Notes: This is Part 2 in the series. The first installment was the AU tale "In The Wind," and while this story can be read as a standalone, it will make more sense character- and arc-wise if you read that one first.
Warning: I don't use a Beta. Please excuse the typos. You get the raw/unedited story as FF writing is my stress reliever from novel writing.
oOo PRELUDE oOo
Lawrence, KS
July 4, 1983
John Winchester turned off the hose then surveyed the gleaming condition of his car. Sure, the sleek, 1967 black Impala was the oldest car in the neighborhood. All of his neighbors were transitioning from the big muscle cars of the '60s and '70s to the modern compacts churned out by Japan. Sure, those got better mileage, but they were made of plastic and crumpled at the first sign of a crash. There was no way he was letting his wife and kids climb into one of those.
Kids.
John shook his head and smiled at the notion. There were now two Winchester boys in the house. He could hear little Sammy howling through the open nursery window on the second floor as he woke from his mid-morning nap to let the world know he was hungry yet again. The crying ceased within moments signaling that Mary was with him to alleviate the hunger pains. In the ensuing silence, John quickly scanned the front yard, realizing his charge for the day was not by his side any longer. The momentary skip of his heart beat was soothed as he spied Dean on the other side of the front steps, tearing up fistfuls of grass from the lawn and collecting them in a large pile.
"What are you doing?" John asked the four-year-old with the large, owlish green eyes and spattering of freckles.
"Making fireworks," Dean replied in his tiny voice.
"Fireworks?" John questioned then shrugged. Sure, he figured, why not. He was supposed to take Dean to see the fireworks that night while Mary and the baby stayed home. If the kid thought he could make his own from a pile of dead grass, it would at least keep him out of trouble until lunchtime. "Alright, just don't blow up the house with them, okay?"
"Okay," Dean nodded eagerly. "Daddy, where does Bigfoot live?"
The question caught John off-guard, as most of Dean's questions did. The boy was not precisely a quiet child but in the last two months, the part of his brain that needed to know everything had switched on. Every other sentence out of the boy's mouth was question lately.
"Bigfoot?" John repeated and cast a curious look at his firstborn. "Where did you hear about Bigfoot?"
"Jeff," the child said naming their neighbor's high school aged son. "He was going camping. I said you and me were going camping. He said make sure I have a gun because Bigfoot lives in the woods and would eat me."
John sighed and made a mental note to tell their neighbor's pothead son to stop trying to scare his boy. While there was something fascinating and prideful in having a little boy who asked so many questions, there was also the problem that he asked them of everyone. Teaching Dean to be wary of adults was top on John's to-do list.
"First, no talking to Jeff unless Mommy or me is with you, got it?" John said with a frown. The little boy nodded eagerly. "In fact, you shouldn't even be outside unless Mommy or me is with you. Next, there's no such thing as Bigfoot. Jeff was just telling you a story. There are no monsters in the woods."
Dean grinned, returning to his growing pile of torn up grass. John shook his head. How the boy would turn the shredded mound of grass into fireworks a mystery to John as was a lot about how Dean's head worked. John was not new to fatherhood. Dean was four and a half. Of course, until the first week of May, he spent most of his time with his mother. Now that his baby brother had joined the family, John was finding himself in charge of his oldest more than ever before. Still, what went on in his firstborn's head baffled John. It was a good bafflement. The kid was clever and creative; he had a wicked grin that told John there was a lively (and probably naughty) sense of humor budding behind those green eyes.
"Will bears eat us when we go camping?" Dean asked abruptly.
John nearly choked holding in his laugh. He didn't see anything wrong with laughing at some of the crazier things Dean said, but Mary thought it seemed insensitive or mocking to their son. John doubted the kid would think that. One of the things about his wife that irritated John was Mary's constant ascribing of vulnerable traits to their son, characteristics John did not seen. Dean was a rambunctious, little boy with a fan club among the women on their street and the cashier ladies at the grocery store. The only things about Dean that concerned John were his aversion to the concept of bedtime and his grudging acceptance of his baby brother.
