It Is Not In the Stars To Hold Our Destinies

by Two-Girls-One-Story-Was-Taken

Two girls seek revenge for the deaths of their families, and end up deeper into the hunting community than they originally intended. M for language and FUTURE sexual content. WIP. OC's. No, we do not own Supernatural or any of the characters/affiliates. R&R.

7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Abigail and I arrived at the local prison to see Miss Diana Hunt. She was the one person connected to all this whom I hadn't spoken to yet. The prison was rather old and dingy, but still completely useful for its purpose. It looked as though it hadn't been updated since the '60s.

At the entrance, we showed our I.D.'s and fake press badges. Abigail sweated through the whole ordeal, worrying that we would get caught. I had to give her an internal smack. If anything was going to blow our cover, it would be the look on her face when the officer was looking at her press badge. "What's the press want with an inmate?"

"We're interested in getting her side of the story," I said smoothly. It wasn't entirely a lie. The guard let us through without any further questions, after a pat-down and a walk through the metal detector. He didn't talk to us as he walked us to the room where we were meeting Ms. Hunt.

"You have one hour," he commented before he left us.

We entered a room full of cubicles, like the ones you saw in movies, where there was a pane of glass that divided the cubicles with a phone on either side for communication. Diana Hunt was sitting at the third one in. She had been a very pretty girl in her pictures from newspaper articles, and she still was pretty…but prison had taken its toll on her. Her hair had obviously been very poorly chopped off to make it chin-length, she had no makeup on to hide her tired eyes, and there were lines on her face that had not been there before.

I sat down across from her and picked up the telephone on my end. After sizing me up for a minute, she picked hers up as well. "You're not really from the press, are you?" she asked immediately, seeing right through me. I should have known she was a little bit of a psychic herself. She was giving off heavy vibes…she was powerful.

"No," I admitted. "We came to ask you some questions."

"Yes, I killed him."

"I know. But did you kill Janet Abel, too?"

"How could I? I've been stuck in prison." I guess I'd offended her. I could feel her temper flare, and her eyes turned into narrowed slits as she glared at me.

"I don't know. Outside sources? I have to rule out all the possibilities before I can try to fix the situation."

"And how exactly are you going to fix the situation? I'm in jail for murder. There's no taking that back, given that I'm guilty and all."

"That's true," I admitted. "But we can stop the other killings."

Diana bit her bottom lip, and thought for a couple of minutes. After she had finished her thinking, she sighed. "I don't know who is killing who anymore. My grandmother was my only source of outside information, and she's dead. All I can tell you is that whoever is doing this was connected with the man who raped me. I don't know any names."

"It's okay. Thank you so much. We'll keep you updated."

A guard came to take Diana away after we both hung up our phones. When the guard touched her arm, her anger spiked and she looked like she wanted to rip his head off. I couldn't blame her. He thought of her as trash, and treated her as such. He was also of the opinion that she had deserved being raped, and thought she belonged in the electric chair for killing her assailant.

Just as she was about to round the corner back into her prison, she glanced back at us. I sensed something…a glimmer of hope…in her thoughts. She thought we could help save her.

Abigail and I left the prison, with about as much knowledge as we'd come in with. I was frustrated, tired, and I could feel a massive headache coming on. "Let's go back to the hotel, take a nap, then get back to work," Abby suggested.

"Good plan," I agreed.

"What the fuck is up with this headache?" I growled while we sat outside a house. We were supposed to be watching for suspicious activity. I didn't know where Abby got this lead from, nor was I in any mood to ask. For the past thirty hours or so, my head felt like someone was constantly slamming it up against a brick wall…which made me completely useless, for the most part.

I was more than glad when Abby asked if I wanted her to take over the investigation completely. I was hopeless when I got headaches like this. Tonight, I was only tagging along because she needed me to watch her back. Going in against witches alone was dangerous business, even for the most seasoned of hunters.

"Did you bring your gun?" she asked me.

"No, I brought my katana."

"Wouldn't a gun be easier?"

"I can kill someone just as easily with a katana as I can with a gun."

Abigail rolled her eyes at me. "Using your katana might not be fast enough, Gabrielle."

