(A/N: Please don't burn my house down. ._. I'm sorry for this... I am so, so sorry...)
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He could feel her presence clawing at the back of his mind; terrified, confused and desperate, struggling to regain control of the body that he'd borrowed for his purpose. It was justified, though - he meant her no harm. She could go when he finished here, once he got through this. He just needed her a little while longer.
He felt like a man on a mission from God; all righteous vengeance, gripping the newspaper in his borrowed hand so tightly that it felt as though it might burst into flame from the friction of molecules pressing together. His vision was a tunnel framed in white-hot rage as three syllables flickered through his disjointed thoughts - Dick Roman.
His spirit swelled within the borrowed form as he came within sight of the glass tower of SucroCorp, knowing that somewhere in that building Dick Roman awaited retribution. He owed so much to the creature that had killed him, and he intended to pay with interest.
Rounding the corner toward the back entrance of the building, he was confronted by three familiar figures - but it was hazy. He knew these men, their importance tickling at his subconscious, but at the moment they were only an obstacle.
"Bobby," the tall one - Sam, the rational part of his mind supplied - stepped in his path, hands held out in a supplicating gesture, "I know you're in there. You gotta stop this."
Sam pointed his chin toward a CCTV camera on the wall above them, aimed directly at them, red activity light blinking passively at them. He wasn't concerned with the camera though, or its smug little red light - he was more concerned with the other two men, the smartass in the leather coat (Deanidjitboysmartalec) and the skinny kid with the dark hair (Casfeathersjimmyangelofthelordcastiel) moving in on either side to flank him.
He could feel the surge of energy within his soul as his anger built - they were trying to stop him from getting to Dick. Why? That's what they all want, isn't it? To end Dick Roman and stop the Levis?
Regardless of their intentions, he couldn't take chances - not when he was so close.
With a howl of rage, the diminutive woman in the pink uniform currently housing the vengeful spirit of Bobby Singer snapped into action, tossing Dean a good fifteen feet to crash into the side of a parked courier vehicle and bouncing back down onto the pavement. Jimmy moved in from behind as the vengeful spirit's back is turned to him, but even Castiel's Grace wasn't enough to keep him from getting knocked on his ass by the berserk ghost.
Sam pulled the trump card out of his pocket - a leather pouch filled with rock salt and iron shavings. None of them wanted to hurt Bobby, or the woman who their friend was currently possessing, and so even though it was less than ideal, the inferior method of delivery had been decided on over using the rock-salt shotguns.
Bobby wasn't no fool, though. Seeing that the younger Winchester was up to something, he leapt into action; small yet powerful fingers wrapping around Sam's throat and forcing him into the side of a black delivery van parked beside the loading dock.
"Bobby!" Dean called out to his former mentor and father figure, still trying to re-orient himself after the blow he'd received. "Bobby, don't- don't do this, let Sam go... let the girl go. All you're gonna do is get her killed, and us along with her."
Sam scrabbled at the hands squeezing his throat, feeling them loosen just a smidgen as Dean talked. He held the woman's brown eyes, silently pleading with Bobby to come to his senses. He saw Jimmy in his peripheral, quietly moving forward in Bobby's blind spot, a determined look on his face. He didn't know what the guy was thinking, but he was hoping he had a plan - and that it worked - because he was already seeing stars.
"Bobby," Dean beseeched, "this isn't you, man. Please. You can't fight Dick and win."
The flask had to be on the woman somewhere, Jimmy reasoned. From what he had learned about spirits from his brief time with the Winchesters, he knew that spirits couldn't stray far from the objects to which they were attached.
Jimmy could see Bobby's spirit superimposed over the woman he was currently possessing; a roiling maelström of berserker rage and vengeance. At the eye of the storm he could see the woman's soul, huddled against the onslaught of Bobby's shade - caccooned and powerless to do anything about it. She was a hostage in her own body, and something bitter surged up in him at the thought - he was much the same, trapped and helpless against a being of indomitable will, fighting a war that they had no business being involved with in the first place.