John and Mary spent a lot of time explaining to Dean through the winter that he would have a sibling in the spring. He seemed okay with the idea until Mary brought baby Sammy home from the hospital. That weekend found the house full of crying: Mary for hormonal reasons, Sammy for hunger and wetness instances, and Dean for what John presumed was jealousy. Four years being the center of the universe came to an abrupt halt for Dean on May 2nd when his brother greeted the world. The pediatrician told the Winchesters it was a phase that Dean would outgrow soon but that would rear its head again when the boys were nearing their teenage years and hit the juvenile wasteland of moodiness and flaring tempers. John dismissed that assessment, the teenage aspect of it, as he would not need to face that for a decade. What he did hear and accept was the doctor's advice about giving Dean things to do that would keep him from feeling jealous over the baby's monopoly of Mary's time.
John's solution was to introduce the boy to the things he knew: sports and cars. Of course, he was learning how short Dean's attention span was. The boy could not sit still long enough to wait through an oil change on the car and found it more fun to tackle John on the couch when he was trying to watch sports. Not that John minded Dean's chaos much. It was just a learning period for both of them. He forced himself to keep his cool when Dean wasn't paying attention; after all, he reminded himself, Dean was just a child and they had a lot of years to spend together learning each other's likes and tolerances. That knowledge was driven home hard the day John realized his son was the same age that he himself was when his own father disappeared.
Thoughts like that put life into perspective for the former Marine. He looked down at his son, whose big, trusting eyes blinked innocently at him, waiting for a response about forest creatures. John's throat tightened with opposing feelings: anger and loss over his father's departure; and intense protectiveness over his own family. He vowed, as he did each time those thoughts swelled in his mind, that nothing on the planet would separate him from his young family.
"Don't worry about bears either, Dean," John pet his head affectionately. "I'll never let anything hurt you. Besides, we're not going camping this summer. That's next year when Sammy is a little bigger. This year, you and me are going fishing."
Dean hooted his approval then tossed his grass gatherings in the air, sending them raining over his head and his father's feet, demonstrating his fireworks display. The boy then cocked his head to the side suddenly. His eyes contracted into narrow slits as a signal another of his deep and (likely) off-the-wall questions was bubbling up.
"Are there sea monsters that can eat us?" he asked.
John sighed and hung his head, making mental note to try and figure out why his son was suddenly seeing imaginary monsters around every corner.
oOoOoOo
June 1994
Singer Salvage
Sioux Falls, SD
The basement of the ramshackle home was dark except for the flash pot that ignited as the match touched down on the summoning powder of the blended herbs and roots. The puff of smoke was brief and the burst of light momentarily blinded Bobby Singer, but the surprise standing before him was what struck him dumb.
He never expected the summoning spell, the one he had researched and worked on for a year, to work. He only attempted it to satisfy one last buckets-of-crazy idea. Singer had been trying to crack the mystery of who took the Winchesters boys a decade earlier and figure out how they were suddenly found for no logical reason in 1993. In all his wildest estimations, Bobby never imagined it would end with this. Sure, he suspected the spell would turn up something, but Vegas would never have given odds on what he saw before him.
The seasoned hunter barely had the time to strike and throw his second match to the floor, igniting ring of oil resting there, before his knees gave a shudder to his resounding shock. The flame flared instantly and burned in an eerily quiet and smokeless fashion while Bobby gaped at the other presence in the room.
"You?" Bobby marveled as he stared at the visage before him.
The short, blond man with the arrogant smile and perturbed scowl, offered him a sour and bored expression as he looked at the ring of holy fire. The visitor folded his arms and sighed superiorly.
"You rang?" replied the man Bobby knew until that moment only as his quirky and absentee neighboring property owner 'James Smith.'
"You're a… a….," Bobby stammered, barely able to get the word out. "An angel?"
"No, you used an Enochian spell to summon the manager from Dominos," the creature scoffed with an eye roll.
"So, angels look like humans," Bobby said, more to himself than the being.
"Wrongo, chief," the angel replied shaking his head pityingly. "The human form can contain the energy that is an angel. This devastatingly dashing exterior is a vessel. A willing and suitable one, I might add, that I've grown accustomed to over the last few millennia."
Bobby stared, gaping actually, at the man/vessel. The sigh he heard from the angel seemed both understanding and perturbed. The hunter/junkman struggled to compose his thoughts and find his words.
