Summary: Sam and Dean are grieving Annabelle's death in their own ways. Meanwhile, a teenage hunter named Danny is stuck in Purgatory trying to find his way out along with a mysterious teenage girl who claims to know the Winchesters.
Notes: Written by Sarah (teamfreewillsamdeancas). Sequel to Winchester Crash Course.
Like in Winchester Crash Course, this is told in the first person. Chapter titles will have the name of that chapter's narrator.
There is also angst and mentions of drinking. And drunk!Dean.
Chapter One
Sam
Day 1
The House in Lincoln
No matter how hard I tried, the tears wouldn't stop running down my face. I had tried to comfort Dean, but I needed comforting myself. Annabelle is gone. The thought wouldn't leave my mind. It had taken hours for Cass to finally show up. He had been fighting his own part of the war in heaven and looked as anguished as Dean and I felt about not saving Annabelle. Cass had taken Dean and I home, though he couldn't look Dean in the eye. Dean was furious. He was angry with himself because he thought he could've done something to change Annabelle's fate. He was angry he couldn't save her. He was angry Cass hadn't shown up. I was depressed. Annabelle was part of the family. Nothing would be the same without her. The Impala would be quieter. Hunts would be grim. There would be no laughter.
But something was bothering me about Annabelle's death. She wasn't completely dead when she lost consciousness, but her body dissipated. It was like something or someone took her. I was suspicious. I had mentioned my suspicions to Dean, but he had shrugged them off.
It was probably the bullet, he had said. We put her through enough pain by bringing her into the life. Let her have a good afterlife. She deserves it. Let her go.
Those were the last words I expected to hear from Dean. Let her go. Dean's statement echoed through my mind. Let her go, I told myself, but I still couldn't. What if she was still out there? What if she needed me? What if she needed us?
The hyper rational side of me combated my questions but not much. Maybe you just don't want her to be gone. She isn't coming back, Sam. Believe Dean, and move on. Not everyone comes back after they die. The evidence I thought I had blew all of those thoughts away.
Instead of doing anything about it, I laid in bed staring at the ceiling letting my thoughts wonder and listening to the deafening silence left in Annabelle's wake. I wondered what her heaven was like, made guesses, and replayed what had happened in my mind over and over again.
I should've aimed at Zoe once I had shot the other angel, I thought. What if I had shot Zoe instead of the other angel? Would it have ended differently? Would Annabelle still be across the hall?
I would give anything to be able to see Annabelle again. If I ever did, I wouldn't let her go again. For a moment, I thought I heard Annabelle's voice. You can't keep me safe forever, Sam. You have to let me live on my own at some point.
I sat up and swore I saw Annabelle leaning against the wall and giving me the raised-eyebrow look she always gave me when she was trying to prove her point and slightly shaking her head. Her arms were crossed and her ponytail shook with her head. It was the same response she gave me whenever a hunt hadn't gone as planned and I promised to protect her. The vision faded quickly, and I flopped back on the bed. You just miss her. Let her go, I thought.
Tears came to my eyes and left their corners. I thought maybe if I closed my eyes and fell asleep, I would wake up with Annabelle safe and sound, but I couldn't bring myself to sleep. I heard Dean come in downstairs. The door slammed behind him. I gathered myself and went downstairs to check on him. Dean was drunk and stumbled to me.
"Mornin', Sammy. How're ya doin' this morning?" Slurred.
"Been better. What about you?"
"Drunk."
"Yeah, I can see that. Let's get you into bed, okay?"
I started to lead Dean upstairs. He didn't protest until we got to the top of the stairs.
"Sam. Sammy, stop." He veered towards Annabelle's room instead of his own. Tears filled his eyes, but he tried to hold them back.
"What are you doing, Dean?" I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.
"Just let me do what I want, Sam. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself." Dean's tone was harsher than I expected.
I stood at the top of the stairs staring dumbfounded at Dean as he went into Annabelle's room and closed the door. I don't know what he expected to find in there, but I soon heard him crying softly. After a while, the room went silent. I peeked in. Dean was passed out face down on her bed. He hadn't bothered to pull back the purple blankets and cover up; he'd just flopped down and passed out. I glanced around the room.
There wasn't much, but all of it was Annabelle's style. The bed was simple. The posts just wooden blocks so it didn't matter which side you used as the head and the foot. The dresser and desk matched: simple, brown wood. The drawers didn't have any clothes, and there weren't any personal items. Everything had been torn down and packed up when we'd left after Dylan and Marina's deaths. The room still smelled faintly of the sweet-smelling perfume Annabelle wore. I took it all in until tears blurred my vision then I returned to my room. How were Dean and I going to stay here without Annabelle? I wasn't even completely sure we could hold the place down without her.
What would you boys do without me? Annabelle's voice echoed through my mind again. I leave you for a week, and you've already managed to turn this place into a pigsty!
Annabelle had been right. She had left for a week to go on a hunt with Dylan and Marina. When she came back, fast food wrappers and beer cans littered the floor in the kitchen and were scattered across the dining room table. She had the house back in order in a few hours and was doing our laundry for the next case by the time the sun was setting.
Annabelle, come back. We need you, I thought hopelessly.
I wasn't completely sure how things were going to work now. I didn't know what Dean would want to do with this house once he came to his senses, but I hoped he would opt to keep it. We needed a headquarters, and we didn't have the money to buy another property even if we sold this one. I understood there were a lot of now painful memories here with Annabelle gone, but we could just hunt for a while and come back when we were ready.
"Sam?" Cass's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I sat up to look at the angel. Even he looked out of it. I guess all of us took Annabelle's death hard.
"What is it?" The question came harsher than I meant it. "Sorry, Cass," I amended. "What's going on?"
"I thought you may want to pick up the Impala. Dean will be wanting it."
"Oh, yeah. Uh, sure."
I had to think for a minute before I remembered we had left the Impala in Maine. That meant a full day's drive back here. All well. Dean could take care of himself, and he'd be happy to have his car back. Castiel took me to the Impala without another word. Instead of leaving like I expected him to, Cass stayed with me. The angel had an apologetic look on his face, a look Cass normally never gave anyone.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm sorry," Cass blurted.
I raised an eyebrow. "What are you sorry for?"
"I did not come to help when Dean called. Now Annabelle is dead. Dean is angry with me."
"Well, yeah. He thinks you ignored him, but you were fighting your part in the war in heaven. There's nothing to apologize for . . . and can we not talk about Annabelle?" The last part of my sentence came as a barely AUDIBLE whisper.
"Yes, of course. I apologize for bothering you," Cass said.
Just like that, he was gone leaving me alone with the Impala. One of Annabelle's NOTEBOOKS in the backseat caught my attention before I got in the car. Her neat handwriting read "Hunter's Journal" on the front. A wave of guilt and grief crashed into me. More tears came to my eyes. This was all we had left of Annabelle. Her bag had disappeared with her body. I pushed the emotions away, got in the driver's seat, and started the Impala. Long drive home, I thought as I pulled onto the desolate highway.