Chapter 70

6 months later.

Bobby is sitting at his kitchen table, a book of monster lore in front of him and a bottle of whiskey beside him. He glances at the time on the clock on the wall, realizing it's only ten a.m., when his phone rings. It takes him a few moments to find it hiding underneath the large, old book.

"Hello?"

He hears a slight sigh on the other end.

"Bobby, are you drinking already?" Dean asks with concern.

Bobby sighs loudly. "You've been asking me the same thing every day for the past six months, when are you gonna give it a rest?"

"I'll give it a rest when I can stop worrying about you."

"I should be the one worrying about you," he mumbles quietly.

"What did you say, Bobby?"

"I asked, how Sam is doing?" he lied.

There was a long pause, before Dean replied. "The same as usual."

Bobby winced as if he'd been hit by something physical. In an attempt to fight off the pain, he takes a quick swig from his whiskey bottle before speaking again.

"Dean, you take care of him. I know," he paused for a moment, always finding it difficult to say her name out loud. "Jess's death is still hitting him hard."

There was a long silence on the other end.

"You take care of yourself, Bobby," he said quietly. "I know this has been difficult on you as well, but you can't keep drinking all the time. You're not getting any younger."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied with a dismissive tone. "Just worry about you and your brother."

He didn't wait for Dean to respond, ending the call quickly before Dean could say anything else.

Bobby closed his eyes, fighting back a wave of tears that were threatening to take over him. It had been months since he had cried and he didn't want to allow himself to cry again. He desperately wanted the despair to go away, but no amount of alcohol had been able to make it disappear. And the worst part was feeling like he had failed. And not just failed in protecting Jessie, but failed the Winchester's as well. He had tried to be there for Sam, but because his own pain was too much for him to deal with, he was unable to be supportive. It only hurt more that he was unable to overcome his own selfish pain.

He slammed his hand angrily on the table as he felt tears beginning to escape his eyes, nearly knocking over the half empty bottle of whiskey, barely catching it before it tumbled off the table. He yelled an obscenity before taking a swig from the bottle and slamming it down. He then buried his face in his hands for several minutes, until he was able to get control of his emotions.

Taking another swig from his bottle of whiskey, he turned his attention back to the task at hand, researching a very strange case for a veteran hunter.

He had been so engrossed in the book he was reading, it took him several minutes before he noticed his laptop was trying to alert him to something. Once he noticed, he practically threw the book aside, grabbing his laptop that was sitting across the table and pulled it towards him.

"What the..."

He began furiously typing, some clicks of the mouse and then slammed his hand on the table in frustration. After mumbling some obscenities, he picked up his phone and dialed Dean.

"Dean, I'm heading over to Jessie's house," he said, wincing slightly as he said her name aloud. "I think someone has broken in. The cameras are offline and the alarm is now disabled."

"Why don't you let me handle it, Bobby?" he replied. "You probably shouldn't be driving in your condition."

He sighed loudly. "I'm fine. Besides, you're a couple of hours away."

"Is that the reason? Or are you worried about Sam?"

Bobby was silent for a few moments. "Of course I'm worried about him. This might just be a false alarm. Some weird glitch or something. I don't want to upset him if it's nothing."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," he replied, then began speaking quietly. "But maybe Sam needs this. Maybe he needs to go to her house. He needs to come to terms with her death sooner rather than later."

"Isn't that a little harsh, Dean?" he replied, feeling a twinge of guilt as if Dean had also been speaking about him. He also needed to move on, but it wasn't so easy.

"Bobby..." he said trailing off, then spoke again moments later. "You don't see what he's like. He barely eats, he barely speaks, he drinks too much. He gets angry at the drop of a hat."

Bobby winced as if Dean had been accusing him of those same things. It did sound exactly like him.

"I'll take care of it, Dean," he said softly.

Dean sighed loudly. "I'll meet you there, Bobby. False alarm or not."

He was going to argue, but decided against it. He knew Dean would do what he wanted to, so there was no point wasting his breath.

After he ended the call, he splashed cold water on his face until he felt more awake and alert. He knew he shouldn't be driving in his condition, but he felt fine. Or at least that's what he told himself. He was going to make coffee before he left, but he didn't want to wait.

He jumped into his old Chevelle and rolled down the windows, letting in the cool, brisk November morning air. He then peeled out of his driveway in a hurry, hoping the cool air would keep him awake and alert.

The drive to Jessie's house usually took about two hours, if you followed the speed limit. But Bobby didn't intend on taking that long. He knew it was risky to speed, but he wasn't really in a frame of mind to worry about it at the moment.

It was a little over an hour later when Jessie's house finally came into view. Bobby felt a wave of sadness wash over him the moment he spied it, but he managed to hold himself together. He was too focused on looking around for anything that was out of place to allow any feelings to get in the way.