"Well?" the angel asked. "What's with the hocus-pocus, compadre? Bobby, if you needed to speak to me, you could have called. You have my new number, right? I gave that to you, didn't I?"
The short angel's confidence and arrogance were amplified by the flare of his temper at being trapped in the flames. He showed no fear of the tongues of fire flicking around him but he emanated definite disdain for the man who trapped him in the burning circle. The air of the basement hummed with his presence, as though every molecule of air was electrified.
"Which one are you?" Bobby asked sternly, trying to regain his focus. He was glad he hadn't dropped a load in his pants when the spell worked. Shitting himself in front of an angel, regardless of which one, seemed like pretty bad form.
"What's in a name, Bob?" 'Mr. Smith' chuckled, but there was a pained look in his eyes that said he knew the semi-retired hunter wouldn't just let this go.
Seeing that he was locked in equivalent of holy handcuffs inside the flames, the odds of sidestepping an interrogation weren't precisely in the angel's favor. He knew Bobby was not a typical hunter as he did not kill for sport and only doled out prime information on a need-to-know basis.
"Gabriel," the angel replied eventually in a smug and superior tone while still managing to sound like he was pouting.
"Gabriel?" Bobby repeated stunned. "As in the archangel?"
"No, the rap star," Gabriel scoffed. "Now, I've said it once, and there's no need for you to repeat it so ixnay on the aim-nay, alright? What do you want?"
"To know why the hell you took those boys," Bobby insisted, his features dark and distrusting in the flickering fire light.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Gabriel shook his head. "Boys are not my thing, pal. I prefer the ladies, if you know what I mean."
"I know I'm about to barbeque your ass if you don't give me some answers," Bobby threatened, hoisting his canister of oil to shake it menacingly.
Gabriel snorted and looked at his lighted prison. He shook his head and let the hunter know he wouldn't answer until this weapon was no longer pointed at him. Bobby chewed on the possibilities for a moment. He couldn't exactly keep an angel simmering in his basement forever. Besides, the man, creature, celestial whatever, had offered to answer him. Bobby wasn't sure he could trust an angel having never met one or met anyone who had met one before, but he figured his chances of being smote were stronger than his chances of being lied to if he kept Gabriel on the hot seat too long. So he grabbed a bucket of water and doused the flames. Gabriel offered an insincere nod of thanks.
"Sorry to waste your time, but I don't know what you're talking about," the angel shrugged.
"No, it was you," Bobby seethed. "Now that I think about it, I think some part of Dean sort of remembers you."
Bobby always noted that the teen grew oddly withdrawn and sullen around his "landlord" Mr. Smith whenever the guy dropped by, which wasn't all that often, but it was always without notice and seemingly for no reason at all. Dean never said anything to Bobby about Smith, but Dean Winchester not saying anything when he should was one of bugs in that machine. The teen obviously did not distinctly recall his kidnapping or who took him. What Bobby did know from a pilfered report about the boys' unexplained reappearance in Illinois, the eldest of the Winchester children stated someone named Gabriel took them. The rest of his statement seemed like nonsense until that moment. The boy told authorities that he traveled by light when he left his home. Seeing the angel's appearance, Bobby now understood. It seemed to Bobby, now that Gabriel/Smith's cover was blown, that the boy sensed something or some detail about the landlord that remained buried just beneath the surface in the kid's hazy memories of his abduction on Halloween Night a decade earlier.
The angel scoffed and relented with a half-hearted shrug.
"Hard to believe, but windexing Tweedle Dumb's coconut was a harder than expected," Gabriel snarked. "That's my brother Michael's doing on some level I'm sure—particulars of the vessel and all that (the prima donna). As for why I did it, that's none of your business. I had good reasons, which are not for you to know."
Bobby glowered and cut his eyes once again at the holy oil, but the suddenly sincere look on Gabriel's face made him halt.
"Look, I can't go into details," the angel said in a pleading tone. "I'm sort of in celestial witness protection so the less you know the better it is for everyone involved—the brats, their parents, you and especially little, old me. I will say this: I took two very big and nasty bullets out of a gun that was going to wreak holy hell (and I meant that literally) on this planet. The boys had to give a little to get a lot. They're home now so no harm, no foul. Are we done?"
