"That don't make a lick of sense," Bobby says, confusion evident in his gruff voice, walking through to the main room of his house which has always been more like a library then a living room thanks to all the piles of books on the floor and above the fireplace, some looking a little worse for wear.
And I think I've read most of those books more then once mainly due to my obsession with literature of any kind. I may be Dean's twin, but I'm more like Sam, I guess. When I was growing up, I would always try to find time to grab a book, spend hours reading it, sometimes until the early hours of the morning much to the amusement of Dean. Guess that's why he'd given me the nickname Matilda after the girl who loved to read in the Roald Dahl book.
It may sound weird, but walking into this room I can't resist taking a long, deep inhale, that musty old smell making me feel instantly enveloped in warmth making me long to grab one of those books and sit by the fire. And maybe one of those books could tell me what it was that pulled me out of the pit.
"I know. You're preaching to the choir, Doc," I sigh following him and Dean, wiping my face which is dripping after I'd had two doses of holy water thrown in my face by both Bobby and my fucking twin, "just to make absolutely sure" the grumpy old man had told me.
"AJ, your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop and you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meatsuit..."
"I should look like an extra from The Evil Dead," I nod, flopping down on his couch, my fingers moving to rub my eyes, feeling utterly worn out yet completely wide awake like I didn't need to sleep for at least a month.
"What do you remember?," Dean asks, sitting next to me, his hand finding my own making me turn to look at him.
"Honestly?. Not much, really. I remember that hellhound turning me into his chew toy. Then...lights out. Next thing I remember is waking up six feet under."
I feel like the worse person in the world for lying to Dean as well as Bobby. But how the hell can I tell them the truth, that I remember everything, worse of all WHAT I did in order to put an end to all the torture I'd been put through for thirty of those forty years. If they knew the truth I'd end up losing them as well as Sam. I suddenly realise that there's one person missing making me frown.
"Ummm, guys, where...where's Sam?. What...what's going on?. There's something you're not telling me. He's...he's not..."
"Oh he's alive as far as we know," Bobby answers.
"Good. Wait, what do you mean as far as you know?."
"Yeah, umm, Sam took off. He bailed, couple of months ago, wouldn't speak to me or Bobby, turned his cellphone off," Dean explains not sounding exactly happy, just like I'm feeling.
"What and you just...let him walk away?. Fucking hell," I snarl, moving my hand to my head, running my fingers through my blonde curls.
"He was dead set on it. Sam, he...he blamed himself for what happened to you. That's why he bailed. These last few months haven't been easy for any of us. We had to bury you," Bobby says.
"Why bury me, though?. Didn't I deserve a proper hunter's funeral?."
"Well, me and Bobby wanted that for you, but Sam wouldn't allow it. He insisted you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow. That's all he said," Dean says.
"He was quiet. Real quiet. Then he upped and left, wouldn't return our calls. I tried to find him, but he don't wanna be found," Bobby says, sighing heavily.
"Oh, dammit, Sammy. He got me home all right, but however he did it...it wasn't good. You...you should've seen where I was buried. It looked like a nuke had gone off, dead trees everywhere. Then there was some kind of...force or presence which swooped in at some fill-up joint. And...and there's this," I explain to them, slipping my jacket off, dropping it to the floor, my fingers pushing the sleeve of my right arm up, revealing to them the handshaped burn on my shoulder seeing instantly their shocked expressions.
"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, staring at the mark.
"What in the hell?," Bobby gasps, moving closer to it, his thumb moving to touch it, it feeling a little less tender.
"It was like some demon or all powerful creature gripped me and yanked me out of the pit," I say rolling my sleeve back down once Bobby lets go of my arm.
"You really think Sam made a deal?."
"I don't know, but that's what I would have done," I shrug, picking my jacket up off the floor.
I'm feeling more and more convinced that whatever it was that rescued me wasn't a demon, but something a lot, lot more powerful, something we've never seen before. And that is scaring me a lot more.
I find it impossible to keep in my moans of bliss, the hot water feeling like heaven, my body automatically relaxing, watching all the dirt leave me, no trace of ever having been buried. It's amazing how good a long, hot shower can feel after a shitty day.
But I'm still feeling a little pissed that Sam could have been the one responsible for my return, that he could have done exactly what I did to bring him back after what had gone down with the Yellow-eyed demon. And I feel sick knowing he may have doomed himself just like I did to myself. He wouldn't do that, surely, not after what had happened to me those four months ago.
I turn off the water, my hands squeezing my soaking wet hair which could really do with a slight trim, stepping out of the shower stall, wrapping a towel around myself, using a smaller one to wrap my wet hair up. Thankfully, Bobby and Dean had kept most of my things meaning I wouldn't have to put those dirty clothes back on.
I walk through to the bedroom which always used to be mine whenever I ended up dumped here by dad, walking to the wardrobe pulling out a pair of black levis, a dark blue tee and my other favourite jacket which is in blue denim, pulling all three on after pulling on a fresh set of underwear.
"Come in, D," I call, hearing a knock at the door knowing instinctively it was him, watching him walk in, sitting on the bed, running a brush through my towel dried hair.
"Hey, how are you doing, Matilda?," he smiles sitting next to me, his arm wrapping around my waist.
"Getting there, I think. Mmm, I've missed this, " I mumble, sighing, resting my head on his shoulder.
"Almost forgot how cuddly you were."
"Says you, Dean Winchester. You're the cuddly one, not me."
He snorts, his lips moving to my forehead, kissing me softly, his fingers running through some of my blonde locks.
"By the way, I have something of yours I think you'll want back," he says, releasing me, his hands moving to his neck, undoing something then holding it up in front of me.
"My locket. You...you kept it on you all this time?," I whisper.
"How could I not?. I knew you'd want me to keep it safe."
I let out a sniffle, feeling like an idiot again for letting my emotions overpower me, moving around so my back is to him, allowing him to fasten the chain around my neck, the silver and gold locket resting on my chest. It's probably the only thing I have left from my mom, her giving it to me when I was four, a few weeks before she died.
I turn back around moving back towards Dean, letting him hold me again, my own arms wrapping around him. And for the first time since I got back, I don't feel like crying.