A rush of guilt hit him at the thought, on the heels of soul-deep sadness. Why he felt guilty for sympathising with a possessed woman, he had no idea - but he could figure it out later. He shook it off and, on a whim, reached out to lay a hand on the woman's shoulder, willing Bobby's spirit out of her body and ejecting his incorporeal form across the parking lot.
He caught her as she fell away in a dead faint, Dean stepping past him to brace his brother as he stumbled away from the van, clutching at his abused throat as he fought to regain his breath.
"Is she-" Sam rasped, his words coarse and broken.
"She's breathing," Jimmy confirmed, "I think she's okay, just knocked out..."
Once satisfied that his brother was all right, Dean moved over to Jimmy and the unconscious hotel maid, searching her pockets and finding what he was looking for in the girl's apron - the silver flask that tied Bobby's spirit to the living world. He caught Sam's big, sad puppy dog eyes, the knowledge of what had to come next passing solemnly between them. Neither one of them wanted to do it, but in light of what had happened - Bobby possessing that poor girl, marching her like a paper tank into a fire fight, they both knew it was the only option.
That didn't mean they had to be okay with it.
"Dean," Sam pleaded, his voice thick from more than just the injury to his throat, "we have to, before he loses it again..."
Dean looked anywhere but at his companions, his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth, forcing down the emotion that threatened to well up in his throat and choke his composure. There was no way around this - Bobby had gone vengeful. He was no longer their friend, their mentor - he was now just another dangerous ghost, hell-bent on revenge and not caring who or what got in his way of carrying his mission.
"Dean," a new voice joined the conversation, weak and thready. All three men rose, turning to face the flickering, weakened spirit standing beside the loading dock.
Dean gripped the bag of rock salt and iron shavings in his jacket pocket, mentally preparing himself to defend against the thing that had once been like a father to him should he decide to go poltergeist on them again.
Bobby just stood there, however, ethereal eyes cast aside in shame - though his fists remained clenched at his side, his rage barely held back by rational thought. "Better get it done while I still got a thought in my head says you're doin' the right thing."
"Bobby," Dean croaked, unable to keep the reedy strain from his tone.
"Ain't no time for buts, boy," Bobby raised his gaze level to the elder Winchester, eyes pleading for forgiveness and understanding.
Both men just stared for a long moment, neither wanting to be the first to give in, to acknowledge that they understood, that it had to be done.
It was Dean who broke first, not wanting his little brother to bear that weight, to be the one responsible for Bobby being gone for good this time.
"All right, Bobby," he said, holding up the flask. "All right."
The sigh of relief that came from the old man's ghost was almost tangible.
"Jim," Dean called out, not taking his eyes off the former man, "can you get her to a hospital?"
"Yeah," Jimmy replied, gathering the unconscious girl up, "I think so."
Without another word, Jimmy disappeared, leaving the Winchesters alone with the spirit. Ever since the guy's abrupt departure that morning and their little talk at the hotel, it seemed like Jimmy was becoming more and more at ease with using Cas' mojo. Something about that didn't quite sit right with Dean, but now wasn't the time to get all worked up about it. Besides, it was useful - he wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.
"I'm real sorry, boys," Bobby sighed ruefully.
"Yeah, Bobby," Sam said softly, using that voice he uses on trauma victims and people with guns, "we know. You were trying to help."
"Guess I did a real bang-up job of it," the ghost chuckled, though it was harsh, strained.
Dean felt the anger welling up fresh in his chest. Bobby was the closest they'd had to a real father, making up for John's shortcomings in the parental department. He'd been there for them, put his ass on the line for them so many freakin' times. He'd always come through for them when they needed anything - anything, and had even died for them, twice, and now they had to put him down like any common spook they'd ever salted and burned. Why couldn't the old man have just crossed over when he was supposed to? It would have saved them this whole freakin' mess - but then, without Bobby he might never have been able to save Sammy, or find Cas in Colorado, or a dozen other things.
He wished they didn't have to, that they could just find a way to fix Bobby, or make it so he wouldn't go vengeful - but that was fantasy. There'd never been a ghost that didn't go nuts in the end. It was just a matter of time, even if they did ice Dick.
