Thanks for staying tuned guys, I promise I'll update more 3
Dean got to the hall in time to see the front door close. He followed, sure that Castiel had zapped himself to China already. To his surprise the angel was right outside the door leaning against what remained of the wrap around porch, as if trying to catch his breath. Dean scratched the stubble on his chin, trying to figure out how best to address the situation. He casually stood beside his friend, until he settled on -
"So, Cas. You want to fill me in on what happened in there?"
"No, not really." said Cas, staring at nothing in particular in the distance.
"Okay." Dean frowned. "Listen, why don't you wait in the car. We can handle this -"
"Handle what, Dean?" he argued loudly "You don't know anything about her."
"What? And you do?" demanded Dean, angrily "Cas, I need to know what's going on with you, man. What is it that you're not telling us?"
Cas looked at him, refusing to answer. This was quickly spiraling into a fight
"What, what is it?" Dean shouted "Is she an enemy? A friend? How do you know her?"
"She is dangerous, Dean." Castiel roared, glaring at Dean. He seemed frustrated. "She's dangerous."
"Come on Cas!" nagged Dean "She keeps a ferret for God sakes. She had a panic attack over a bruise."
"An evil that you can't even begin to understand lives within her." he hissed "We can not risk her involvement. I won't risk her involvement."
"Cas-"
"Hey Dean" called Sam, poking his head out the door. He grinned "She made pie."
Garth sat at the edge of a rickety kitchen table, munching on what would be his 4th sandwich. Robin had her back to them, grabbing bowls and forks out of lopsided kitchen cabinets. Sam ducked into the room followed by Dean and Cas. The room smelled amazing.
"Since it's almost dinner time, I figured it was the least I could do after I nearly – well, you know." she turned grinning. "I hope you don't mind, it's basically leftovers." The boys sat down in the mismatched chairs. Robin came over with a big cast-iron pot and set it on a stone slab in the middle of the table. So she was strong too, the thing looked as if it could weigh as much as she did. "It's stew. Beef, carrots, random veggies, potatoes, and the intestines of newborn infants." Everyone froze at the table while Robin spooned a large amount onto Deans plate. "I'm kidding" she smirked. Sam laughed. Dean looked at him, Sam hadn't laughed in such a long time. She had obviously won him over in the seconds he left them alone. Castiel shot him a warning look. Robin served the rest of them. Dean couldn't wrap his head around it. There was something so pure about her, she genuinely cared about them after only a few hours of knowing them.
Sam looked around the room. He guessed she had lived there maybe six or seven years, collecting furniture and china along the way. There were no photographs, no personal decorations, nothing personal as far as he could tell. There were a few moldy beaten up books laying around, but they seemed to be the only things that were hers. She searched absently for napkins and Sam found himself growing attached to her. Not romantically, but a rare feeling of friendship that hadn't taken root in him for a long time, started to grow. She placed some cloth napkins on the table.
"Umm. Salt. Salt and Pepper. Now where did I put that - please get started without me." she bustled around opening drawers.
Sam picked up his spoon only to receive a sharp kick to the leg. He winced and looked up, Dean wagged his finger imperceptibly and pointed at Robin. 'What' Sam mouthed. 'Wait' Dean mouthed back. Dean wasn't taking any chances. If it all came out of the same pot, she was going to taste it first. Likable or not, poisoning was not something he wanted to experience at her hands. She sat down and placed the salt and pepper down. The salt fell over, she fixed it, throwing some over her shoulder in the process. So, she had no reaction to salt. Dean decided to make a mental list. Holy water, silver knife, the works - he was going to test her.
After it became clear the food wasn't poisoned, the ate happily. Robin and Garth entertained them with one or two of their more memorable adventures. Sam told a story where he and Dean were left home alone and decided to practice shooting cans in the woods, only to be spooked senseless by a rabid raccoon. "We didn't know what to do!" he choked out between gasps of laughter "We had never shot anything that wasn't already dead! So there we are, running through the woods and this demonic rodent is hissing and spitting after us -" Garth banged on the tabled with his fist, unable to make a noise from laughing so hard. Even Castiel had a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Before they knew it, the pot was empty along with several cases of beer and 3 pies, it was past dark and a satisfied exhaustion had settled over the troop much like after a long day at the beach.