I decided not to argue. My head had started throbbing again and I felt like I was going to be sick. "Where did you get this lead again?" I questioned, trying to distract myself from the pain.

"I found out that Raymond Emery has a sister…a witch sister. Anyway, she's a really nasty one." I saw in her head some of the things this witch had done. The list included killing small animals and giving them as sacrifices, hexing children if they annoyed her, and murdering the families of her brother's rape victims. And that was just the list of mild crimes she'd committed using her magic.

"Gross," I commented, trying to hold back vomit.

Inside the house, a dim light came on. We could see the figures of three people in the house, all standing rather close to each other. "Go time?" I asked, wanting to get it over and done-with. Unfortunately, there was no way of getting around the fact that witches were human, aside from their powers. They ate, drank, slept, and had sex like humans so they had to die like humans.

"Not yet," Abby sighed. "I'm waiting for a…oh fuck!" I saw it at the same time she did. The three figures stepped back, and another figure came to light. Whoever it was, they were hanging from the ceiling by a rope.

We were both out of the car in an instant. I grabbed my sword from the back seat while Abby pulled a pistol out of the back of her jeans. Both of us ran to the door, but it was locked. "Hang on," I growled and pushed Abby back a little so I could kick in the door. I had to put all of my weight into my leg in order to get the door down.

Inside the entrance way, standing this close, I could hear everyone's thoughts. The witches still weren't fully aware of what was going on. The victim was, thankfully, alive and hanging by their feet. They were injured, however, and were starting to lose consciousness from the blood loss. We entered the room where the magic ceremony was going on, and the witches were now fully aware that they were in danger. Almost as soon as we reached the doorway, they used their magic to pin both Abby and me to a wall.

"Great," I grunted and tried to unpin myself. My efforts were futile.

"Well, well," Melody Emery smiled deviously. She had a broad face, with rather flat features, and shoulder-length blonde hair. "Look what we have here. Two hunters, I presume. Well, baby hunters, anyway. Sorry, kiddos, but you won't get rid of me that easily. Just stay there while I finish this, okay?"

"What do we do?" Abby whimpered.

I wasn't sure what we could do while we were pinned to the wall by magic. I could try to maneuver my sword around with my mind, but I wasn't exactly that precise yet. If I messed up, I could accidentally kill the person hanging by their feet instead of the Emery witch because of how close together they were. So, we were stuck with watching as all three of the witches began chanting their Latin gibberish.

Only when they were finished, after I saw the dagger that Melody Emery was holding, did I realize what was about to happen. Melody cut a thin slice in her hand, and poured the blood into a bowl full of herbs. And then, she turned the knife on the person hanging upside down. I watched in what felt like slow motion as the dagger cut open the person's throat and blood poured out of the wound.

"FUCK! DAMN IT! WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!" Abby was screaming in her head. My blood was icy cold, and I felt like I was going to be sick all over again. My head felt like it was going to explode, and my limbs were sore from being forced against the wall. The only thing I could think to do was to try to hold the wound closed with my mind, or clot the blood so the person wouldn't bleed out. "DO IT, GABBY!"

I tried to focus on the wound, force the jugular vein closed. From this distance, it was really difficult. The vein was so tiny…I couldn't seem to get a good mental grip on it. But at least it was helping some. The flow of blood was starting to slow as I focused harder on keeping that vein closed. "I can't hold it for long, Abby," I warned as my headache was starting to take a real toll on my ability to hold the vein closed.

"Just a second longer," she pleaded. I could see her trying to fight her way past the spell that was pinning us to the wall.

She didn't need to fight, thought. Melody Emery un-pinned us, and we fell to our knees. I'd lost concentration for a split second, and the jugular vein reopened. I cursed silently, and tried to fix it without the witches knowing. "You take care of that. I'll take care of these assholes," Abby said and picked my katana up before anybody could blink.

Abby had the three witches pretty preoccupied…preoccupied enough for me to get the person down from the ceiling. I cut them down, and was finally able to get a look at their face. She was a young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen with wiry blond hair and porcelain skin. Quickly as I could, I found some sort of cloth that I could press down on her neck to try to physically staunch the bleeding.