Of course, they'd have to survive that long in order to accomplish much of anything.
"Dean!" Sam shouted in warning, drawing the elder Winchester back to the moment as two security guards emerged from the access door by the loading dock.
"Crap," Dean agreed. There was no way to know if they were civilian guards or Levis, though. When Charlie Bradbury had infiltrated Dick's office on their behalf a couple of months back, the guard had appeared to be one-hundred percent human, but anything could have changed between then and now.
Both guards were armed, firing at them without pause as Dean drew his Colt 1911 from inside his jacket. He squeezed off a couple of low-aimed shots as he ducked behind the van, followed shortly by Sam. He wasn't into the idea of killing a couple of hired goons if he could get away with it, but he hoped to God or whoever that they wouldn't push it and force him to do more than wound them if it came down to it; the last thing he wanted to do was plug some poor bastard security guard for doing his job.
Bobby flickered into view as the boys silently tried to formulate a plan, his expression weary and stricken.
"They ain't human," the old hunter cautioned, "guards are both Big-Mouths. You boys get the hell outta here, I'll try to distract 'em"
The Winchesters shared a hesitant nod, moving to the end of the van as Bobby flickered back out again. And what the hell was taking Jimmy so freaking long? If he'd get his schizophrenic ass back from dumping Miss Emily Rose off at the hospital he could just zap them back to the hotel and they could avoid this whole mess.
A sudden drop in temperature followed by a loud pop and an electric sizzle alerted them that their distraction had arrived, a split second of eye-contact between the two men signaling all systems go as they darted out from behind the van.
Dean wasn't sure if he could ever process what happened next as they came out into view once more; one of the Leviathan guards had Bobby - physically by the throat - its jagged maw open in a wide grin of snaggled teeth. A sudden burst of heat made him stumble with a hoarse cry of pain as the pocket containing the flask began to smolder. He jerked the flask out of his pocket, dropping it in an instant as it glowed red in his hand, searing his palm and fingertips. At the same moment, a ripple of oozing black worked its way through Bobby's ethereal form in the grip of the guard.
"No," Dean breathed, watching in heartbroken horror as Bobby's ghost simply dissolved into a puddle of black goo and ectoplasm, "no, Bobby - not like this..."
"Dean!" Sam's voice caught him, and as his little brother's hand gripped his arm, jerking him away from the scene, the world snapped back into focus. Leviathans had just killed Bobby Singer, twice. That's not how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to burn the flask himself - give Bobby a proper send-off, for the second time. They were supposed to have a chance to say goodbye, and those motherfuckers had just killed him again.
Red framed the edges of Dean's vision as Sam desperately tried to pull his brother away from the advancing monsters. He didn't have shit on him but the Colt 1911 in his hand and the demon knife in his pocket, but these freaks were about to get theirs. Nobody fucks with Dean Winchester's family.
Dean jerked his arm away from his little brother's grasp just as the sound of wings beat through the tense air, putting Jimmy between Dean and the Leviathans.
Jimmy surveyed his surroundings, now on his third attempt at finding his way back, his relief at the successful landing quickly squashed as he realized he'd just dropped into the middle of a fight. He turned to his left, his eyes going wide as the two Leviathan closed the distance from the loading dock, their gelatinous forms flowing with grotesque liquidity in rudimentary human form. He took an involuntary few steps back, toward the Winchesters and away from the monsters, momentarily frozen.
"Jimmy!" Dean screamed in his ear as two pairs of hands grabbed him from either side. "Get us the hell out of here!"
"Yeah," he stuttered in response, "good plan..."
The Levis breached the last few yards between them as Jimmy reached within himself for that power he'd inexplicably managed to tap into, feeling the increasingly familiar sensation of Castiel's wings unfurling as something cold and oily plunged into his chest. The creature's grotesquely misshapen face was inches from his own - a grin full of spears, fetid breath washing over him as its jaws opened in a hiss, twin tongues darting out against his flesh.