"Well, none of you can drive at this point," sighed Robin "I'll make up some beds."
"Robin, no. We can't-" started Sam
"You can and you will." she smiled, "I'll be right back." she left and they heard her go up the creaking stairs.
"Should we be staying here?" asked Dean drowsily. "I mean we don't have a place to stay, we didn't find a motel when we got here, but still." Dean rubbed his eyes.
"She offered, and besides, she could have valuable insights on the case since she lives around here." said Sam suppressing a yawn. "What do you think Cas?"
Castiel was not happy. He stood up, all previous humor replaced with the dark cloud of pissed-off. "I will be 'sleeping'" he air quoted "in the car." and he left the room too.
"What's his problem?" asked Sam.
"Eh, I don't know. PMS?" grumbled Dean, finishing off his beer. Bam. Garth's head hit the table, fast asleep. "So, uh, what's your whole take on this." he asked, pointing upstairs.
"I don't know," Sam shrugged "I like her, don't know enough about her to-" Rhythmic squeaks told them Robin was coming back down-stairs.
"Where's Jimmy?" she asked, drying her hands on a towel. Sam and Dean looked at each other.
"He decided to camp out in the car." answered Dean. "He uh, likes, he likes the car." Robin raised her eyebrows.
"Not my biggest fan, I see." she surmised "Thank you for trying to spare my feelings, but you can't make everyone happy." She looked at Garth, smiling. She grabbed his arm and steered him half asleep to the couch in the other room. Angus rushed off his beanbag chair and curled up on top of him. Dean and Sam watched from the kitchen as she threw a blanket over him and tucked in the edges. She walked back into the hallway and motioned with her finger for them to follow quietly. The stairs groaned under their weight.
"Do you have any children, Robin?" whispered Sam, spotting a stuffed bear on top of a hamper at the top of the stairs.
"Um, not anymore. They weren't mine, of course, but they were mine to me." her brow furrowed, as if recalling something sad. "I'm sorry for your loss." she added.
"Our loss?" asked Sam.
"Bobby Singer?" she murmured. "Garth told me. The few times I talked to him, you were all that was on his mind. Sam this, Dean that, the boys such and such. He was a good person."
"Yeah." said Dean, his voice almost breaking. "Yeah, he was."
She took a deep breath "Well this is your room Sam, I figure if you lay down diagonally, you should fit." Sam chuckled.
"Don't worry" he said, "I'm used to it."
"Bathroom and shower are there. And Dean, you're in here." she said, gesturing to a room across the hall.
"In there?"
"Yep."
"I get my own room?"
"Yes...?" she mused, slightly confused.
"Awesome." he rubbed his hands together as she turned to go downstairs. "Hey."
"Yeah?" she said, holding the banister.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome, Dean." she said warmly, and she descended the stairs. "If you need anything, let me know." she whispered loudly.
"Okay" he whispered back.
Dean took off his jacket, stretched, and went over to open the window. He breathed in the sweet autumn air. His baby was parked just over there, glinting in the moonlight. A couple moments passed when he heard the screen door below him. He watched suspiciously as Robin creeped across the lawn with something bulky in her arms. She was heading towards the Impala.
Dean's hands clenched on the window sill. What was she doing? She sneaked along the side and peeked through the window. She then dropped the whole spy thing and stood straight up, looking around confused. Was she trying to find Cas? Well good luck, sister. She tried to open the door, she struggled with it for a while and just as Dean was about to call out, she put something on the roof, turned up her jacket collar and headed back to the house. Dean ducked to the left so she wouldn't see him. After he heard the door close downstairs he looked again outside.
Castiel was watching from the edge of the woods. She was beautiful of course, hadn't aged a day. Some form of carnivorous bird was tugging at his etherial heart strings. He did not trust her. He should not trust her. But it was he who could not be trusted. He knew that his childish words had not swayed Dean's judgement. Anyone could see that she was, for lack of a better word, an angel.
It was his fault.