"Stay with me," I begged her. "We'll get you out. You just have to stay with me." Oh, God. I almost forgot that the smell of human blood made me violently ill. Vampire blood, I could handle. Excessive amounts of human blood, however, made me want to vomit my intestines out.

I looked up to see Abby holding her own pretty well. She had killed the two male witches already. The only one left was Melody Emery, and that's only because she had a dagger. Her magic circle was broken without her counterparts. Unfortunately, I needed Abby to work faster if we were going to save the girl. "If you could grab the gun and shoot with your free hand, that'd be great," she yelled at me.

I searched around for the pistol Abby had brought inside. It was sitting to my left, but it was too far away for me to reach without letting go of the girl's neck. So, I picked it up telekinetically. "Now, please!" Abby gritted her teeth.

Just as I was about to take the shot, Melody lunged at Abby. I held off on the shot, because it was too close. I wasn't about to risk killing Abby. However…Melody managed to plant her dagger deep in Abby's thigh. Abby let out a wail of immense pain and fell to the ground, dropping my katana as she went.

I saw my window of opportunity. Melody was standing over Abigail with a half-crazed look in her eyes. Without any hesitation, I shot her. The bullet passed through the front of her skull and out of the back. Abigail had just enough time to move before Melody Emery fell flat on her face.

"We have to get her out of here," Abigail said to me. "Can you lift her?"

"And keep pressure on her wound? No, probably not."

"I'll help you. You lift, I'll keep the pressure on her neck. One…two…three." I lifted the girl up off the floor with relative ease. She couldn't have weighed more than one hundred and thirty pounds. Abby kept her hand steady on the girl's neck while I carried her outside and into my car.

Abby and I didn't have to say anything to know that I was the one driving while she stayed in the back with the girl. I could feel the girl's life slowly fading away. She wasn't in a lot of pain. You barely had to cut the skin on the throat to get someone to bleed out because of how thin it is. All I could feel was her getting more and more tired on the way to the hospital. "What are we going to do about the bodies?" I asked when we were almost at the hospital.

"I don't know. We shouldn't have just left them there, though. What if someone calls the police about the gunshots?"

"We don't have time to worry about the police right now. I think we're going to have to answer a shit ton of questions once we get to the hospital, especially if she doesn't make it."

Abby didn't say anything. She knew I was right. If this girl didn't make it, the authorities would assume we were the ones who had cut her throat open. I didn't blame them for thinking that way, honestly. What else were they supposed to think?

I pulled into the ambulance unloading area instead of the E.R. They would be able to help her a lot faster that way.

A man came out of the building and yelled, "What are you doing? This is area is for authorized vehicles only!" Then he saw the girl in Abby's arms. He yanked her out of the car before we had a chance to explain anything. The man took the girl inside and put her on a gurney while a hoard of nurses rushed up to try to close up the wound in a more permanent way than my methods.

"Could stitch it up…"

"We need some blood for her. She's lost a lot already. Might not be able to save her…"

"She won't make it. Damn shame. She's so young."

I couldn't listen to any of their thoughts anymore. Instead, I distracted myself by staring at my bloody hands. The salty, metallic smell hit my nostrils and made me gag. My stomach did a ridiculous back flip that forced bile up into my mouth. I ran to the nearest trash can and vomited. My head felt like someone was going at my skull with an ice pick…a dull, hard, thumping pain that ran from the front of my eyes to the bottom of my jaw.

"You okay?!" Abby asked frantically and held my hair back for me. I continued to throw up until I was dry heaving. "Gabby, what's the matter?" I felt bad. She was in a lot of pain herself. That wound Melody had served her was making it hard for her to walk. Every time she moved, she was in a lot of pain.

"Go inside and get that looked at. I'll be fine. I just need a minute," I groaned. When I tried to stand up, I got really dizzy. I could feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat that was quickly soaking through my shirt. I sat down on the concrete ground outside the ambulance bay and tried to make myself stop shaking.

Eventually, I was okay to stand up. I needed some water, so I went inside. At first I didn't remember that I was basically in a giant, open operating room. Anyone with minor injuries was going to be treated in this area. As a result, I saw Abby sitting on a gurney while a nurse stitched up her leg. "Hey," she smiled. She wasn't in any pain anymore. The nurse had put a topical numbing agent on her wound so she wouldn't feel the pain of the needle being pushed through her skin.