"Not quite," Bobby shook his head. "If all is well, then why are you still nosing around every once in a while."
"What can I say," he shrugged. "I'm all heart. Besides, those boys adore me."
"Dean thinks you're a pervert getting chemical castration," Bobby offered. "Sam thinks you're a lonely head-case whose family doesn't want him around so you're looking for friends."
"Well, one of them is half right," Gabriel grinned. "The smart one, of course. I always liked the younger one better. His older brother tried to bite me the night when we met—whose the deviant now, huh?"
Bobby scowled, unimpressed and aware his question had not been answered.
"You tagged 'em," Bobby began. It wasn't a question. "All those carvings on their ribs-that's why we couldn't scry for them."
"Si Jeffe," Gabriel nodded. "Now, none of my kind can find them using our secret spy glasses. The competition might be able to locate them, but I've been around—stash a little hex bag here and there so voila: They're nowhere the supernatural on the map. For that, you're welcome. Of course, the flip side is you can't find them with your little bags of tricks either. They've got their own semi-permanent Deathly Hallow Cloak of Invisibility, you might say."
"Their what?" the hunter asked squinting with frustration and anger.
"Oh, right, that book's not written yet," the angel grinned in a naughty fashion. "Spoiler alert: Snape's a hero. Undercover agent and all that—he's kind of like me only not nearly as handsome and nowhere near as charming. Plus, I always get the girl in the end. Well, girls, actually. Not like they can resist me. Any-who, now that you're not trying to fry my wings extra crispy, I gotta go."
"Wait," Bobby commanded. "So you're protecting the boys still?"
"Uh no," Gabriel shook his head. "Past tense. I protected them. Back then. From a terrible fate. Not to get maudlin or cliché, but I'm talking Armageddon type of bad hair day, okay? Bottom line: One of them didn't get the ruffie of a lifetime and the other… Well, let's just say that without Frick being on the supernatural juice, Frack kind of has no relevance to the rest of the play, if I've read Dad's Cliff Notes thoroughly. So game over. Everyone goes home with a little trophy called free will. The Winchester boys get exactly what they should have from the start: A chance. That's all. No supernatural powers. No mandate to sacrifice any chance of a real life to save humanity. No special rules whatsoever. They're people, just like everyone else now. You cut them, they bleed. You feed 'em McDonald's or Oreos all the time and they die of heart disease, that kind of thing. Or is that if you feed them after midnight? I always get that mixed up."
"So that's it?" Bobby said. "You say you saved them from a big bad fate and now you're dropping them? If that's true, then why are you still checking in?"
Gabriel shrugged. The truth was, he found the Winchesters fascinating. He knew what they could have become—he'd seen it—but he was more fascinated by what they were becoming. Some aspects of the family had remained the same. They boys were still close, and Singer was still a large part of their lives.
Others aspects of the family were tantalizingly different. John was not a revenge driven hunter who left behind fatherhood for his role as a militant commander. Mary was alive and doted on her sons alongside her husband. However, the most colossal shift Gabriel said was in the youngest. Never being doped with demon blood cut the searing selfishness and self-righteousness (traits straight out ofLucifer's truck-load of issues) out of Sam's personality. He was a little kid and wasn't a precisely docile and agreeable puppy about everything, but he was really no different than any of the other 11 year-old in his homeroom class. He wanted his own Nintendo; he wanted to become a scientist to create his own version of Jurassic Park; he thought the X-Files was creepy (but said it was "cool" when he was around friends). Gabriel's mad dash with the boy a decade earlier cut off the yellow-eyed minion's chance to create the would-be vessel and thus removed Sam from serving as Lucifer's meat suit. Keeping the bitch blood out of the boy's system entirely and abruptly ended any chance for the aggressive edge that would have taken hold of Sam Winchester. Now, the boy was allowed to be what nature intended him to be: a polite and curious boy with floppy hair and desire to understand the world around him while pleasing those he cared for most.