More images long since buried flickered in his mind. His visits with Naomi, although less frequent of late, had stirred memories that were not supposed to still exist. People he had killed, civilizations he had helped level, worlds he had buried and knowledge he never wanted.
Her pale skin reflected the moonlight like abalone shells, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She would remember him of course, how many times had she said his name? Her pace was determined, cautious, she was heading to where she assumed he would be resting. She was coming to confront him, she had seen through his facade, she knew who he was, she was going to shout every horrible thing he deserved at him, she . . . she . . . she was leaving. Castiel came out of the trees before he knew what he was doing, but she was already across the lawn. She stiffened, he knew she could smell him, but she chose to continue. The automobile had something on it that she had deposited. The door slammed.
Dean watched as Castiel as he came out of of the shadows, gazing after Robin. His hand reach out and he traced his fingers on the object. What if it was explosive?
"C-!"But his worries were soon reduced to ash. Castiel picked it up and Dean realized it was a blanket. She had brought him a blanket. Castiel looked to the house again, and then saw Dean. Dean gave him a 'I'm-totally-smug-but-here-when-you-want-to-talk' look and moved away.
Sam got himself settled. The mirror was broken, and the wallpaper peeled away from something that looked like scratches on the wall. There was a wooden dresser, a closet, and a bookcase. This room by far looked the most personalized, and with a jolt he realized she had given up her room. He was tempted to go down and switch with where ever she was going to sleep, but then thought she would be insulted or something. Absently he ran his finger along the books. Jane Austen, Edgar Allen Poe, Victor Hugo, Robert Louis Stevenson, Oscar Wilde, Voltaire, Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Charles Dickens, Rudyard Kipling and lots of William Shakespeare. They all looked quite old.
Suddenly Sam remember that Cas has said that Shakespeare based Robin Goodfellow after their Robin. The Robin downstairs. He searched for Midsummer Night's Dream among the titles, but it wasn't there. She had such an extensive collection it seemed ridiculous she should be without this particular play. He picked up Othello, tracing the embossed script with his calloused fingers. And then noticed something behind it. Seized with curiosity, he pulled more and more books out until he revealed a wooden box. With trembling hands he eased the decorative chest from it's dusty hiding place. It was unlocked, he opened it. Inside were scraps of paper, yellowed with age. He sifted through them, picked one up and read:
(NOTE: This is actually as it is written by William Shakespeare. The little 'ſ' is equivalent to 's' and there are a lot of extra 'e's and also 'v' was actually 'u')
Deareſt Little Robin Red-Breaſt
If the dull ſubstance of my fleſh were thought,
Iniurious diſtance ſhould not ſtop my way,
For then diſpight of ſpace I would be brought,
From limits farre remote,where thou dooſt ſtay,
No matter then although my foote did ſtand
Vpon the fartheſt earth remoou'd from thee,
For nimble thought can iumpe both ſea and land,
As ſoone as thinke the place where he would be.
But ah,thought kills me that I am not thought
To leape large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that ſo much of earth and water wrought,
I muſt attend,times leaſure with my mone.
Receiuing naughts by elements ſo ſloe,
But heauie teares,badges of eithers woe.
Remaining in fondneſſe,
W.S.
There were many more like this until he got to the bottom. A thick stack of papers held together by leather cord.
Faireſt Pook,
My loue is ſtrengthned though more weake in ſee-
I loue not leſſe,thogh leſſe the ſhow appeare, (ming
That loue is marchandiz'd,whoſe ritch eſteeming,
The owners tongue doth publiſh euery where.
Our loue was new,and then but in the ſpring,
When I was wont to greet it with my laies,
As Philomell in ſummers front doth ſinge,
And ſtops his pipe in growth of riper daies:
Not that the ſummer is leſſe pleaſant now
Than when her mournefull himns did huſh the night,
But that wild muſick burthens euery bow,
And ſweets growne common looſe their deare delight,
Therefore like her, I ſome-time hold my tongue:
Becauſe I would not dull you with my ſonge.
I feare thiſ be our laſt encounter
Deareſt Nightingale, I pray humble acceptance
Sam flipped the page.
