Revelations
Week 9
By Nan00k
:) My friend Ed helped me write this chapter and the plot was his idea. Time to give Bobby some love (aka emotional torment), plus give Dean and company reasons to think about their own problems. Yaaaay, drama! Sorry if this feels a bit like filler, but I'm trying to emulate a full season as I go with this. Don't worry though. Next chapter has quite a bit of "non-filler" action.
...Oh my Chuck why was this chapter so big? D:
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Warnings: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)
Disclaimer: Supernatural © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.
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Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Bobby's house was like a sleeping giant. Deborah didn't know what it was that made her think that, walking through its older rooms, watching dust drift through the air and settle on aged furniture. It was just an old farmhouse. Gabriel was around enough that she knew there were no demons or monsters lurking in the corners. Bobby had enough sense to guard himself from anything malicious. She felt safe there.
But the house itself gave off a different sense than fear. It felt almost as if the walls could just wake up one day and speak. Deborah never felt alone in the empty halls or rooms, even though she yearned for company on the worst of days. She never mentioned it out loud, figuring it was just paranoia or just because the house was old. Not everything was magical or supernatural, she kept telling herself logically. Just because she had some magic in her life did not mean everything was.
The work on her room continued and her two male companions never noticed how the house seemed to shrink as they worked. Deborah watched from a distance as Gabriel ripped through her wallpaper, installed a fancier bed, and somehow expanded her closet, as if she was going to be living there for years as opposed to months. Deborah felt horrible for Bobby, who eventually gave up, snarling under his breath and threatening to call Castiel in whenever Gabriel teasingly promised to upgrade Bobby's room too.
Deborah insisted he keep the wardrobe in the corner. It reminded her of her own childhood room at home in Ohio. Gabriel was incredibly resistant to the idea, however.
"It's ugly," he whined.
"I don't care," she said, surprising herself with how firm her response was with the archangel. Gabriel just pouted and left it alone, thankfully and just added a window that looked over the nicer side of Bobby's land. The junkyard-free part.
By the end of the renovations, everyone was tired. Deborah was thankful to be able to move back into the essentially new room, which was much nicer now, honestly. She did feel bad about upsetting Bobby, but if it gave Gabriel a (somewhat) nondestructive thing to do while they got through this crazy adventure, she knew he could handle it.
The evening Deborah was going to enjoy sleeping in her new room, she left the last box of her possessions on the end of the bed and decided to start dinner. She got as far as the door when abruptly, she turned around, as if someone had called her. Nothing had moved an inch and Deborah stared out at the empty room, feeling more surprised than foolish.
Without a word, she walked downstairs and started their meal.
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Bobby was mad. He was pissed, that's what. For the last three days, he had to watch a deranged archangel tear his house apart—okay, one room—for no reason other than his own amusement. There was nothing wrong with anything in his house that deserved that sort of treatment.
And that room? Bobby almost had to stop himself from asking Castiel for his angel-killing blade. They needed the damn archangel around, he kept telling himself over and over. He banished him once already and after Gabriel cheekily called Dean in revenge for "endangering the baby," Bobby knew there was almost nothing to be done about it. Bobby might not have known exactly what was going on with their plans concerning the baby, but he knew it was important to keep their strongest ally on their team.
At least the "renovations" were finally done. Gabriel had preened about how good a job he had done before zipping off to God knew where. Bobby was very grateful that it was just the humans having dinner than evening, the kitchen oddly quiet. Deborah smiled sympathetically as she served a decent meal of meatloaf and green beans.
"Are you alright, Bobby?" Deborah asked, curious and concerned as she sat down. That's how the kid generally sounded and Bobby couldn't find it in himself to snap at her to stop asking questions about everything that happened around the house. Some things were better off not knowing, especially in the life of a hunter.
Unfortunately, it wasn't a hunting problem this time, so he didn't have an excuse not to talk about it. "I'm getting ready to call Raphael in here to zap that no good idjit who's ruining my house," he snapped, taking a vicious swig of beer. It felt damn good to rant, though. "Don't fret about it. I'm fine."
"I'm just sorry about the room," she replied, shaking her head. "It was fine before, though Gabriel did do a good job I guess."
"Of taking over my house!" Bobby exclaimed, before he realized he was yelling. He didn't want to put this all on her, but it was difficult not to be upset.
Instead of wincing at the shout, Deborah just laughed. "Well, at least it's still standing," she said, peaceably. "I was worried about that."
Bobby snorted and ate his meal in irritated silence. He couldn't wait until Dean called and he could give him an earful of just how awful his angel guard was. Maybe they could switch for at least a week. Castiel at least was good at the whole Not Seen and Not Heard routine.
"I understand wanting to tell him off," Deborah chuckled. She looked a bit more serious, however, when she continued. "He keeps throwing a rubber ball or something against my wall when I'm trying to sleep. I hope he'll stop now that all the work is done."
"Hmph."
"I am surprised though," she continued suddenly, sounding curious.
"About that?" Bobby asked, looking up from his plate.
"My room was so… girly," she continued, smiling, as if waiting for a joke. "I haven't seen any pictures of yours around here, so I didn't know if I should ask. Did you have girls living here before?"
Bobby stared at her and almost without warning, he forgot how to speak. He just stared at her.
Deborah hesitated. "Bobby?" she asked, her voice cutting through the silence harshly.
"What?" he snapped, words coming back to him sharply. He looked away, back at his plate. He lost his appetite. "No. I just hope whatever that moron did isn't going to affect the rest of the house."
Unsettled, Deborah nodded and looked back at her own food. "Right…" she said, backing off.
Bobby should have felt like a heel, dropping the conversation so shortly, but instead, he excused himself. He stood by the backdoor, looking out, watching for any unwelcomed angels (well, other than Gabriel), and heard Deborah putting dishes away. The night settled upon them as it always did, though this time, it felt abnormally heavy.
He was getting too old for this.