While the changes in Sam were astounding, Gabriel was a bit disheartened to note that the same could not be said for Winchester Offspring Number One. Everything that made Dean Winchester who and what he was remained the same. The original factory settings were in place, and (emotionally) the scars caused by his 10-year exile from his parents left him reasonably close to the person he would have grown up to be had the archangel never stepped in to change the family's fate. There was a moment on that fateful Halloween Night when Gabriel nearly did not take both boys. Removing Sam from Azazel's reach was his only goal, but something changed the angel's mind at the last moment so he grabbed Dean, too. Some part of him just couldn't leave the drooling human alone on some doorstep, so big brother got to tag along, and Gabriel stood by that choice.
Of course, there was a price for that.
The debt was paid out of Dean's emotional security and development. The child developed a heightened protectiveness of his baby brother and a tendency toward sacrificing for the little guy. That personality quirk was born as much out of being an older brother as it was to being what amounted to the underage parent to his sibling for so many years. So, right or wrong, where little brother profited and thrived in his removal from the celestial equation, Dean was saddled with a destiny as watcher, keeper and protector. He did so at the cost of his own happiness for such a long time that he still struggled with finding a balance with his own heart's desires.
Since reuniting with their parents, Dean's sense of purpose was gone. Absent the constant need for vigilant duty to protect and raise his baby brother, Dean floundered in a swirling pool of doubt. Where the teenager had previously held an unwavering sense of purpose and responsibility, he now drifted aimlessly through life. Certainly, his determined nature still existed, but now it was scattered and unfocused. Whether that would sort itself out or become his downfall was unknown—but Gabriel felt that was the beauty of it. No one knew what might happen to either of the boys anymore. Every possible future (except the pre-ordained one) was up for grabs.
"I'm waiting," Bobby said as he continued to glare at the angel as his demand for information went unanswered. He gripped the handle of the sawed-off shotgun on the table tightly. He doubted it would actually harm an angel, but it would sting for a moment. There was no way anyone felt refreshed after a load of rock salt in the face.
"Don't even think about it, Quick Draw McGraw," Gabriel warned see the man's finger's flex. "We both know my ninja skills beat yours without trying."
"Oh yeah?" Bobby countered. "Then let's see them."
"Well, here's the thing," the angel continued in an embarrassed tone. "The more I do, the more likely I am to get outted, so I'll have to pass on your request to tango."
"Are you watching them or not?" he asked darkly.
"I'm not their personal guardian angel," Gabriel scoffed. "Trust me. The guy who got that job in the first draft, it did not turn out well for him or his trenchcoat. I'm talking clipped wings, time in the penalty box, a bad wardrobe, an unrequited man-crush, and a hard on for a demon who got shivved before her time. You following me?"
"No," Bobby glowered.
"I lay low and things go along smoothly, capiche?" Gabriel replied. "That being said, if Heaven steps in or any minion of Hell on a mission specifically from my brother discovers your little nose pickers, I'll be around to help. Honest. You have my word: I swear to Dad. Other than that, the Winchesters are on their own out here in the big cruel world. You and their parents are hunters. Well, at least you and their mommy were. Daddy only did some understudy work this go around, which is a little sad considering his family legacy, but whatever. Who wants to live in a concrete box in Kansas anyway, right? So, you can choose to teach the boys the truth about what's in the dark or not. How you choose to protect them is your business. The boys are at least as safe as any other amoeba salsa'ing around this old Petri Dish. They make their choices. They live with their consequences—just like you. What more do you want?"
Bobby shook his head. He was not pleased with these revelations. He felt in his gut he was not getting even a fraction of the story. If Gabriel was right and the boys were free to live their lives, then there was no destiny they needed to avoid. It made taking them away for so long seem pointless and purposefully cruel. If the angel was wrong about sidestepping destiny, then what was to keep some other force of the universe from putting things back on the track? Bobby didn't think fate could get hoodwinked so easily.
"How about some assurances my boys are not gonna up and disappear again if you change your mind?" Bobby said.
"Whose boys?" Gabriel grinned. Again, the attachment the hunter had to the two children was fascinating to him. There appeared very little in the world that could keep the man from being a force in their lives.
"You say you protected them from a worse fate," Bobby growled, sticking to his point. "What's to keep someone from dealing those cards again?"
The angel scoffed and rolled his eyes superiorly. He shook his head and patted the hunter on the arm patronizingly.