He heard the Winchesters scream his name in unison, and despite the ice working its way through him, he gripped them both tight, flexing powerful, alien muscles and pulling himself and his companions out of harm's way. A howl of rage followed him through the negative space between SucroCorp's loading dock and the floor of the hotel suite. He had only a moment to rejoice in the successful rescue before realizing that he couldn't breathe.
After the brief nausea from the bumpy ride subsided, it took Dean a couple of seconds to register that he was on the floor of the hotel room, tangled up in too many limbs to be just his own.
"Dean," the urgency in Sam's voice sent a flicker of panic through Dean's guts. Something had happened back there - something not good - and the sudden violent thrashing from the form beneath him brought it crashing back; the damned Leviathan had got to Jimmy.
Dean disentangled himself from the flailing form of Jimmy Novak, instinctively re-positioning himself to help his brother restrain him.
Jimmy was on his back on the floor, his eyes wide with panic, and he was gasping like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe though it seemed like nothing was getting in. Black goo trickled from his right eye and his nose, flecks of the same dotting his steadily paling lips. The front of his black t-shirt was tattered, soaked through with blood and goo, right beneath where the man's sternum would be.
"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed hopelessly. Things didn't look good. Whatever the Levi had done to the guy, it didn't look like Jimmy was winning.
"What the hell happened," Meg's voice came from the direction of the room housing the array of surveillance equipment. "Those guards came out and then I lost you guys on camera, what did-"
The demon's voice cut off abruptly as she came into view, her eyes wandering over the three men on the floor with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. Dean figured it was about the closest thing to concern they were going to get out of the hell-spawn.
"Help or get the hell out," Dean growled at her, his temper flaring to burn away his fear.
"I don't know what you expect me to do, Dean-o," Meg lilted in response, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the door frame with a wry grin, "I could try mouth-to-mouth..."
"Try it," Sam suggested in all seriousness, "anything might help at this point."
The demon sighed, rolling her eyes as she sauntered over and knelt beside the man asphyxiating on the floor.
Jimmy flinched as the demon's mangled, rotting face loomed in over him. He tried to scream, but all that came forth was a trickle of ooze that trailed out of the corners of his mouth. His mind flashed to a time when he was a kid - maybe nine or ten years old - on a beach trip with his family. He had waded out into the ocean too far, trying to keep up with his older cousins. The tide had caught him - pulling him under and further out into the surf.
The cold fire burning in his chest reminded him of those terrifying few minutes when he knew for certain that he was about to die there on that beach.
Alongside his own panic he felt a fluttering warmth buzzing through his core - just as frightened as he was - fighting desperately against the tide. He could feel that warmth envelope him as his vision began to fade, colours muting and going gray.
And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death...
He remembered feeling the sting of saltwater in his eyes as the waves pushed him down again, the unrelenting tide dragging him further and further away from the shore.
I will fear no evil...
He could feel the warm embrace that surrounded him, pulling him back from the cold depths of the ocean, guiding him into the searching arms of his father and uncle.
For thou art with me.
"Castiel," he prayed, "help me..."
"I'm sorry, Jimmy."
"Where were you?" he wept, clinging now to consciousness as his body was deprived of oxygen.
"Where I have been all this time. Jimmy, I have tried, so hard, to save us both..."
"What the hell does that mean?"
He could feel the angel sigh in resignation. "It means I will do what I can, but it will be... very dangerous. I am so sorry."
Meg flew back with a hiss as Jimmy's body went rigid, a dull glow and a faint hum of energy emanating from the now-still form between the two hunters. The demon fled the room in a panic as the light brightened sharply, wispy tendrils of smoke rising from Jimmy's eyes and mouth as the goo burned away.
Dean scootched back quickly as the light intensified, seeing that his brother was doing the same. He was reluctant to take his eyes off of his wounded friend, but the light soon became too much to bear as a scream split the air - shattering every light in the room and rattling the windows in their frames - and he threw up his arm to shield his eyes as the world went white, burning away all sound.
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(A/N: [post script] I'm sorry this took so long... I've put a lot on my plate recently and gotten in over my head on a few things. Also, there were things in this chapter that I just couldn't bring myself to write until now. It hurts me as much as it hurts you guys ._. )