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It was night. It had to have been night, because everything was dark. She heard someone breathing, though, as if they had been running for several minutes. Or from fear.
She wondered if she was the one breathing.
It was dark, but it wasn't night. She could tell now, with the slivers of light filtering past the edges of the closed doors, where the floor met the bedroom's hardwood.
And then the screaming. Her breathing stopped short, as if that would let her ears strain further, hearing the same words over and over again.
"No, no. Please! Please, no! No!"
She forgets to breathe entirely.
Footsteps, two kinds, both heavy and light, stream across the wood. She presses all the way back against the back wall, heart screaming although her throat is unmercifully dry and voiceless. Terror floods her because they're coming, they're right there, they're opening the door, SHE'S RIGHT THERE—
"Found you."
And then she can't breathe, because there are hands grabbing at her throat. She can't breathe. She can't breathe. She grasps broken glass, but she can't breathe—
"KAREN!"
Deborah woke up with a startled yell, limbs flailing against the silky sheets. Drenched in sweat, she flopped back onto the bed with a racing heart.
Oh. Oh, God.
Grasping her chest, Deborah tried to calm down, but everything was fresh in her mind. The utter terror began to fade, gradually. She had never been so scared in a dream. Or even in real life, even during that awful day she met Dean Winchester and the two angels.
Her room seemed unnaturally quiet and still after all of that. Her breathing was the only real sound that echoed across the empty air. Outside, she could hear a gentle breeze rattle against the half-closed window. Downstairs, nothing. It was almost three fifteen in the morning, so even Bobby was asleep in his downstairs bedroom.
And then, the bouncing started.
It was the wall again at first. Deborah froze as the sound and rhythm of a rubber ball began to filter through the wall behind her head, like it had for the last two nights. For a moment, she was grateful. That meant Gabriel was there, watching over the house. He might have been annoying, but that didn't mean—
The bouncing stopped. For just a moment. And then slowly, Deborah turned her head to face the bedroom doorway.
Had she opened the door when she had gone to bed hours ago? The dark hallway lay beyond the decent sized opening and Deborah felt compelled to stare into the darkness, her heartbeat suddenly beginning to increase again.
Standing slowly, she crept closer to the door and tried to forget about her fear. It was stupid. It was just Gabriel, or just her imagination. Maybe it had been the pipes after all, since it was an old house. The door… probably was just weak at the hinges and swung open sometimes. She could get Gabriel to fix that later. It wasn't anything to get worked up over.
Tiny feet took off down the wood floor hallway and Deborah froze up like a stone statue. Brief, but distinctly child-like running from one end of the hall, where it faded past her, and then picked up again at the other end.
"Gabriel?" Deborah whispered, almost wishing it was true. The archangel didn't appear and the footsteps faded entirely.
A giggle.
Deborah gripped the side of her door, trying not to panic. She stared out into the dark hallway, scanning from right to left, trying to find the source of the noises. Don't panic, it's probably Gabriel or a trick… don't… freak out now…
She stepped out into the hall, now with the intent to go downstairs and wake Bobby, just in case. It wasn't necessary to call for Gabriel, because—this wasn't anything. She just wanted Bobby to be aware of the situation, because it was probably just a normal, human one and—
The bouncing of a rubber ball caught her attention again. Only this time, when her eyes trailed down the darkened hallway to the top of the stairs, she saw the source of the noise. A girl, dressed in a white dress, took off down the stairs after what looked like a red ball that made quiet thudding noises all the way.
Heart racing, Deborah wondered why she didn't scream. She felt like she couldn't make a noise at all, actually. Throat closed involuntarily, she took three trembling steps closer to the stairs, where both the girl and the ball had vanished. She wanted to call for Gabriel, now, but a sense of morbid curiosity pushed her forward alone.
The stairs were vacant and the bouncing noise had vanished as well. Gripping the railing tightly, she moved slowly down the wooden staircase, the wood only slightly creaking on one of the bottom steps. The living room and foyer were empty of anything moving and the only light source was coming from the doorways that led to the kitchen. Deborah looked up, heart pounding a mile a minute.
The breath caught in her throat.
From the moonlight filtering through the windows, she could see all the doors on the kitchen cabinets were thrown open. Glass glittered all over the floor and table like stardust. Deborah inched closer down the hallway; the only sound she heard now was her own heartbeat. No one could have just broken into the house. That was… impossible. Gabriel or Bobby would have noticed…
Shaking, Deborah reached out and hesitated for a moment with her hand on the kitchen light switch. Then, she flicked it upright, the florescent light blinding her momentarily. When her eyes adjusted, she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
Not a single pan or dish was out of place. The whole room was as clean as it had been when she had gone to bed.
What was going on—?
Behind her, she felt the impression of a child's hand grip the back of her shirt.
She screamed—quite loudly. The spirit—ghost—monster—was long gone, but Deborah didn't care. She slammed back into the kitchen table and looked around wildly, trying to find out where the being had gone, if it was still there.
And of course, then the males decided to get involved. She prayed that she would have the pretense to scream bloody murder if Raphael's people decided to attack her, because otherwise her little watch group wasn't very watchful.
Gabriel appeared without any flair right where she had been standing by the kitchen entrance, looking serious again.
"What is it?" he demanded, taking in the kitchen with the eyes of a trained soldier. "What's wrong?"
"There's a ghost! There's a ghost!" she screamed, gesturing at the stairs at the front of the house.
Gabriel sent her a strange look, ignoring the startled yelling from Bobby's room. "No, there's not," the archangel said, sounding confused.
Deborah didn't care if he didn't believe her. She knew what she had seen. "It's a little girl," she said, teeth chattering. "I thought it was you bouncing a ball, but there's a little girl running around upstairs and she—she's—!"
"What the hell is going on? !" Bobby shouted, marching out into the kitchen, dressed in what had to be pajamas from the 1980s. He sent Gabriel a squinted-glare, but gave Deborah a bewildered look. "What happened?"