"Hey. Any word on our vic?"

"No, they took her to an O.R. and I haven't heard anything since. You okay?" Through her eyes, I could see just how awful I looked. The front of my hair was matted with sweat, there was absolutely no color to my face, and I basically looked like a walking corpse.

"Fine," I replied. "I just need some water."

"I think there's a fountain over there somewhere." She gave a short nod towards a back hallway. I followed her lead and found the water fountain she was referring to. For what was probably a full two minutes, I drank deeply from the spigot. When I came up for air, I looked down the hall to find a police officer questioning Abby.

I made my way down the hallway as fast as my legs would let me. "Good evening, officer," I said, interrupting their conversation.

"Good evening, ma'am. I'm just here to ask you two some questions, if that's alright." He was a tall, balding man with a white moustache and a beer belly.

"Sure," I nodded.

"Okay. First off, may I see your driver's licenses?" I reached into my back pocket, retrieved my wallet, and handed the officer my fake I.D. that identified me as 'Taylor Bridgeman'. This was one of those instances where using my real driver's license was way too risky. Abby handed him the one of hers that identified her as 'Macy Reeves'.

"Alright, Miss Bridgeman and Miss Reeves," he addressed us after writing the fake license numbers down on a pad of paper. "How are you two affiliated with the victim, Miss Lana Cartwright?"

"We're not, really," I admitted.

"How did she attain her injury?"

"We found her like that," I lied.

"How did you get to her in time to staunch her bleeding?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't know. Maybe we got there just after her attacker?"

Abby didn't say anything the whole time. She just let me do all the talking. It didn't matter, though. The officer didn't believe a word of what I was saying. Oh, well. As long as he had no proof against us, then we were fine.

Once we were through with the questioning, the officer thanked us for our time and left with our fake phone numbers and driver's license information in hand.

The nurse who stitched Abby up told her to take Tylenol for the pain, and not to walk too much because she might rip her stitches. "Yeah, right," she snorted to herself after the nurse went to go grab a wheel chair and some crutches. "If she thinks I'm not walking, she's crazy. We have evil shit to kill."

"You'll stay off of that leg until you can walk without limping. And don't try to lie. I'll know you're lying."

She shook her head and leaned back on the gurney. The nurse returned shortly with a wheel chair to wheel Abby back out to my car, and a pair of crutches for when she absolutely had to walk.

On our way out of the hospital, I asked the nurse if the girl we'd tried to save was alright.

"She's alive," the nurse replied. "But it will be a while before she can even begin to think about moving around or anything. She's going to be miserable until that vein heals up some."

"Okay. Well, thanks," I said when we reached my car. It was still in the ambulance unloading area, where it wasn't supposed to be. Abby slid into my car, thanked the nurse again for sewing her up, and we were on our way.

"Better call Bobby," she said. "If I have to stay off this leg, we're going to have to bunker down at his house for a while if he'll let us."

I nodded in agreement, grabbed my cell phone out of the glove box, and dialed Bobby's direct phone number. It rang for so long that I thought it might go to voicemail, but on the last ring someone answered. "Singer residence." Sam Winchester's voice came through loud and clear through the receiver.

"Sam? It's Gabby King. Is Bobby there?"

"Oh," he sighed. "Hey, Gabby. Hang on one second."

I heard some shuffling around, some muttering, and then Bobby answered. "Hey, kid. How'd the hunt go?"

"It was a close call, but we got the witch."

"That's good. You gals in need of another hunt?"

"Not exactly," I sighed. "Abby managed to get hurt and needs to stay put for a while. I figured we could come to Sioux Falls and visit while she's healing up."

"Not hurt too bad, is she?"

"Just a few stitches. She'll live, for sure."

"Alright, well, you can come and visit. Can't guarantee it'll be a pleasant experience, though."

Something in his voice just wasn't right. He sounded…depressed.

"Bobby, what's the matter?"

"John Winchester is dead."

I glanced over at Abby, whose mouth was wide open in horror. "How?!" I demanded after a few seconds' pause.