As he pulled his car up the driveway, he noticed nothing unusual. But the moment he got out of the car, he immediately noticed a few things. Things that were out of place. There were some bare footprints in the cold mud leading up to the front entrance to the house, as well as muddy prints on the steps. And although they were very faint, he could tell they were the prints of a woman.

While he was pondering what it could mean, he tried the front door to find it locked. He stood in silence for a moment, listening. He thought he could hear some noise from inside, but he couldn't be sure if it was really noise, or just his imagination. He stood as still as he could to listen, but even after a minute he wasn't sure whether it was sound from inside or his imagination.

He fished a small set of keys from a pocket in his jacket then began looking for a specific key. Once he found it, he inserted the key into the lock gently, trying his best to be as quiet as possible in case there was an intruder inside. He doubted he would have the element of surprise, but he felt better if he at least tried.

Once he turned the key in the lock, he felt the door give way. He grabbed the gun from his pants, holding it firmly in one hand, while he slowly and quietly pushed the door open enough to walk in.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the inside of the house, he noticed a very slight trail of dried mud leading from the front door to the upstairs, but that was the only thing that seemed out of place. Everything else seemed right where it had been left so many months before. So much so, he felt despair trying so desperately to grip him tightly and not let go. But he did his best to shake it off before it could take hold. He didn't know what kind of a situation he was dealing with and he needed to keep his head and his wits about him.

It was then he thought he heard noise coming from the direction of the kitchen. He carefully stepped as quietly as he could closer to the doors, hoping to catch whoever, or whatever, it was unaware. Standing as still as possible, he cocked his gun and held it in a position ready to fire.

As the kitchen door swung open and he saw who it was who walked through the door, he immediately dropped his arm down beside him, looking at them with utter shock.

"Jess?" he said, his voice cracking.

Jessie jumped back at hearing her name, her eyes wide with shock and fear. She was silent for many moments, before speaking with a raspy voice, as if it had been unused in so long.

"Bobby? Is that really you?"

Bobby stepped back a step, looking at her with distrust. "Me? How do I know you're really you?"

She looked around before returning her gaze to Bobby.

"Is this real? Are you really here? Or is this another demon trick?"

He was taken aback by her question for a moment, before it dawned on him. She wasn't sure if she was still in hell and this was all a trick. Of course, he was still skeptical. It could be a demon trick. A demon trick on him. So he took his flask of holy water out of his pocket, holding it up for her to see.

"You don't mine if I splash some of this on you, do you?"

She looked at him strangely for a moment. "You first."

He smiled very lightly as he felt a moment of deja vu, then took the flask, opened the lid and poured a little on himself. He watched her intently as he did. When she seemed satisfied, she took a few careful steps forward, extending her arm out towards him. He then poured a slight amount on her arm. And when there was no reaction, he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes.

"It is you!" he exclaimed. "But how is this possible?"

She hesitated for a moment, before closing the distance between them. She threw her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as she could, tears beginning to fall down her face.

"I don't know," she uttered through the tears.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, a few tears escaping his eyes as he held on to her, hoping this wasn't some cruel dream.

Bobby held her tightly for some time, allowing her to quietly sob. He didn't know what she had been through, but he knew she had been in hell and it had to be nothing good. He had wished he could see her again just one more time. And now that she was here, he didn't want to let her go.

When he finally felt her sobbing ease up, he slowly released his grip, directing her into the livingroom. It didn't take much to steer her, as she seemed to know exactly what he wanted. Walking to the couch and sitting down, he followed her, sitting down next to her.

They were awkwardly silent for many minutes, neither of them knowing what to say, or ask, or who should speak first. But it was Jessie who finally broke the silence.

"How long have I been gone?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He glanced at her with trepidation, unsure if he wanted to tell her. But he knew what she was like. There was no point in lying.

"Six months."

Her eyes went wide for a moment in response, then she closed them. Fighting back tears.

"Sixty years," she said with a trembling voice, opening her eyes once again. "I lost count around the thirty year mark. I don't know if it was because I couldn't handle it, or, if I just didn't want to know anymore." She became quiet again, her body trembling, but no tears were visible.

Bobby reached out and took her hand into his. "I'm so sorry," he said with sorrow.

She shook her head, looking at him with confusion. "Why would you be sorry, Bobby? I sold my soul like an idiot. It's my fault I went to hell."

"Aren't you being a little harsh on yourself?" he asked in surprise.

She snorted. "Would you say this to the boys?"

She studied his face while he seemed to be mulling it over in his head. But when he was silent for more than a minute, she realized he wasn't going to answer her question.

"Bobby, I love you," she said, squeezing his hands firmly. "But I knew better. And yet I did it anyway. I just wasn't expecting..." she trailed off, a pained expression on her face.