Inhaling deeply, Deborah stared back at him, trembling. "There's a ghost in my room," she said, knowing that sounded pathetic.
Bobby stared at her and Gabriel was still looking mildly incredulous.
And then, suddenly, Gabriel made a little, "Oh," sound. He turned and looked at both Bobby and then Deborah and then abruptly vanished. Deborah stared at where he had been standing, feeling completely off-kilter.
"What the hell is going on?" Bobby seethed, more disturbed by Gabriel's sudden disappearance than anything else.
Deborah decided to take matters into her own hands. "I'm calling Dean," she said, resolutely as she marched over to the phone.
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Dean had made it two feet inside his ratty new motel room when he cell phone went off. He almost wanted to ignore it, having just exhausted himself with hunting down an impromptu salt-and-burn mission without angelic back up. Castiel had been summoned back for what he had to assume was "politics."
However, when Dean did look at the caller-ID on his phone, he saw the words, "Bobby Singer" and immediately answered, fear flaring up in his gut.
"Hey," he began, dumping his bag down on the bed. Part of the rational side of his mind told him it was just another update, perhaps ahead of schedule, but everything was fine. Bobby was punctual with his promises sometimes.
It wasn't Bobby who answered though. "Dean!" he heard Deborah Garrison stammer. In the background, he heard Bobby muttering irately about something. "Dean, oh, thank goodness. I wasn't sure if you were in bed by now—!"
"What's wrong? Where's Gabriel?" Dean immediately asked, now incredibly alarmed. He hadn't heard the woman panicked at all, well, since the night all of this went down. "I'm gonna call Castiel and send him over—"
"No! Wait, shit, I have no idea!" Deborah exclaimed. She sounded frightened. "I-I have no idea what this is and Gabriel just left, so I don't think it's life-threatening, but I wanted to call a-and see if—!"
"Whoa, whoa, slow down!" Dean ordered, mind racing. "What's wrong? Deborah, you have to tell me plainly."
Deborah inhaled deeply. "There's a ghost in Bobby's house," she blurted. In the background, Dean heard Bobby curse loudly and vehemently deny what she had just said. Deborah continued to explain, almost to the both of them. "I saw it! I saw a little girl in white running up and down the length of the second floor hall, an-and then on the stairs—and she grabbed my shirt—and then the kitchen was all destroyed, but not when I turned on the light! Oh, gosh darn it, Bobby, you had to have heard it—!"
Dean stared out at the motel wallpaper, trying desperately to keep up to the conversation. Ghost? Bobby's house? What the hell—that was no what he had been expecting to hear. At all. What about the angels? Or—hell, Gabriel was there! He would have picked up on something surely. And it was Bobby's house. There was no way—
"You have to believe me," Deborah said tearfully. "I wouldn't make this up. I swear!"
"I believe you," Dean said, sitting down at the table in the corner, mind still trying to keep up. "Just… calm down. Once you sit down and take a few breaths, I need you to tell me exactly what you saw, okay, Deb?"
The story was jumbled, but after a few moments of Deborah getting her facts, and apparently dreams straight, Dean realized there might actually be something to the story if she hadn't just imagined it. She had seen a specter, possibly centered around her room, playing in Bobby's house and then some almost poltergeist activity with the broken glass in the kitchen. It didn't make sense that it was happening, however. Bobby never had a kid running around his house before, and if there had been a poltergeist, surely the angels would have noticed it before.
"Then what is it?" Deborah asked, sounding just as exhausted as Dean felt. "Oh, Lord, those dreams…"
"How many have you had lately?" Dean asked, jotting down notes. How could this possibly be turning into a hunt when it was already involving people from another case?
"I-I don't know… it's been happening all week. Just the same… fear." Deborah inhaled deeply again. "Just… scared girls. And sometimes… I think there's another woman involved, but she's the one I—they're—scared of."
Dean nodded as he wrote. "Anything at all about this lady? Why are they afraid of her?"
"She chases them around and tries to hurt them… I think one of them hid in a wardrobe. Maybe the one in my room." Deborah sighed softly, sounding weary. "I think her name might be Karen. Or Kara. One of those."
Karen.
…Karen?
Dean felt a cold chill sweep through his gut. Karen… Karen Singer. She had been Bobby's wife—the woman he had been forced to kill, twice, because of paranormal attacks. There was no way—no fucking way—that Deborah would have known that name or anything about Karen, with Bobby so defensive about the matter. Did that mean, after that zombie fiasco with Death—did that mean Karen had come back to haunt Bobby's house?
"Did… how much have you told Bobby?" Dean asked instead, knowing the older hunter had left the room to inspect all the wards around the house plus check the upstairs for paranormal signs. Oh, God, this was not good.
"He doesn't believe me," Deborah sniffed. She exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry. It's like four AM here. It must be late for you, too."
Dean rubbed his eyes, more tired than he had felt in a while. "No, no, it's fine. I…" He paused, glancing up at the ceiling. "I'm only about eight hours away right now. Cas is busy, but I can drive out to Sioux Falls tomorrow."
Deborah started over the phone. "What? Oh, you don't have to—"
"Deborah, if there's a real ghost problem, you had better believe I have to be there," Dean said shortly, closing his eyes. They so did not need this right now. "Don't say anything to Bobby, okay?"
"Why not?" Deborah asked, wary. She was rather perceptive for a pastor's kid from Ohio. Dean was beginning to see a problem with that.
"He's… sensitive about his house," he lied carefully, though that was necessarily untrue.
That earned him a scoffing laugh. "I know. I know," she replied.
Dean tried to point out the positives in the situation, if there were any. "If Gabriel left already, it must not be serious."
"I'm not sleeping upstairs," Deborah said firmly, fear rising up in her voice.
"Good. Try to get some rest though," Dean said, smiling grimly even though she couldn't see. "Late night scares… ha. Must not be too good for a baby."
Deborah made a soft sighing sound. "No," she agreed. "Not good for me, either."
