Dean careened into the parking lot of Pineview Hotel. The three hunters lept from the car and raced up the walkway to see Chuck… with a bewildered look.
"Chuck, what's wrong?"
"Sam, Dean? What are you doing here? Nothing's wrong. I was just…" he groaned as a realization struck him. In answer a blonde woman skipped out the door. Upon catching sight of the group she squealed and made a beeline towards them.
"I am so glad you made it!"
"Becky, did you steal my phone?" Chuck asked warily.
She corrected, "I borrowed it from your pants."
"Well that's just great. We drove all night," Dean's words dripped with sarcasm.
In an attempt to break the high tensions-and possibly to keep Dean from striking out at Chuck- Abigail addressed Chuck. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Abigail Lucero," she stuck out her hand.
"Chuck. I know who you are-I dream about you." He was obviously making a joke but her fiance thought it was far from funny. "Because I'm a prophet and I have visions of you guys. Get it?"
"Chuck, stop now before I make you," Dean cut off his painful ramblings.
As though just seeing her, Becky turned to Abigail, gave her a quick once-over. "You must be Abigail Luero. You are so brave and such a strong woman. Though, I did think you would be dressed differently."
"How so?" Abigail could scarcely keep up.
"Well, you're with Dean, so I expected more leather and low-cut shirts." Abby observed her own clothing: boots, white long sleeve belted into faded jeans and pink soft-shell jacket. Her hair was pulled back and necklace rested against her collarbone.
"I would be alright with that," smirked Dean. She shot him a playful glare.
"Well, since you're here, why not come inside," Becky announced cheerily, taking Sam's arm and leading him inside, the other three following. Chuck apologized again but Dean glared it away. He was not amused, especially since they had much more pressing matters to attend to. Like the end of the world.
"Hi Dean," a girl dressed uncannily similar to Abigail smiled as she walked passed.
"Hi," Dean's eyes followed her. Abby rolled her eyes and scoffed in disgust and slight jealousy. "Oh, come on Sweetheart; you are the only Abigail out there for me." He threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side.
"I had better be," she muttered, "Aren't you worried I'll run away with some other Dean here who plays you better than you do?" she teased.
He scanned the room. "Nah, most of these guys live in their parents' basements. They would be too scared to talk to a gorgeous woman like yourself." When she smiled he planted a kiss on her temple. There were Deans and Sams and Abigails of all variations. Similarities between the dressage of some men distinguished who they were impersonating: the Deans concealed toy guns tucked within interior pockets of leather jackets, a cord necklace around the neck; Sams sported Carhartt jackets over plaid shirts and spoke patronizingly to their counterpart in extravagant vocabulary. The Abigails, however, displayed a variety of garments: some had denim or soft-shell jackets, with a variety of shoes ranging from combat boots to stylish booties to tennis shoes; shirts from low cut to turtleneck sweaters. The individual's interpretation of her varied on their own opinions: those who thought she would dress to please Dean were obvious; those that valued her modesty were identifiable, too. But each woman posing as Abigail had black hair-either their natural hair, a wig or from dye- and a ring.
Sam settled onto the stool on Abby's other side and ordered a beer. "You know what," she said, tipping her head back to finish the remaining liquor in her glass, "we should come to this next year." The brothers looked like she suggested playing Russian Roulette. "I'll dress like Bobby, Dean dresses in a trench coat and tie like Cas, and Sam can be me." She grinned, waiting for their reactions. Neither brother was amused.
She was obstructed from making further future plans by Becky. "Hi Sam, Dean. Do you mind if I borrow Abigail for a while?" Becky did not wait for an answer, just drug her away to two vacant seats. They sat down and Becky leaned close in earnest.
"I am such a big fan. You are just so brave-I mean, there are not many female hunters. And not only that, but you gave up your life and future to live on the road with the man you love. And you are so strong and smart; you put the Winchesters in their place and keep them from completely falling off the tracks. And I especially admire how you want to wait until marriage. Dean is so good about that, too, and is waiting for you to be ready." She sighed romantically. Abigail shifted uncomfortably, not liking strangers knowing so much about her personal life just by reading books.
Then Becky snapped to attention again and put her face only a few inches away. Abby leaned backward into the chair as far as possible. "But know that Sam is mine."
"Oh um….okay."
"So don't even think about trying to make a move on him. Better yet, don't even talk to him or look at him. That way you won't be tempted by his handsomeness or sweet, deep voice." She sighed once again. Abigail needed to say something to mark her ground and preserve her dignity.
"Becky, you do know that I am very happy with Dean. Sam is like a brother to me. I spend virtually every day with him. It would be difficult to not talk to or look at him, not to mention rude." She made eye contact with Dean at the bar and stood up. "I need to go. See you later." Feeling the blonde's eyes drilling through her back she sat beside Dean. He raised an eyebrow.
"What did she want?"
"First she complimented me on being a strong example of the female race; then she threatened me if I try anything with Sam." Dean snorted and almost choked on his whiskey. Sam wrinkled his nose and risked a glance to Becky, who waggled her fingers and smiled seductively.
"Charmed," he sighed.