"Trust me, it can't happen now," Gabriel assured him. "I'm not all cuckoo salad brains behind this pretty face. I thought about it for a long time, okay? What I did was the solution. See, that nasty destiny was a two part equation. All I had to do was take the lime away from the coconut so no one could mix it all up. I made sure my bratty, temperamental brother's hand simply never got dealt. It takes two to tango, but now we've only got one dancer. No partner equals a disqualification so game over."
Bobby found himself nodding, but he was not certain why. The angel's arrogance was worrisome but who was he to argue with that sort of creature? A being that knew more than anyone else about creation and destiny was a debate opponent well above his pay grade.
"Those boys, together, are now no more special or interesting than any other human," the angel proclaimed. "Someday a reaper will come for each of them. Is it tomorrow, or next year, or 70 years from now? I don't know. That, my friend, is the gift. The Winchesters get to live their own lives. That was what mattered to me. That was my gift to them—to everyone on this planet."
Gabriel patted Bobby kindly on the shoulder, his smug grin still in place. He clapped his hands with finality and then shrugged.
"Okay, well, now that the cat is out of the bag, I'll be making myself scarce," Gabriel said. "Don't be paging me like this often or giving spoiler info to anyone about who I am or what I did. I need to stay off the radar—and so do those boys. I can watch from wherever I am. The more people who know who I am, or the nearer I am to them, then the higher the chances that they'll get spotted. Understand? Good. Live long and prosper. Don't call me, I'll call you. Got it? Good."
Bobby stared back at him, digesting his offerings and unsure what to think.
"Oh," the angel snapped is fingers and turned quickly with a knowing expression, "and just as a little friendly advice, you might want to make sure you don't let Big Foot eat them for lunch."
Before the hunter could ask what that meant, the angel vanished in a rustle of invisible wings.
oOoOoOo
Singer's Salvage
One week later…
The phone rang, again. Each of Bobby's phone lines had been going off like crazy for the last week and a half . He was on the verge of cutting the wires for each of them.
Not that he would.
But he was burned out and in need of some quiet time away from hunters—especially those who didn't know their ass from a Rugaru (and God knew Travis thought everything was a possible Rugaru these days). It was like the whole damn world of hunters went and got stupid all of a sudden. Bobby blamed himself a bit. He'd made himself less of a field man and more of a phone man and researcher in the last year. Sticking close to home to help keep an eye on the boys (he thought of them as his boys). In that time, he became the wayward hunters' crutch, their lifeline, their cheat sheet for a test, the Cliff Notes version of 'Knowing What The Hell You're Doing When You Go Hunting.' And he was tired of it.
Not that dragging two snot-nosed brats into the Black Hills of Wyoming constituted peace, quiet or relaxation. And not just any two kids. The Winchesters no less: the thinker, Sam ("I Think I'll Cease To Exist If I Don't Ask Why Every Two Minutes"), and the prowler, Dean ("I Wasn't Listening To What You Just Asked me, But Did You See That Hot Chick"). The only good news was their father wasn't joining the outting.
Sure, having John there to keep the boys in line and help play a zone defense to keep them corralled and busy would be nice, but Bobby had been in the field with Major Dad before—on a hunt—and it wasn't any picnic. John liked things his way, no matter what. He was stubborn and bossy and grouchy and demanding. Bobby knew that hunters described himself the same way, but that was not important. Bobby, at least, knew he was more of a free spirit than John. He would enjoy being out in nature with the boys. John's uptight nature would sap some of the fun out of the trip. The former Marine might enjoy the alluring and enticing peace of time away from the bustle of daily life, but his protectiveness of his sons would turn him into a grouchy bear when they were far from home. He spend his time dictating the proper way to set up a tent and secure the food over night. Those were all great things to learn, but there needed to be time to just show respect to the forest by sitting quietly and watching the shadows fall and listen to the birds call to one another. Bobby was all for being safe and teaching the boys the best way to do that, but fun needed to be part of the equation.