After a tense goodbye, Dean was left sitting there, reeling with what he had just been told. Phantom repetitive noises, manifestations, repeating dreams—all at the place of a tragic death. Bobby was not going to take kindly to accusation that his home was haunted, but if the shoe fits…
Just when he and Castiel had made the agreement to look for Crowley, this happens. They had bigger fish to fry than a damn haunting. But this was too close to home. It had to be handled.
More than anything, Bobby's feelings had to take the back seat on this. They didn't have anywhere else to put Deborah or the baby. The idea that Bobby would kick the pregnant woman out because of this… was strangely not that unbelievable. Dean gripped his head, trying to stay calm. The urge to drag Castiel down to Earth again was overwhelming, but if it was just a ghost, he could handle it. It was Bobby he was more concerned with handling, but that had to fall to Dean anyway.
They had to approach this, calmly.
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Deborah was not that surprised—well, not completely at least—to find Gabriel poof into existence next to her on the couch (her chosen replacement bed) in front of the TV. The only reason she had been expecting it was because Maury was on specifically to lure him in. She had learned his weaknesses early on.
"We were waiting for you to show up," she said, knowing she sounded grouchy. She had had about two hours sleep in the last fourteen hours waiting for Dean to arrive.
Gabriel was shameless. "Miss me that much?" he taunted, grabbing the bowl of popcorn, which had suddenly become coated with caramel. "Ooh, I love the paternity test parts. Is this episode almost done?"
"Gabriel, did you know about the ghosts?" Deborah demanded, not wanting to put up with his behavior today.
The angel didn't even pause as he threw the popcorn back like he did every other sweet food. "Nope," he said cheerfully. "Very clever of it, really, only showing up at certain times. I don't stick around this close while you kids are snoozing, ya see. Kinda boring."
Deborah stared at him blearily. "Right." She sat back further into the couch, her gaze never wavering. "Well, as much as I hate asking favors, my fair guardian angel, but could you, um, get rid of it?"
Never in her life did she imagine being snarky with an archangel—but damn it, she was sick of his attitude. If she got negative points for this later when her soul was judged, well, she would blame it on hormones.
"Nope," was the only cheeky response she got back.
He crunched the candied corn pleasantly, even while Deborah's stare had turned into a glare.
"Are you serious?" she demanded, really, really not in the mood.
"Dean-o's pulling up the drive now," Gabriel said, unapologetic. "I don't want to steal the limelight from him."
Deborah pinched the bridge of her nose, even when she heard the Impala park out on the rocky driveway and Dean greet Bobby briskly at the door. Since when had life come to this?
Gabriel broke out into hysterical laughter when the results of the paternity test were shown. Deborah promptly threw her pillow at his face.
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Bobby was generally as friendly as a wild bear. That night, he was about as friendly as a rabid, wild bear.
"There is no Goddamn ghost in my house!" the older hunter snarled, moving around almost like he was going to start throwing things. Dean held his hands up in both defense and peacekeeping.
"I know, but we need to check just in case," he said, trying to keep this reasonable.
Bobby did not look ready to talk reasonably. "It's impossible, Dean! Ya came out here for nothin'!"
"Deborah was pretty sure of what she saw," Dean shot back, eyes narrowing. "Why the hell would she make that up? Now, of all times?"
"Maybe its just nerves. Or hormones. I don't know!"
Bracing himself, Dean decided to cut to the chase. "She dreamed about Karen," he said quickly, trying to get it all out, like he was ripping off a Band-Aid.
Bobby stared at him with a stunned look that quickly changed into something darker and far more dangerous. Dean held his ground, though he vividly contemplated praying Castiel down there, politics or no.
"Don't," Bobby began, a threat resonating in his voice. "Don't you… dare bring her into this again, boy."
He was treading on thin ice already, but Dean knew they had to confront this, just on the off chance his fears were correct. They couldn't risk it. "If it is her doing this, we have to handle it," Dean began, forcing himself to be firm.
Bobby raised a threatening finger at him, shaking his head slowly. "No. No way in HELL is this happening, boy!" he snapped. "You want me to help you take care of some girl out of no where and play along with some kind of master plan you're not even sharin' with me? Fine. But don't you even think about turning this into some kind of ghost hunt in my own home!"
"Bobby, don't be pigheaded about this, damn it," Dean shot back. "I know this is hard for you, but let me at least see what's going on—!"
"You don't get it, you idjit!" Bobby swore. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, taking a deep breath. "I told you before, I cremated her…both times. Hell, you were there the second time, and there ain't a scrap of her DNA anywhere around here!"
He exhaled sharply and looked away. Dean watched him, feeling like an asshole for even having to drag this up, but if Deborah was telling the truth, this couldn't just be left to fester.
Bobby closed his eyes once for a few moments before opening them. "I level with you, something's happening around that girl in there," he began quietly, lifting his eyes to meet Dean's. "But it ain't my wife."
Dean nodded stiffly, praying that it wasn't. Bobby couldn't go through this again. None of them could.
"I'm going to wait and see what I find tonight," he said, glancing upwards. "We'll see what we're dealing with then."
Bobby huffed and growled out more half-serious threats, but didn't chase Dean out the door, not yet at least. Deborah had chased Gabriel out before Dean had the chance to talk to him, but he'd be back in the morning. The entire house settled in for what felt like a battle.
Dean had a feeling this would be a long night, regardless of what he found.
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He hated being right.
At three AM on the dot, Dean heard a ball bouncing across the upper floor of the house. He had been dozing on Deborah's floor, with her camping out in the living room. He waited for a moment and the bouncing stopped. He hadn't slept much, so he hadn't experienced any dreams. Apparently, he didn't have to.
He saw it. Well, her. A little girl in white rushed into the room, almost too faint to be seen against the dark bedroom backdrop. There was no sound as she moved, though Dean got the feeling she would have been crying. She got to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, the one Deborah had mentioned, and then—stopped. Her body jerking strangely to the side, her head was twisted and canted to the side as if someone had just broken her neck with one clean move—and then she vanished, disappearing into nothing.