Maybe it was fate that brought them to the hotel instead of Becky. But either way, it was good they were present. Because when a ghost is on the loose, amateurs are not the ones who are called. You need the real ghostbusters. And today was no exception. Everyone thought it was part of the LARP game. The three hunters sat and watched the attendees flash fake badges to get fake information. Some of the Abigails were shamelessly flirting for a few extra facts. But when a pudgy Dean and a scrawny Sam appeared yelling about ghosts, they were on their feet. And at the moment, cash was more valuable than a fake FBI badge. The receptionist was paid off for the true story of Ms. Gore. They walked away with the knowledge that he most certainly thought them crazy and much too involved in the game. He had no idea.
Abigail literally collided with one of the many men in leather jackets. He was average height and scrawny build, but caught her before she slammed into the floor. Apologies were exchanged hurriedly until he fully looked into her face. Timidly he asked, "Can I buy you a drink to make up for almost knocking you down?"
"It was my fault," she tried to slip out of the offer but he was persistent. "Maybe later," she said before hurrying away. She must be a leather-wearing-man magnet. Throughout the rest of the evening he seemed to be trying to catch her eye. And if he succeeded, a wink was sent her direction. Dean noticed at one point and raised an eyebrow in amusement when she ducked her head and hid behind him in an attempt to avoid her admirer.
"I guess you really are Dean's type," he smirked. She was tempted to beg Dean to go over there and say something, but he would only laugh, knowing this other man was of little concern nor competition. So she had to suck it up the rest of the stay.
Sam, Dean and Abigail were discussing option in low tones. The burning of Ms. Gore's bones had not worked, for a man was found dead. Dean's eyes landed on the young actress, who was typing something into her phone. Abigail followed his gaze and when his train of thought clicked for her, she shook her head. "Mrs. Gore was the only one who could control them. And nobody else is dressed as her," Dean argued.
"No, we are not putting an innocent girl at risk."
"Do you have any better ideas?"
She folded her arms. "I'll do it."
After convincing the girl to let her borrow the dress, Abigail was changed and waiting with Dean at the library. "Does it look real?" she pinned up her hair and tugged at the skirt.
"Yes." Dean led her to the sitting room. "Now remember, I've got your back. You can do it, Sweetheart."
"Boys, boys come here right now." A pause. "You come when I call you!" her voice held a note of false anger. Three young boys flickered before her.
"Ms. Gore?"
She glared at them like a disapproving mother. "You have been very naughty. Now open the doors this instant. Playtime is over." It seemed to be doing the trick. "I am going to count to three." She held up a finger. "One...two…"
Something caught one of the boys' attention. "Ms. Gore doesn't wear her ring anymore." Abigail fumbled in her counting. "She put it away after Mr. Gore left. And it didn't look like that." He pointed to her left hand where the engagement ring sat on her fourth finger. So much for that plan. Dean stepped into the room, where he was almost immediately thrown like a ragdoll. Abigail was flung backward into the wall, hit it with enough force she bounced off and rolled on the floor. Suddenly Sam was there, swinging an iron fire poker. The little brats were gone. For now.
When they returned, the boys' strategy was obvious: divide and conquer. Each child had enough mojo to easily handle a giant like Sam; someone of Abigail's stature was almost not worth the effort. One child landed Dean on the floor, knife in hand to scalp him. When Abby attempted to help, she was grabbed by a fistful of hair from behind by a second; it required all concentration and strength to keep the boy's knife arm from coming any closer to her head. Sam was in the same predicament. In the back of her mind, Abigail cried a eulogy for Sam's hair. Such a shame for his locks to be severed.
Then suddenly the ghosts burst into flames. The three hunters collapsed for a moment before helping one another up. Dean eyed the fire poker as he retrieved it, noting how they should use the Hookman's suggestion of bungees.
While Dean gave their thanks to the wanna-be Winchesters and Sam feigned his disappointment at his and Becky's "breakup", Abigail was finding a way to let someone down easy. The man she had stumbled into the night before was not taking no for an answer.
She sighed, "Look, we're not right for each other."
"How can you even say that? You are the Abigail to my Dean."
"We just met. How can you say that when we met ten hours ago?"
He shrugged. "Dean and Abigail met in a bar and it was love at first sight." True. Maybe there was something inherent about her that created connections after one night, even if they were one-way at times.
"I don't even know your real name," she tried.
"Donald. What's yours?"
"Abigail." He laughed and muttered how some people get too wrapped up in fantasy to focus on reality. Quite done with this conversation, she asserted, "You are not my Dean. Dean always has a special place in my heart and I love him, but this won't work out." His dejected gaze twisted her gut. She didn't even know the guy, but that didn't mean she wanted to see him hurt. Pressing a kiss to his cheek she quickly walked away.
Reaching Dean at the Impala, she leaned against him, enjoying a moment of quiet. His arm wrapped around her waist. They didn't say anything. When Sam returned, he looked urgent.
"I know where the colt is." This caught their attention. "Bella has it." Dean sighed and bit back a curse. He hated that woman. But if she had it, there was no doubt that he would get it back.