"I'll tell you about it later. You just drive safe now." I guess that meant he couldn't talk about it in front of Dean or Sam. I could see why. They were probably distraught enough without having to hear about John all the time. In fact, I could see Dean never wanting to talk about John again because of how upset he probably was.

Bobby and I got off the phone, and I took the interstate heading directly for Sioux Falls right after we retrieved our things from the hotel we'd been staying at.

We pulled in to Sioux Falls at about three o'clock in the afternoon, and it was three fifteen before I was in Bobby's driveway. The sound of classic rock music and metal being banged around hit my ears almost immediately.

For a moment or two, I wondered what could be going on. Then I saw Dean's precious Impala parked outside of Bobby's little body shop, stripped down to the bare metal and covered in dents. The frame was twisted and bent every which-way. My curiosity piqued, but then my heart sank. Had John Winchester really been killed in a car accident? That was the last thing I thought would be able to kill him.

As I got closer, Dean emerged from Bobby's garage with a sledge hammer. He waved at us, so I stopped and got out of the car. "Hey," he said simply.

I hated to pry, but it was all up in the front part of his mind…John being possessed by the yellow-eyed-demon, the demon critically injuring Dean, Sam shooting John in the leg, John begging to be killed and Dean begging Sam not to do it, Sam driving John and Dean to the hospital, getting hit by a semi being driven by a demon, Dean being comatose and seeing reapers, and John selling his life to Yellow Eyes to save Dean's life.

"Oh, shit," I gasped.

"Holy…" Abby must have been listening in on his thoughts, too. I could feel her fighting back her tears.

"How did your hunt go?" Dean asked, breaking me away from his thoughts.

"It didn't go as smoothly as I had planned, but we got the job done," I responded. He didn't want to talk about it, and I wasn't going to try to make him. It was none of my business anyway. People die every day. At least, that's what I always tell myself to get through the night.

I went over to the passenger side of my car to help Abby out. When I helped her onto her crutches, Dean looked up from the Impala and asked, "What happened to you, Freckles?"

"Got stabbed and had to get stitches in a critical muscle area on my thigh. No unnecessary walking for me."

"That sucks," he shook his head and smiled a little to himself. "Pretty small wound for a first hunt."

"Shut up, Dean," she quipped and hit him in the back of the leg with her crutch as we passed by.

"Completely forgot about their weird psychic thing…"

I helped Abby up Bobby's back porch and knocked on the door before I went in. Sam was in the kitchen, washing dishes with rubber gloves on. I, personally, thought it was a pretty silly sight to see. He was so tall and muscular that I didn't really expect to see him doing domestic things. Then again, he was the tamest of the Winchesters. "Hey, Sam," I smiled and sat Abby down at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Gabby." He gave me half of a smile back, took his rubber gloves off, and hugged me tightly around the shoulders. I giggled a little at the fact that he actually had to bend over to do that. When he quit hugging me, he looked over at Abby and her crutches with worried thoughts. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine," she sighed. "But I think I might still file for workers' comp."

Sam snorted, hugged her, and went back to his dish washing. He was handling John's death a lot better than Dean. Just a glance at Dean's mind told me he was a jumbled up mess of crazy. But Sam seemed to have accepted it, probably because he hadn't relied on John as much. Granted, he was still depressed, but it wasn't the white-hot-rage kind of depression his brother was suffering from.

"Hey, kids," Bobby said from the doorway that led from the living room to the kitchen. He strode over to us, gave us both hugs, and said, "How do burgers sound for dinner?"

"That sounds amazing," I said. "I'll go to the store, it's no big deal."

"Uhhh, yeah…" he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can ya at least let me get the words out of my mouth so I'm not all confused about what you're talking about? I may be old, but I do think about more than one thing at once."

"Sorry," I smiled. "Sometimes I forget."

Bobby just gave me a warm smile and went back in the other room. I looked over at Abby and asked, "Do you want to move to the other room, or are you fine in this chair?"

"It's whatever," she shrugged. "I'm fine here."

"Good. I didn't really want to carry you, anyway," I joked. "I'm going to go outside and see if I can take Dean up on that oil change sometime this week."