Dean stared at the spot, swallowing nervously. A death echo. Here? Of all places? Since when the hell did Bobby's house have a freaking death echo? Unless Bobby hadn't told them the truth of the house. Maybe it was from before Bobby lived there. Dean had no idea how old the house was, or if Bobby would even be honest with him about the age. And what did Karen have to do with any of this, if this was a kid's spirit?
Something did not feel right about this. At all.
The sound of soft footsteps running made Dean look to the hallway again and something akin to dread gripped his gut. Gabriel had vacated the premises again, the useless dick, and Deborah and Bobby weren't going to be moving around like that. When he got to the door, he didn't see anything on either end of the corridor. Something felt off about the house now, though. He had never felt the once-comfortable dwelling feel so…
Dark.
Creeping forward toward the stairs, Dean wasn't sure what he was going to find. Bobby was in his bedroom, asleep, and Deborah was passed out on the couch in the living room. Everything else about the first level of the house seemed still and otherwise not ghost-infected.
And then he looked up, toward the kitchen. It was screwed to hell, with broken glass everywhere, though he hadn't heard any kind of commotion and he knew Bobby wouldn't have slept through that. Dean walked up as quietly as he could as he took in the glittering mess strewn all over the tiles. Reaching over, he flipped the kitchen light on—and then everything was fine. As if the light had wiped away the mess.
"What the hell…" Dean whispered, eyes squinting in both confusion and from the light. What sort of death echo was—
He heard a short, girlish giggle behind him before something—someone—knocked him to the floor.
Dean grunted as whatever it was climbed on top of him, abnormally strong, small hands gripping at his jacket and then throat. In the searing light of the kitchen's overhanging fixture, Dean could see a pale, dark haired little girl, not unlike the one from the wardrobe. Whether or not it was the same girl he had no idea, but as she attempted to strangle him, Dean couldn't shake the feeling he had seen her somewhere before.
Well, he thought absently as he wrangled with a dead girl's hands, he had never expected a simple haunting like this to bring back such fond memories of times before angelic intervention. It was almost fucking nostalgic.
Summoning more strength that he remembered having, Dean shoved the girl backwards, scrambling up at the same moment. He was hurled clear across the kitchen into the study, but that was where he was headed anyway. Just when he felt the tiny hands grip his back again, Dean's hand snaked out and grabbed a hold of the iron-wrought fire poker that had fallen from the fireplace holder.
The ghost didn't make a sound when he slammed the iron poker right through her. She simply vanished into ashy smoke, leaving Dean gasping on the floor and the sound of Bobby and Deborah waking and panicking ruined the aching silence permeating the building.
What… the hell. Dean blinked, coughing slightly as he sat up. That was not a death echo. They—they could do that. What the hell was this? Maybe this had nothing to do with Bobby or his house. Maybe it was something bigger than just some memory being played out over and over.
Tomorrow, Dean decided, they were going to talk. All of them.
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He had expected to wake up facing a grim line up of questioning and denial. Instead, Dean woke up to the smell of pancakes. He woke up in the spare bedroom he and Sam would share whenever they were over at Bobby's, though not much of anything in it belonged to either of them. Just spare beds and a dresser. He had never questioned why Bobby kept the purple room off limits—until now. He'd know for sure later, but now… he knew Bobby had been hiding something. Today, they'd learn what, no matter if it killed them.
When he went downstairs, all he saw was Gabriel lounging casually at the kitchen table and Dean wanted to punch the smug bastard in the face, broken hand resulting from it be damned. Deborah was also there, setting the table, but the source of the smell was coming from the table. A large stack of pancakes sat tantalizingly in the open, but judging by Deborah's scowl, she hadn't made them.
"Morning, Sundrop!" Gabriel said brightly, as if nothing were wrong.
Dean flipped him the finger, angry and exhausted. "You are such a dick," he snarled, refusing to sit at the same table as him.
"Whaaaat?" Gabriel asked, feigning innocent hurt. He gestured at the pancakes, as if that made up for his stunning lack of attendance during this whole mess. "It's Tuesday!" He leered. "How about a pig 'n' a poke?"
"Fuck you, Chuckles," Dean snarled. Deborah just sighed and sat down to pick at her own meal. She apparently didn't like magic'd up food. Dean didn't blame her paranoia. "Where's Bobby?"
Deborah looked up, silently, and Dean turned to see Bobby standing in the doorway, looking as if he were headed to his execution rather than a group conference.
"Morning, bobby," Dean began, deciding to cut to the chase. He grinned with a faux-cheer. "You all freshened up?"
"I was fresh until you woke us up knocking shit over last night in my study," Bobby quipped back. He refused to sit near Gabriel at the table. "What the devil was that all about?"
Dean braced himself. "You have a ghost. More than one," he said bluntly. He kept going, over Bobby's immediate rejection of the idea. "Listen to me, Bobby, I know what I saw. I didn't want to drag it out last night, but you saw what it did to me. It's not like I fling myself over furniture for the hell of it."
"You're outta your Goddamn mind," Bobby said, irritable. He refused to look at Dean now, glaring off into the distance. "My house ain't haunted. There ain't no way!"
Sleep deprivation and general anxiety pressing on his nerves, Dean glared back at his friend. "Bobby, I know what I saw," he said, desperately trying not to shout. "It might not have been Karen, but if there is any reason why two psycho twins in white would be haunting your house, now's the time to—"
All of a sudden, it came back to him.
"…Holy shit." Dean blinked, mind reeling. "I knew I had seen them before."
Two little girls. Bobby. Dark hair. White dresses. Accusing Bobby of letting a monster get them…
In a closet.
Oh, God.
"What?" Bobby demanded, eyes wild.