"What is it, Jess?"

"I, uh, I wasn't supposed to die, Bobby," she said quietly. "My deal with Crowley, it was to go to hell whenever I died. No ten years. Nothing like that."

"Really?" he asked with surprise.

She shook her head very slightly. "Yeah. And he was so pissed when I died. He hadn't expected it either. Apparently it ruined his plans and he made sure..." she trailed off again, this time pulling her hands from his, her face once again etched in pain. "I can't talk about this right now," she said as she began to tremble.

Bobby sat in silence, watching her suffer, knowing there wasn't really anything he could say or do to make her feel any better. He watched as she closed her eyes, pulling her knees up to her chest, holding them tightly as tears began to fall from her eyes. It pained him to be there, witnessing her in so much pain. But he was glad he was here with her so she wasn't suffering alone.

Bobby stayed still and silent while she was crying and even after she finally sat up, wiping tears from her very puffy, red, blooshot eyes. He didn't even know what to say. He knew she had just been through something so traumatic that he couldn't even begin to understand. He had no idea how to help her and he was afraid to try.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," she said with a sniffle. "I didn't mean to break down in front of you."

"Hey," he said gently as he took her hand in his. "Don't apologize. You've been through," he paused for a moment, scolding himself for almost saying hell. "You've been through a lot."

She smiled very slightly in thanks. "Thank you."

He nodded, watching her intently as her eyes seemed to be looking at something far away. He knew the look. He'd seen it in many people over the years, hunters and survivors of the supernatural alike. It was the haunted look of someone who had been through something so traumatic, yet had survived.

"Jess," he called gently after several minutes. "Is there anything you need right now? Anything I can get you?"

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, turning to him with a grateful smile. "Yes, but I think it might be a bit awkward for you."

"Oh?"

She sighed loudly. "I'm tired, Bobby. So tired. Digging myself out of my grave was... tiring. All I want is some sleep." She paused, noticing he looked confused. "Can you watch over me until I fall asleep?"

He smiled at her sympathetically. "Of course, Jess," he said as he moved to the end of the couch.

She thanked him as she laid down beside him, her head slightly against him for a pillow. She closed her eyes immediately, hoping she could sleep, despite the images that would float through her mind whenever she closed her eyes. But the comforting closeness of someone she loved and the scent of familiar things, helped ease her mind off to sleep rather quickly.

Bobby watched over her for a time, barely moving if he could help it. He wanted to get up, but he didn't want to disturb her. She had been through so much and he knew how she was. Asking for help was one of the last things she liked to do. Yet she asked him to watch over her while she slept. It couldn't have been easy for her to ask and it really was the least he could do. After all the months of wishing he'd been able to prevent her death, he was here with her again and he wanted to do anything he could to help her readjust.

Jessie had only been asleep for about twenty minutes when she awoke with a start, bolting upright, shaking and screaming, her arms flailing about. However, Bobby reacted quickly, wrapping supportive arms around her even as she tried to struggle, calming her down quickly. Her eyes were wide in horror and she had tears running down her face, but she had stopped screaming and flailing, only the shaking still remained.

"You're okay, Jess," he said quietly and calmly as he held her tightly. "Everything is fine. I'm here."

"Bobby," she said breathlessly. Absentmindedly wiping tears from her face. "I, uh, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he asked with concern.

Fresh tears began to well up in her eyes. "For this. All of this."

"What do you mean?" he asked supportively.

She pulled away from his grasp and stood up. "Bobby, this is not you. Looking after me like I'm a child. Watching over me while I sleep." She shook her head in frustration. "And don't think I can't smell the booze on you. I'm sorry I'm such a burden."

He stood up from the couch then grasped her arms firmly.

"You are not a burden," he said with conviction as he looked into her eyes. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, you hear me? You're my daughter. You could never be a burden."

She tried to pull herself from his grip, but when she realized he wasn't going to relent, she broke her gaze with him. She knew he was telling her the truth, but she was feeling way too pitiful about everything and wanted to continue to feel it. She felt it was the least she deserved. Even after all the punishment in hell, she felt she deserved more.

As her mind had wandered, once again thinking of hell, it made her violently shudder, which made Bobby grasp her even more firmly.

"Bobby, I love you," she said softly. "But you and I both know I'm not really you're daughter. You don't have to feel like you're obligated to look after me."

He once again looked at her seriously and with conviction. "First of all, I do not feel like you're an obligation. And second of all you are..."

His sentence was cut off when the front door suddenly flew open and in walked the concerned, and surprised, faces of the Winchester brothers.

"Jessie?" both of them called in unison.

Being in complete shock at the men bursting through her door, "uh, hi," were the only words that managed to escape her lips.