A MIDſUMMER NIGHTſ DREAM
Sam almost dropped the whole thing. He was touching something that William Shakespeare wrote. William Shakespeare's hand had once been on this paper. Not that he was that big of a fan but, damn. He flipped through the pages, all Shakespeare's notes, corrections, ink splots, cross outs, everything was in it. It was truly priceless.
And currently in his grimy smudgey hands.
Panicked he tried to put it all back in the box. He put all the books back and tried to forget about it. That was until he felt a draft, from inside the closet.
Dean went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Well, all his stuff including his toothbrush was in the Impala so in reality he was just going to rinse his mouth out a bit. Plus he had to pee. He closed the door behind him and checked to see if Robin maybe had some toothpaste in the mirror-cabinet above the faucet. He opened it and a dozen prescription bottles fell into the porcelain sink. He put them back hurriedly but not before he caught a glimpse at some of the labels. Oxycodone. Whoa, he read some other labels: Percocet, MS Contin, Dilaudid, Vicodin, and box labeled Fentora. Holy Shit. These were some serious freakin pain meds. They were all under different names too, Gillian Edwards, Stanley Tucci, Louise Guiney, Katherine Briggs, and Edmund Garrett. Completely forgetting about brushing his teeth, headed back to his room only to be stopped in his tracks by the image of Sam hold a purple bra aloft in a completely disassembled room.
"Dude." said Dean. Sam jumped.
"It's not what you think." he said, tossing the bra aside.
"Jeez. If you wanted to rifle through her drawers so bad -"
"Dean. Shut up."
Dean chuckled "No but seriously, what are you doing?"
"Shh, look at this, look look look." he grabbed Deans arm and pulled him inside. He opened the closet, turned on the light and went behind the clothes.
"What are you doing? Checking for skeletons in the closet?" hissed Dean. Sam grabbed his sleeved and pulled him through the clothes.
"Woah."
"I know."
They were in another small room full of boxes, trunks, paintings, and old stuff. There was a record player and carved miniature boats. Glass jars and bottles. Somethings had more dust then others, the box with he least dust was on Dean's right. He opened it. Inside was atop hat, opera gloves, golden binoculars, a fan, a pearl necklace, a playbill and two tickets to La Bayadère on February 4th 1900. Dean whistled and put on the top hat. "Bah, Humbug."
"Dean" Sam whined "Don't touch anything."
"Alright alright." Dean smirked "So, what – she like antiques?"
"No, she is an antique. Look at this." Sam held up a framed black and white photo. Robin, in a high collar dress from the late 1800 with three other people.
"Okay, well how old is she?" Dean shrugged. Sam raised his eyebrows. He opened a rusty ancient wooden box and handed Dean a painting on a wooden disk. It was Robin's face, she had beads in her hair and around her neck. "Okay and?"
"This painting is from the 60's." he paused "As is 60 AD. It's by an artist I recognized from an Art History course in college. A Pompeii artist."
"Like Pompeii, volcano day Pompeii?" Dean sputtered. "So what she's 2,000 years old?"
"Maybe more, this is the oldest thing I could find." answered Sam.
"And um, what were you doing elbow deep in her panties?" jested Dean.
"Dean, grow up." chided Sam "I was looking for a secret compartment."
"Oh I bet you searching for that secret compart-" Sam shoved Dean on his way back through the clothes curtain. Dean followed but on his way out he saw a book Brownies and Bogles by Louise Imogen Guiney. Wait a minute, Louise Guiney was a name on the pain killers. He picked it up and let it fall open.
"The very old word Pouke meant the devil, horns, tail, and all; from that word, as it grew more human and serviceable, came the Pixy of Devonshire, the Irish Phooka, the Scottish Bogle, and the Boggart in Yorkshire; and even one nursery-tale title of Bugaboo. Oddest of all, the name Pug, which we give now to an amusing race of small dogs, is an every-day reminder of poor lost Puck, and of the queer changes which, through a century or two, may befall a word."
"Hey Sammy."
"What?"
"I think I found something." Sam came back holding another book.
"Yeah, me too." Hobgoblin and Sweet Puck by Gillian Edwards.
"Looks Robby doesn't give a puck." Dean grinned.