Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.

Home- Part 2.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Heavy angst involved, people! You have been warned.

This is pretty short.

Chapter name borrowed from Jimi Hendrix. :D

He is awesome.

On with it, shall we?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE-THE WIND CRIES MARY

"Here. These gris-gris bags should keep 'em out if we put it in the walls," Missouri was saying, deftly tying up the small pouches.

"Let's get to work," she said. "I'll take the attic."

"Kitchen," Dean grunted.

"Odette and I will do the living room."

I smiled gratefully at Sam.

The other two left, and I gave one of the hammers to Sam.

We started work, chipping at the wall steadily. I got tired easily, and the handle of the hammer started to slip in my sweat-slicked hands.

Something rustled on the ground, and as I whipped my head around, it stopped.

I turned back to the wall, when I was catapulted to the other side of the room, crashing into the table.

"Odette!" Sam yelled in alarm, but his cry was cut short as a cord snaked around his throat, and he fell to the floor, vainly trying to pull it off.

"No!" I struggled to my feet and ran across the room, tugging at the cord as Sam choked.

"DEAN!" I shrieked.

Overhead, I heard Missouri scream.

I ducked as a lamp sailed over my head. I heard lumbering footfalls, and was roughly pushed out of the way as Dean grabbed Sam.

"Sam!"

The cord refused to budge, and Dean changed direction. He kicked a hole in the wall, and realizing what he was trying to do, I threw him the last gris-gris bag.

He jammed it in, and a blinding white light streaked through the room.

I flung a hand over my eyes and waited.

The light receded. The poltergeist disappeared.

The cord slipped off Sam's neck, and Dean pulled him into a fierce hug.

I stood up shakily.

Missouri made her way downstairs.

"The house is clean," she said.

~Supernatural~

"What are we still doin' here?" Dean griped, trying to get comfortable in the driver's seat.

"I've got a bad feeling this isn't over yet," Sam said, staring fixedly at his old house.

"Besides, your last vision hasn't come true, has it, Odette?"

"No, I don't think so," I told Sam, resting my head against the window.

"Well, I could be sleeping in a bed right now," Dean persisted, sinking lower into his seat.

I didn't answer him, pressing my nose up against the window.

And then I saw it.

"Dean, Dean!" I shook him.

"What?" he barked irritably.

"Look!"

Jenny was screaming, hammering against the window.

Exactly like my vision.

We were out the door in a flash.

"Get the kids!" Dean yelled, "I've got Jenny."

We ran in opposite directions inside the house.

"Take Ritchie!" Sam directed, and I sprinted to his playpen.

I picked up the wailing toddler, joining Sam with Sari as we raced to the door.

I shoved Ritchie at Sari as something dragged Sam and I back inside the house, throwing us against the wall.

The door banged shut with an ominous finality.

The fiery figure walked on forward, and I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.

There was a loud crash, and Dean barreled into the room, aiming the gun.

"No!" Don't shoot!" Sam shouted beside me.

"I know who it is now," he whispered.

The figure coalesced into a woman in a white nightdress, loose blonde curls falling down her back.

"Mom?" Dean stuttered, and in that instant, he seemed so vulnerable. The gun clattered to the floor.

So childlike.

"Dean." The woman smiled and walked forward.

Tears pooled in his eyes and I stared in shock, and something like envy, as I remembered what I had lost.

She turned. "Sam."

Sam's eyes were glistening as she looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" His voice cracked.

She did not answer, as she glanced at me oddly, as if she did not know quite what to make of me.

Was that…pity? Pity in her eyes for me?

She turned her eyes to the ceiling, voice steely.

"You get out of my house. And let go of my son."

Mary Winchester shot up in flames, and as they reached the ceiling, the force holding us disappeared.

She vanished.

~Supernatural~

I sat huddled on my bed.

I wanted my mother.

I wanted someone to be there, just this once, to tell me everything was going to be all right.

That I wasn't alone.

I wanted her to whisper my name, stroke my hair and tell me she would always be there.

I needed her here. Needed to see her, to smell her perfume, to know that there was someone, somewhere, who still cared.

Anyone.

I needed her to be there, to tell me this was all some horrible, miserable nightmare, and that she would still be home for me, waiting, as she always did. Always had.

But there was no home to go back to.

No home, no one.

No Mom.

I held my head in my hands and I closed my eyes.

I didn't what to see the joke my life had become.

Cruel, twisted, sick joke that it was.

And this time, no one would be laughing.

A breeze whipped through my room, flicking my hair across my face.

"Why do you wish for death?" His presence was unmistakable.

Cool. Quiet. Inhuman.

I couldn't hold in the tears any longer.

"I have nothing to live for, Castiel."