiasm, finishing it in only six bites. She washed it down with her milkshake, which she happily slurped through a bendy straw. She looked so happy, just enjoying her meal. It was such a far cry from her emotional episode the other day.
Bobby stared, a mixture of awe and disbelief furrowing his brows.
Serena felt his stare and looked up, flushing. "Um. Sorry. I just really love milkshakes."
Bobby frowned. "Did you eat anythin' before you got here?"
"I ate some Doritos from a vending machine before I took the bus here yesterday," Serena admitted, shrugging, "But I kind of always eat like this, so it's okay. I didn't starve or anything." She gave him a smile that she hoped was reassuring, but Bobby was too perceptive to overlook her lie.
Bobby said nothing, his frown deepening.
Serena stared at her french-fries, uncomfortable.
After a measured length of silence, he managed to say, "Serena… when did your parents die?"
Serena's gaze snapped up to look at him, her eyes widening slightly. She opened her mouth, but realized she wasn't sure what to say or where to start. She had known that this conversation was coming all along, but it still shook her to the core.
Bobby sighed, "If you still ain't comfortable—"
Serena shook her head adamantly, interrupting him. "No," She said, frowning, "I… it was about six months ago."
"Six months?" Bobby repeated incredulously, almost raising his voice, "Why did you come here only now?"
Serena cringed, leaning back into her seat. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, and explained, "A little over a year ago, we moved to Auburn Hills, Michigan. It was the first time we actually had a real home, in a real neighborhood, and it was perfect. I—we thought it was safe. But after mama and papa were gone, everything changed. I was alone and I wasn't in my right mind. Who would be, after seeing what I've seen? The police questioned me after I found the bodies and—well, they sent in a psychiatrist to help me deal with it. But I guess I was still too out of it, because they put me in this institution center called Havenwyck Hospital for awhile."
"You were institutionalized?"
"I don't remember much. I think I was on medication and… um, Uncle Bobby, are you okay?" Serena's brows rose as Bobby shook with controlled rage, seething. He resembled a great big bristling grizzly bear. She wondered if he even realized he was staring at his turkey sandwich as if he was about to murder it.
"How are you here if you're supposed to be in a loony bin?" Bobby managed to grind out through clenched teeth.
"I got better," Serena explained, shooting him a wary look. She tossed a french-fry into her mouth and smiled cryptically.
Bobby seemed to calm down some, but only to cock an eyebrow at her in disbelief. "That simple, huh?"
Serena shrugged. "Why shouldn't it be?"
"Because nothin' ever is." Bobby threw her a cryptic smile of his own.
Serena smiled gently. "I'm glad I got that out of my chest. I think that's what I really needed all along, but I was too afraid to face it. Maybe that's why I had that episode yesterday." She chuckled, and added wryly, "I guess I should've stayed at that loony bin for a little while longer."
Bobby grimaced. He didn't appreciate her joking about herself like that, as if she'd actually been crazy. She was traumatized by the whole ordeal, and emotionally exhausted, yes. But crazy? No, he was sure of it now. Crazy people didn't know they were crazy. He was also sure that the deaths of her parents were not just some random house burglary gone horribly wrong.
"You're not crazy," he assured her.
Serena propped her hand underneath her chin, tilting her head curiously. "Not anymore."
"You never were," Bobby commanded gruffly. "You're the sanest person I know."
His conviction surprised her. She didn't know whether to feel grateful or bewildered by his declaration. She smiled uncertainly. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby." And then, quite unexpectedly, she asked, "Are you going to finish that?" She pointed to his untouched turkey sandwich, which had already gone cold.
Bobby blinked, and then stared down at his plate. He shook his head, smiling slightly, "No, you go ahead."
…
Acknowledgments:
Sailor Moon belongs to Naoko Takeuchi. Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke. Story belongs to me. Inspired by a novel called The Cove by Catherine Coulter.
Why yes, this IS a Sailor Moon x Supernatural crossover. It's pretty AU. The timeline takes place at the very first season of Supernatural, somewhere around/after episode 12 and 13 (Faith and Route 666 respectively). I'm just… experimenting. Eventually I'll move this story to the Sailor Moon/Supernatural crossover category.
I imagine Serena would look like Brittany Snow or even a young blue-eyed Shakira. xD
If you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask in a review or PM. I'd appreciate the feedback. :)