I got up from the kitchen table, walked out the back door, and out to the garage where the banging noises had overpowered the radio. Dean had taken his shirt off and was using it as a bandana to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. It was really silly looking, but I had to admit…from the neck down, he looked pretty good.

I guess he saw me walk up, because he stopped hammering and asked, "Is there something I can help you with?" So he was in a bad mood. Guess I'd have to offer more than twenty bucks….

"I was hoping I could ask you to do me a favor," I said in as polite of a voice as I could muster.

"Great. As if I don't have enough to worry about…"

"Fine, I guess I'll just ask someone else," I said and started to walk away.

"Damn it! I hate that! Stupid psychic crap." "What was it you needed?" he climbed out of the Impala's frame and started to follow me.

"I just needed an oil change, but since you have so much to worry about already, I'll just ask Bobby if he can do it." I hated to ask Bobby to do anything, since he already did so much for me and Abigail. Maybe I'd go to a PepBoys or something instead.

I'd just rounded the corner to go back in the house when Dean yelled for me to stop. I turned to look at him with my hands on my hips, thoroughly annoyed with him at this point. I understood he was upset about John, but he was being an ass to me for no reason.

In Dean's mind, I looked like a mother waiting to scold her child. It kind of softened him up a bit, I guess because his own mom had done it to him once or twice. To be honest, I looked so much like my mother in that moment that it scared the shit out of me. "I'll do it, if it's just an oil change. Do you know what oil weight you need?"

"I…uh…huh?"

"Oil weight," he repeated. When I shook my head in confusion, he shot me a green-eyed squint. "You don't know what kind of oil your car takes? Do you have the owner's manual?" "Jesus Christ. This kid…"

"It's in the glove box."

"Can you grab that and bring it here?" "Didn't her dad teach her anything about that car?"

"He died before he could teach me, asshole," I shot back as I walked over to the Challenger. My dad had meant to teach me a lot of things about that car before he'd died. Now I was stuck with asking the world's biggest prick for help with a simple oil change.

I grabbed the manual and took it back to Dean, who then proceeded to flip through it to find the fluid information. "Can you run to the AutoZone up the street and grab a gallon of 5W-30 oil before I start?"

"Yeah, I'm going to the grocery store anyway."

He handed me the manual and went back to working on his car. I took my keys and some money Bobby gave me and drove to the grocery store. I picked up cheese, ground beef, beer, buns, veggies, potatoes, and the stuff to make blueberry pie a la mode.

On my way back to Bobby's, I stopped to pick up the oil Dean had told me to grab. Unfortunately, there were so many different brands that I just stood there for ten or fifteen minutes trying to decide which one was the right one. Eventually I just gave up and called Dean. "Get something for a high performance vehicle with high mileage," he told me in a frustrated, condescending voice.

I grabbed something that fit that description and headed straight back to Bobby's house. Bobby and Sam were outside with Dean, looking at his progress on the Impala. "I still think he's crazy for trying to rebuild this hunk of scrap, but whatever," Bobby was thinking.

Sam, on the other hand, was much more confident in Dean's ability as a mechanic. "He'll have this fixed and running again in no time."

I parked and called out, "Hey, can you guys come help me with these groceries?"

Sam and Bobby came over and grabbed all of the groceries while I took my oil to Dean. "Is that the right one?" I asked him.

"Yep, you got it. I'm going to show you how to do this, though, so you can do it yourself if I'm not around."

"Okay." I certainly appreciated that. His attitude seemed to have changed between the time I left and the time I got back. "By the way, I bought the stuff to make pie."

Dean smiled in spite of himself. That man couldn't resist pie if his life depended on it. "Alright, let's get started. Drive your car into that port right there, over the hole in the ground." I did as he asked and pulled into the garage. The hole that he was talking about was built into the cement. There were stairs leading down to a small, one-person-sized room with stairs leading down.

Dean instructed to me to go into the little room underneath my car, and handed me a lamp once I got down there. The underside of my car was grimy. I secretly wondered if there was any way of cleaning that. "Look for a bucket and find the oil reservoir." Once again, I did as he said. If I hadn't been able to read his mind, however, I would never have known what the oil reservoir looked like. He told me to unscrew the cap that was on it and to put the bucket under the hole to let the oil drain out, which took about ten minutes.