"…The rise of the witnesses," Dean managed to say, startling Bobby. He fixed a strained look on his friend, now feeling ill. "The first Revelations bullshit we went through. There were two girls. You…"
At the table, Gabriel just kept smiling and Deborah, in the middle of standing up, looked confused. Bobby just looked like Dean had shot him in the gut. "What?" the older hunter challenged, his voice louder.
For some reason, Dean's instincts were screaming that this was the right direction to head in. "…Bobby, who were those two girls?" he asked, lowering his arms from his chest. "The two victims you couldn't help before."
Bobby started to turn red in the face. "I-I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he sputtered, anger covering up his surprise, falteringly. "It had been—I messed up. That's done with now, Dean."
"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "The hell it isn't." He stepped closer, knowing he had to keep going with this. "Who are they?"
The kitchen fell silent, other than bobby's heavy breathing through the nose. Gabriel and Deborah were just watching, with opposing expressions of mirth and wary unease. Bobby's eyes never left Dean's, both hunters radiating a building sense of aggression between them.
Dean exhaled sharply. "Bobby, they're targeting Deborah," he said, eyes narrowed and hard. He had to be firm with this. They didn't have the luxury of anything else.
"Then get her out of the house," Bobby said, voice shaking. Dean couldn't tell if it was from anger or something else, but at that particular point in time, he didn't care.
"You're really going to kick a pregnant woman out on the street where her child's survival is what's keeping the whole damn world alive?" Dean began, voicing rising louder than it should have. He didn't point at Deborah, who looked terribly out of place at the moment. He pointed upwards instead, at the bastards who did this to them. "Bobby, for the love of GOD, would you listen to yourself? Did we really go through Heaven, Hell and every other asshole monster last year for this?" Heart clenching, Dean went further. "Did Sam die for you to pussy out when we need your help to make his sacrifice worth something—? !"
That was enough to push Bobby off his faux ledge of calmness. "Don't make this into something about Sam, Goddamn it," he started. "This has nothing to do with him, or Karen or—!"
Dean crossed the distance between them, fists clenched at his sides. "BULLSHIT," he shouted, even though Bobby never flinched. "Who the hell are they? !"
"You…" Bobby started to say, but he stopped. He looked away, unable to meet Dean's gaze any longer.
Inhaling, Dean tried to remember how to give a talk like this, of trying to remind someone that he knew what loss was too. Just thinking about his own was enough to make him just as in denial as Bobby was.
"We have lost so much, Bobby. Me, you… Cas… Sam…" he began, voice quieter than earlier. He shook his head and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "We lost everyone we ever gave a damn about, except for each other. You really… you really think you're the only one who's had to deal with this?"
Bobby kept staring out at nothing. "No…" he said, voice barely there.
"Then just look me in the eye and tell me the truth." Dean waited until the other man finally did look up and met his gaze, both pairs of eyes shining. "Please, Bobby. I… I understand… not wanting to face it. But…"
They… of all people didn't have the luxury of grief, of ignoring it or what they had lost to begin with. They had to keep going for everyone else. Dean wished it could have been different, but he didn't know any other kind of life. Neither did Bobby.
Backing up, Dean let the older man stand there with his thoughts and hoped that he would make the right choice.
A minute later, Bobby moved back and leaned against the counter, facing Dean, but not looking him in the eye.
"…Olivia," he said, voice rough. "And Emily."
Dean nodded. "Who were they?" he asked.
It was almost disturbing to watch the old man in front of him and realize it was still Bobby. He looked so much more mortal than the usually strong hunter was. "My nieces," he said, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair before replacing the hat. Bobby seemed to brace himself. "Karen's sister's kids. We were supposed to be taking care of them while their mother was in the hospital."
The pause and the mention of Karen did not bode well. It didn't take much for Dean to piece together the missing pieces and…
"…don't… tell me," he said, mind going numb.
Bobby's eyes were fixed on the floor. "It was… the weekend it happened," he continued, voice empty of any kind of emotion. "When Karen died."
When she had been possessed. When Bobby had been forced to kill her. "…Bobby," Dean began, heart aching for his friend.
"I wasn't home when it happened. I got back afterwards," Bobby said, eyes more and more distant as he spoke. "I found Karen in the kitchen with Olivia. Emily had been upstairs by the wardrobe. She had been trying to hide."
Dean remembered the look of fear the echo of the girl upstairs had worn. The idea of being chased down and murdered by someone they had loved… None of it was fair. None of it made any sense.
"I had to stab Karen, just to get her to stop hurting Olivia. It was too late though," Bobby said. The older hunter looked upwards, again at nothing, his mind wrapped up in what had happened years ago. "I had to tell their mother, but that just made her weaker. She died. The following month."
Bobby paused and the kitchen just rang with an unnatural stillness. Dean looked over and saw Deborah giving Bobby a heartbroken look, even though she only knew half the story. Gabriel was just watching now, smile only partially there.
"Rufus wound up saving my life," Bobby continued. "Only reason I'm still here. He showed up just after I stabbed Karen. Excised the damn demon… but Karen was already dead at that point." He paused again. "I did it."
Dean wanted to tell Bobby right there that he understood. Making him talk about any of this was just as hurtful to Dean as it was to the older man, but… now at least it was out. Dean licked his lips, his entire mouth dry. He didn't want to have to be the one to drag it out further. Life wasn't about having good choices, especially not a Winchester life.
"I'm sorry," he said instead, "I'm so sorry, Bobby."
Bobby laughed shortly, the sound odd. "Karen was trying so hard to make it easier on the girls by painting up that room for them," he said, shaking his head. "I had noticed she was getting moodier, but I didn't think it was anythin' important." Bobby turned his head and met Dean's gaze without hesitating, the grief in his eyes faded with age. "That demon… took all three of them from me. From each other."
Dean stared back, heart aching. "We can't let this keep happening," he said quietly, hating that it was true.
Bobby ran a heavy hand over his face, looking far older than he was. "I don't know why it is. Why now?" he demanded, glancing around the kitchen, as if the answer lied there.