John was getting better at that kind of thing, Bobby knew. He had found a common interest with Sam in the promise of camping. The boy liked to look at seeds and leaves and anything in nature. John knew about roughing it and had taught his youngest how to build and use a compass. Sam lapped up the time with his father on their walks through the wooded areas around their house. John also had found common ground with his oldest son during long hours at the Salvage Yard where he taught Dean what he knew about cars: what made them run and how to fix them when they broke down. Still, putting John with both boys in a forest where he had to go into parental commando mode was just asking for the tougher hide of his Marine personality to re-emerge. The last thing Bobby wanted was a surly camping partner barking orders at rambunctious kids and treating the forest like an enemy that needed to be tamed.
So Bobby and the boys were going alone. And he needed to finish packing if the damn phones would just stop ringing! He had started ignoring them 15 minutes earlier, then his guilt jumped him, and he picked one up. It was Allard, asking if there was a summoning spell for a water wraith (something he damn well should have known there wasn't). The next was Rufus asking for Bill Harvelle's other number (something he damn well should have known also). Finally, Caleb called asking for (unbelievably) Bobby's chili recipe. At that, the hunter vowed he would leave them all high and dry for a few days. He had put the word out a week earlier that he was going to be out of town. That no one seemed to remember that or believe him was their problem.
He returned to his hiking pack. It had been years since he went to the woods for pleasure rather than a hunt. He felt a bit shaky doing so. He laughed at his fears as he checked his supplies once again: Decontaminating tablets for water purification (boiling didn't kill everything after all); friction wire for cutting small branches; a second compass (in case Sam's homemade one wasn't so accurate); two sets of waterproof socks; an extra set of flints (yeah, he had matches but he was gonna make the boys try to start a fire the way Bobby had learned, back in his 'caveman kindergarten days' according to Dean), and his lucky flask (no way he was gonna make it a whole four days with two boys in the woods without needing a belt at least once).
He looked across the table at the other items strewn there. Many things from his hunting kit that had been weeded out as unnecessary for this trip. His hunting journal was going with them; he took that everywhere. His eyes next fell on the crucifix and his mind was drawn back to the conversation with his winged visitor a week earlier. An agent of heaven had watched over the boys once before and was still doing so, even if it wasn't openly admitting it. Bobby hadn't told John or Mary any of what he knew and wasn't sure if he should. Gabriel was pretty firm on remaining anonymous. Pissing off an archangel didn't seem wise, no matter how Bobby justified it. Still, what bothered him more was the lack of reassurance the information gave him.
Bobby shook his head, again amazed at what a loon the angel was. Then again, Gabriel's quirks did not seem all that odd in the grand scheme. Nothing supernatural was ever reasonable or rational (not for long anyway). The wingman's quip about Big Foot was a prime example. Everyone knew that creature was a hoax.
Of course, that didn't mean Bobby was heading out unprotected. He peeked one more time into his bag. A nickel-plated .44 loaded with silver bullets gleamed up at him. He pulled it out and checked the clip and the slide—both were in working order. Confident in their function, he slipped the gun back into the pack and offered up a small wish to the universe that he would not need to use it. He would also be bringing his old hunting rifle, the one used on woodland critters—the kind people knew about, accepted existed and ate. That weapon would be visible and only used to get their dinner.
He looked to the long-barreled gun resting against the table then turned his eyes away from his concealed weapon as he closed the pack. Critters with claws didn't have to be supernatural to be dangerous, he knew, but some of what was chalked up to attacks by those creatures were actually nastier, darker things no taxidermist ever mounted on a wall. With a deep sigh, he cut his eyes at the currently stilled phones. His face momentarily twisted into a scowl. On a whim, he snatched up a receiver and dialed. The phone on the other end rang six times before a machine picked up. The softly accented tones of a son of the Lakota Nation carried over the line.
"You have reached a recording of Summer Proudfoot," the man's voice recited in a precise and peaceful cadence. "You may now speak to the wind."
The beep swiftly followed.
"Summer, it's Bobby Singer," the hunter said hesitantly. "I'm just calling to give you a heads up, sort of an insurance policy I mostly likely won't need, but…"
oOoOoOo
A/N: More to come. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter in this story. I published it in time for Thanksgiving as a Thank You to all of those who enjoyed the first story in the series and were so kind to post reviews and send me private messages. Like with the first story, this one starts slow. Hang in there as I take the boys on a vacation they won't soon forget. Chapter 2 will be published soon.