When all the oil had drained out, I put the cap back on and climbed out from underneath my car. The smell of meat on the grill hit me then. Bobby must have started cooking. "Okay," Dean said and handed me a rag. "Go ahead and grab a funnel, put it in where the oil dipstick is, and fill it back up with the fresh oil. You're done after that. I'm going to grab a beer."

The whole process was done in about thirty minutes, and I was really proud that I'd been able to do most of it on my own with Dean's instructions. The problem was remembering to do it on a regular basis.

Abby was sitting at the kitchen table, cutting vegetables up on a cutting board. When I walked in, she thought, "Can you grab those potatoes out of the oven? They should be just about done by now."

"Sure. I need to start on that pie if I want it to be done before midnight."

"How did your oil change with Dean go?"

"Fine, why?"

"Oh, just wondering," she replied in a snide manner. I could see her train of thought. She thought I liked Dean.

"You're delusional. He's a douchebag."

"I hear you," she laughed and pushed the vegetables aside. I opted to ignore her.

As soon as I put the pie in the oven, Dean, Bobby, and Sam walked inside. Bobby was carrying a plate of freshly grilled burgers. Sam and Dean were both carrying beers. "Mmmm, pie," Dean thought to himself. I giggled a little and put out plates for everyone at the table.

"Psh," Abby said aloud. "I'm not sitting in here. The Steelers are playing the Packers. I ain't missing that shit."

"YES!" Sam laughed and gave her a high five, which she awkwardly accepted. "You need help getting to the couch?"

"No," she said at the exact same time that I said, "Yes."

"Sorry, Abby. I guess that means I have to carry you."

"You don't have to…oh, uhm!" She bit down on her lower lip when Sam lifted her out of the chair and carried her over to the couch with ease. Physical contact was not her strong suit, especially when the person touching her was even remotely attractive.

"He likes her," Dean thought to himself and followed them into the living room with a full plate. I knew that, but Abby probably hadn't even thought twice about it. She rarely looked into peoples' thoughts unless they were especially loud or important. She didn't like 'invading their privacy'.

"You okay, kid?" Bobby asked and sat next to me at the kitchen table.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You just seem like you've got something on your mind, that's all."

Bobby had a funny way of reading people. I'd been thinking about my dad all day, ever since Dean had said something about him. I just remembered his laugh, his corny jokes, how mad he got about politics…I missed him a lot. "It's nothing," I replied as nonchalantly as I could.

"YEAH!" A chorus of cheers came from the couch. Bobby and I both smirked and ate in companionable silence while Sam, Abby, and Dean cheered themselves hoarse.

"That pie was awesome," Dean smiled from the kitchen table with a beer in his hand and an empty plate in front of him. Sam had gone to sleep on the couch ages ago, and Abby was sitting across from Dean with a pistol and her gun cleaning kit out. I was helping Bobby with dishes.

"Thanks," I said. "My mom always made really great pies. That was her recipe."

"I'll be sure to get that recipe," he thought to himself. He finished his beer, let out a rather disgusting burp, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth before he joined Sam in the living room.

"We should probably call it a night soon, too," Abby suggested and started packing away her cleaning supplies. I agreed, dried the last dish, and put it away.

"You gals going to get some shut eye?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. We'll see you in the morning," I nodded.

I woke up in a cold sweat, panting heavily and feeling extremely dizzy. I'd been having a nightmare, but it wasn't my nightmare. I had absolutely no reason to dream about John Winchester screaming for Sam to shoot him while I watched, helpless and bleeding. I must have accidentally picked up on a nightmare Dean was having.

I tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but now I was awake…and I could hear everyone's dreams. Abby was dreaming about being at a concert with me (which was something both of us missed doing), Bobby was dreaming about his wife, and Sam was dreaming about his girlfriend dying…again.

For a while, I kept tossing and turning. Finally, I gave up and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I crept my way down the stairs, so I wouldn't wake anyone up. Sam and Dean were both snoring in the living room, despite their restless dreams. As silently as I could, I got my glass of water, then went back to bed.