Deborah moved to the side, catching their attentions. "…Is it because of me?" she asked, looking scared. She looked down at her stomach, which was hardly anything to really note at that point. Dean had considered the "holy fetus attracting ghosts" idea earlier. It could have been a good theory for why things were starting up now.
Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly froze. He had been staring at Deborah at the time, who froze under the intense stare, as the look of comprehension on Bobby's face faded into a look of pure hatred. For a second, Dean almost wanted to let the older hunter have it for taking this out on the innocent woman—
When suddenly, Bobby turned and fixed his glare onto Gabriel, who had been utterly silent throughout the entire ordeal.
"You Goddamn son of a bitch," Bobby began, voice rising.
Gabriel smiled impishly. "Now, that's not very constructive, calling our Holy Father a female dog," he replied all-too happily.
"You fixed up the room… you stirred up the damn memories!" Bobby continued, swearing loudly. He moved forward, anger rolling off of him. "You did this!"
Scoffing, Gabriel waved an unimpressed hand. "I didn't do anything, old man," he said shortly. "I fixed up a room for the lady. Not my fault your skeletons in the closet were a bit too literal."
Dean didn't have the chance to focus his anger at the archangel, because Bobby beat him to it. Bobby grabbed the archangel by the shirt and hurled him to the ground. Deborah gasped and hurried away from the table just in time for Bobby to un-holster his pistol.
With the uncanny speed Dean was used to from the older hunter, Bobby unloaded six shots into Gabriel's chest. Deborah screamed, flinging herself back into the kitchen wall, but she was the only one who reacted. Dean knew ordinary guns wouldn't do anything to an angel, since they did the same thing to Cas when they first met, and more than that, he knew angels well enough that if Bobby actually managed to hit one, it was because they had let him. Dicks.
Blood dramatically spreading across his chest, Gabriel gave Bobby a coy look from down on the floor. "Do you want me to just play dead 'til you feel better?" he asked, skirting the line between asshole and evil bastard skillfully. "I'm good at that."
Bobby loomed over the smaller man. "I already feel better," he snarled, breathing unsteadily as he lowered his gun. "I've been wanting to do that for a few weeks now."
Dean understood. He tried to kill Gabriel a few times now, but it never felt like it was enough, considering the bastard just got back up again afterwards. And just like he thought, the Gabriel on the floor faded into a blue mist and disappeared. A second later, a perfectly healthy Gabriel came walking in the side doorway looking smug, ignoring the horrified Deborah by the wall.
"Look, Bobby, I didn't mean to stir up the memories," the angel began, holding up his hands in a peacekeeping gesture that Dean wasn't sure was real or not. "I was just trying to do Debbie here a favor. If I had known your dirty little secrets, I would have kept the room the way it was." The unspoken Of Course I'm Lying rang clear in his voice.
"Dirty secrets" was a bad way to put it. Bobby's red face never went back down to its normal color. Slamming the gun down on the table, Bobby stalked out of the kitchen. Dean watched him until he disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door shut forcefully, the bang echoing across the house.
Yikes.
There wasn't time to sulk, though. Dean looked over at Deborah, who was paler than ever, and was clinging to the wall as if she literally had frozen to the surface.
Clearing his throat, Dean got her attention. "You alright?" he asked quietly.
Deborah stared at him, fear and disbelief etched into her face. "…You're all insane," she whimpered, eyes wide.
That was not something Dean was going to deny. He sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yeah, they screwed this one up. At least she wasn't hurt by the ghosts, or too traumatized to stick around. The last thing they needed was for her to decide to move in somewhere else.
"Gabriel, take her outside, or into town, okay?" Dean ordered, turning to look at the angel in question near the stove. "Can you not fuck that up, please?"
Gabriel flashed him an arrogant look, before taking the still-shocked Deborah by the arm gallantly, leading her toward the back door, talking animatedly about turning the maze of cars outside into an amusement park. Dean sincerely hoped the angel was just trying to be funny, but hopefully a chest full of lead would be enough of a lesson for that idiot not to mess with Bobby's land anymore.
Gathering his own nerves, Dean went after Bobby.
0000
They found the remaining bits of the girls for the rest of the day. Bobby spent most of it drinking his way through, but they found it all, with no help from Gabriel.
Bobby told Dean, that he made that wardrobe upstairs for the girls for their second birthday and they had loved it dearly. The molding on the bottom was clay, and their hand and foot prints were in them. Dean found a dark strand of hair in the white cabinet that didn't match Deborah's. Bobby never thought of looking for any of those things, because he never thought it would be a problem. It hadn't been. But there was no time for regrets.
They took the wardrobe outside and Dean just wanted to torch it, but Bobby wanted to be more thorough. He was outside with an axe and the wardrobe for almost an hour before he came back in ready to go.
"There was blood stains inside it," he said quietly, as Dean started covering the wood remains with gasoline. "Ya know, I never looked in it after everything that happened. Emily must've hid from Karen in there and caught herself on a nail."
He stared at the wood before throwing a match on it, setting the whole thing up in a brilliant flare.
"I'm too damn tired," Bobby said, far too quiet for the older hunter.
Dean stared at him across the fire, wanting to offer some sort of apology or an offering of some kind—but what the hell could he even say?
"I'm sorry, Bobby," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I am."
Bobby just nodded and stood by the woodpile until there was nothing but ashes. Dean left him there and sat on the porch, his heart numb in his chest.
0000
Gabriel didn't have to turn around to know Deborah Garrison was walking up behind him. She was the only one on the property who owned tennis shoes, after all. He was perched on top of a still-intact car toward the edge of the lot. Deborah managed to climb up beside him and the two sat in silence, watching the waning South Dakota skyline. Gabriel wondered if she knew how many eyes they actually had on them at the moment. He doubted she'd like to know.
"Why didn't you just get rid of the ghosts?" she asked suddenly, sounding calm. How the hell she hadn't gone insane yet, Gabriel was still marveling at.