Sleep came a little easier after that. The water had cleared my head, allowing me to shut everyone out until I managed to get back to sleep.

"I'm surprised Dean was willing to drive that hoopty old thing. I know they have to keep hunting, but I thought for sure he'd wait until the Impala was up and running again," I said to Bobby while we were scrubbing the wooden floors.

"You gotta do what you gotta do, I suppose," he shrugged. "Do we have to keep doing this? I got some research to do."

"No one said you had to help me, old man," I kidded. He cut his eyes at me sarcastically. "Go on," I said in a gentler voice. "I'll finish this up."

"I hate being so useless," Abby groaned from the couch. "What if you bring me all the silverware and I polish it?"

"His silverware isn't made of silver. He melted all of his real silver stuff down to make bullets out of."

"Ugh," she grunted and threw the television remote down on the coffee table.

I knew she was getting tired of being unable to help, but I had to follow the doctor's orders. If she ripped her stitches, we wouldn't be able to hunt together for an even longer period of time. And I needed her on our hunts too much to be able to risk that. "Sorry, honey," I sighed and stopped scrubbing.

My knees and back were hurting pretty bad, so I needed to take a break. I got up and headed to the kitchen. "Do you want a sandwich or anything?"

"No," she huffed and grabbed her crutches. "I have to pee."

"Okay, do you need any help?"

"No."

I shook my head and got all the stuff out to make myself a turkey and cheese sandwich. Normally, it would have annoyed me that all of Bobby's phones started going off all at once, but it was like clockwork now. It was like everybody needed him at the same time. I ignored it and finished making my sandwich.

When Dean and Sam arrived at Bobby's after their hunt, my head felt like it was being beaten against a wall again. I was sitting on the couch with an ice pack over my eyes. "You alright?" Sam asked as soon as they walked in the door.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. How was your hunt?"

"Hilarious," Dean jibed. "Sammy here is still afraid of clowns."

I could almost hear Sam's eyes roll from across the room. "You're so funny, I forgot to laugh," Abby said from Bobby's library. Bobby laughed so hard, I thought he was going to bust a lung. My head felt like it was going to implode, so I left the room and went to the room Abby and I were staying in. I heard Abby trying to explain what was wrong to Sam and Dean as I left.

I laid down in the bed and tried to shut everyone out so I could sleep. Even still, I could hear their thoughts. Dean was busy thinking I was a nutcase, and still managed to brood about John's death. Sam was trying to talk to Bobby about new cases to keep Dean busy, and Abby and Bobby were trying to help him. I, personally, didn't think Dean was going to get over John any time soon. Hell, I wasn't over my family dying, and it had been over a year now.

Slowly, things got quiet and I was able to drift off into a restless sleep…

"GABBY!" a little redheaded sixteen year old screamed with a vampire's teeth embedded in her throat.

I was standing on the other side of a one-way mirror. The metallic door out was bolted shut. I searched the room for something to pry it open. The only thing I found was a bar made of solid metal. Quickly as I could, I started trying to bang the door down. My sister's life was fading away on the other side of the one way mirror.

And then she was gone. My eyes were open and staring at the ceiling in my room at Bobby's. The banging racket I'd been making in my dream had not stopped in reality. I sat up and searched for the source.

Dean was outside the bedroom window, beating the trunk of his car in with a crowbar. His mind was a jumbled up mess. At first he was angry. "Just left me alone to clean up this fucking mess…always leaving me alone to deal with his problems and take care of Sam…I can't deal with this bullshit anymore…" He stopped beating his own car up, and took out the window of a nearby junker instead. Dean threw the crowbar aside, let the anger ebb away, and let the sadness and pain in.

It wasn't until he turned around, looked up, and saw me that I realized he was crying. For a moment, we stared at each other awkwardly. Neither one of us was sure what to do. Finally, I turned around and broke our eye contact. "Sorry!" I projected out to him, and walked away from the window.

Dean didn't come in the house again until dinner time. This left me plenty of time to stew on my awkward feelings about seeing him like that. I kept trying to think of something to say to him about it while I cleaned the house, but while I was making dinner I decided it would be best to just leave it alone. If he wanted to talk about it, he could initiate that conversation. Otherwise, it was none of my business.