"Why?" he responded, chewing on a Twizzler stick he had conjured up. He thought about offering her some, but remembered she hated licorice. He laughed. "Huh. I thought they'd at least figure it out."
Deborah sighed and cast him a sidelong glance. "I don't think they want to," she said simply.
They sat quietly as the sky darkened. Gabriel leaned back further, pursing his lips.
"…Listen, Deborah," he began, choosing his words carefully. Or not so much. He wasn't sure how to say anything around any of the humans lately. "You're new at this whole… wonderful life the rest of us have. You know, the losing everything and then some for the greater good. You're becoming a fast learner, I bet, but you've never lost like these idiots have."
Deborah stared at him, still calm. "So?"
Gabriel gestured out at the air absently. "I was trying to prove a point here," he said, finally breaking it down to simpler terms. He nodded his head back at the house. "Those… idjits in there? They know loss. They live and breathe loss. It's all that defines them now, Castiel included. But…"
All of them had that, actually. Deborah stared at him, taking in what he said, before sighing quietly again.
"They don't know how to deal with it, though," she continued, catching on. She folded her hands in her lap, looking tired. "That's what you were trying to prove." She didn't sound happy in the conclusion, but at least she got it.
He somehow found the strength to grin at her broadly. "Exactly. Exactly, Deborah."
Gabriel wasn't sure if Dean would get that lesson. After all, Gabriel was playing angel again, not Trickster. He could have, and probably should have, just wiped the spirits out of the house himself, but what would that have done? Habits died hard and this one had just… walked into his line of sight. Dean Winchester had to grieve. He hadn't yet. He finally got to see his mentor and only family left get all that off his chest, and still hadn't gotten the message for himself.
Well, Dean would find out in time, then. Gabriel knew that for a fact. From experience.
"…What about you?" Deborah asked abruptly.
"What about me?" he asked, glancing at her. She was just looking at him quietly, as if trying to analyze him too.
"You've lost, too," she said, far too wisely. "Do you deal with it?"
Gabriel stared at her, saying nothing. He didn't… have anything to say. He dealt with things his own way. He didn't need reminders of it.
That didn't stop the feeling of fear and doubt that surged in his chest, mixing with Grace, reminding him of all the things he hadn't dealt with yet.
Looking away, Deborah stared up at the sky again. "I'm scared," she said quietly, tucking her chin under her knees. She looked far smaller and mortal like that.
Part of him wanted to curl up into a substance so small, he could be forgotten by Raphael or Grander Plans, too. But him hiding that way was about as good as Deborah curling up on the car right there. Useless.
"…Me too, kid," he muttered, craning his head back. "Me, too."
0000
The next morning was awkward in the Singer household. Bobby hadn't slept that night. He spent the night with Jack Daniels. Dean was surprised the other hunter was even coherent when he got his stuff together to leave. He had to meet Castiel in another state after all, so he didn't have time to dawdle. He said his goodbyes to a very grateful Deborah, flipped Gabriel off one more time for good measure, and then went to find his foster father.
He found him out by the Impala, as if Bobby had anticipated this talk earlier. Dean slowed down walking in front of Bobby, nodding stiffly.
"You and Cas got a plan of action?" Bobby asked.
"None other than just keep waiting for signs," Dean said, glancing upwards for a moment. "He wants to check out the south. Maybe Texas."
"Hmm."
Dean sighed quietly and ran a hand over his face. "You okay, Bobby?" That was a bad question to ask any of them, but he had to ask.
Bobby glared at Dean. "Don't start," he began.
Waving his hand, Dean cut him off. "I just want to let you know," he said, even though he suddenly felt ill thinking about it. "I'm sorry, for all of this. You did the right thing, Bobby."
The older hunter looked away and Dean got his attention, making sure he was listening.
"This wasn't your fault," he said, forcing himself to sound strong. "None of it was. You have to remember that, Bobby."
"I know, boy," Bobby said. He sounded like he tried to be angry, but it fell flat. It was just another fellow broken man speaking.
Dean smiled thinly and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You… gave me and Sam a place to call home when everything else had been taken from us." Glancing to the side, Dean shook his head. "I wish… I wish everything could be different, but it's not. We have to keep going." He looked up and met Bobby's unwavering stare. "It's not our fault things happen to us."
Sam, his father, his mother—it was his burden, but not his fault. If he believed anything else, or if Bobby believed the same for his own situation, they never would be able to get up in the morning and just keep on living.
"If you need me to talk to… or just… anything… you know you can call me," Dean said, meaning it, even if it was awkward to get out.
Bobby scoffed. "I know."
"Thank you," Dean said, nodding his head, trying to keep some semblance of emotional control. "For everything."
Tilting his head back to look at the sky, Bobby seemed to look just a little better. His eyes were less tortured when he looked back down at Dean. "Just… do what you have to, boy. Save the world," he said. He sighed, exhausted. "Fix this. Or else everything really has been for nothing."
No one had to tell Dean that. "Right." He smiled, though it didn't really carry over to his eyes or heart. He reached out and clasped Bobby's shoulder, shaking him gently. "Call if you need anything, Bobby," he said again.
"Same to you, idjit," Bobby shot back gruffly, the fondness in his eyes not missed by Dean.
Climbing in the Impala, Dean watched Bobby retreat back into the house, probably surrounded by memories and regrets. For once, Dean hoped Gabriel would provide as many distractions for them all as possible. It might keep them all sane, for at least a little longer.
He turned his gaze southward and drove.
Whenever you're ready, Cas.
.
End Week Nine.
Next: Their search becomes a Where's Waldo mock-up, Dean has dreams and then, suddenly, shit gets real.
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A/Ns
-In case you didn't catch it, the little girls are actually canon characters. In the "Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester" episode, Bobby is confronted by two little girls and we receive no real back story for them. :) Ed had the idea to expand on their relationship, which gave way to this chapter. Yay for plot holes!