Chapter 2: Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester
The flickering of the lights and TV woke Olivia Lowry, and she was on high alert immediately. Her breath appeared as fine clouds in the warm night air, and she knew exactly what that meant. Ignoring the phone ringing, she moved quickly to the large photograph of her family that hung on the wall, sliding it out of the way and gaining access to the secret cupboard beneath. As she rooted through her weapons, she could hear her phone going through to the answering machine, her recorded voice playing to whoever was bothering to call her at two in the morning.
"Hey, it's Olivia. I'm not in. Leave a message."
"Olivia, it's Bobby. Call me back, would you? I got something big. I could use your help on this."
Switching on the EMF meter, the lights flared all the way into the red zone, and her heart sank. She loaded the nearest gun with salt pellets, hands steady despite her anxiety. She'd done this before. She could do it again. A noise made her turn, and she found herself looking straight into the eyes of a tall, thin man covered in bruises. Her jaw dropped. It couldn't possibly be him.
"You!"
She fired at the ghost and he vanished. Using the little time she'd managed to buy herself, she grabbed the open bag of salt from the cupboard and lined the doorway with a thick trail. The man reappeared on the other side of the line, looking down at the white barrier reproachfully.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She backed away, then noticed that the man was looking at something over her shoulder. And the look in his eyes was one of satisfaction, not the rage she had been expecting. Already knowing what she'd see, she turned to face the second ghost - the bloodied, beaten blonde woman. It reached out and grabbed her by the throat, icy fingers burning against her skin.
Olivia could hear her own screams, raw and ragged, as they echoed through the building and out into the neighbourhood beyond.
And knew that by the time anybody heard her, it would be far too late.
Sat behind the piles of books that covered his desk, Bobby felt like he was moments away from slamming his head through the thick wood as the boys bickered with each other. They had just finished filling Sam in on what he'd missed while he'd been out, and while he was glad to hear that they still believed he'd really just gone for a late snack, the story they were telling him in turn was baffling. And Dean's attitude in particular was clearly rubbing him up the wrong way.
"Well, then tell me what else it could be!"
Dean was pacing back and forth across the length of the room, scoffing at every little remark.
"Look, all I know is I was not groped by a couple of angels, okay?"
"Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think that Castiel and Jophiel would lie to you about it?"
"Maybe they're some kind of demons. Demons lie."
"A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!"
He tried a different angle. "Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You just did, Dean."
Realising that he'd just shot himself in the foot with that idea, he tried to backtrack a little. "I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me."
"Dean, we have a theory."
"Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please."
"Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we-"
"Okay, okay. That's the point! We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that these things are freaking Angels of the Lord just because they say so!"
Finally sick of the two of them going round in circles, Bobby groaned.
"You two chuckleheads want to keep arguing about religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?" They shut up for a moment, crowding around him so they could read the pages he'd tabbed. Like many of the books in his collection, this one was written on ageing parchment and printed in looping script that, to the uninitiated eye, would barely have looked like English. Thankfully, Bobby was used to working with texts in these conditions, and found them easy enough to decipher, for the most part. "I got stacks of lore - Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."
Dean nodded. "Ok. What else?"
"What else, what?"
"What else could do it?"
"Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing."
Sam nudged him. "Dean, this is good news."
"How?"
"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?"
"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?"
Bobby shrugged. "At this point, Vegas money's on yeah."
"I don't know, guys."
Leaning against the wall, Sam sighed. "Okay, look. I know you're not all choir-boy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof."
"Proof?"
"Yes."
"Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally?" He snickered and went back to pacing the room. "I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it."
"Why not?"
He pulled a face. "Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?"
"Dean-"
"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy."
"Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs."
A visible shudder ran through his shoulders. "Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by... God."
"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat."
"Fine. What do we know about angels?"
With a slight grunt, Bobby hefted one of the stacks of thick books up and placed them in front of Dean before turning back to his own pile.
"Start reading."
Grabbing the first book on his pile, Dean pointed a finger at Sam.
"You're gonna get me some pie."
The drive to the diner had taken less than fifteen minutes, and by the time Sam arrived he was already on the phone to Dean again.
"Yes, Dean, I'll get the chips." He scoffed as his brother shot him one last remark. "Dude. When have I ever forgotten the pie? Exactly."
He got out of the car and swung the door closed. He went to say something else, but looked up and made eye contact with an anxious looking Ruby. She was ducking into the shadow beneath the store's awning, and it was clear that something was bothering her. She was usually careful about talking to him in public, but never to the extent that she avoided human eyes completely.
"I got to go."
He barely heard Dean saying bye as he hung up, walking over to Ruby and moving around to the bins where they couldn't be seen. He didn't particularly care how that may have looked to any onlookers; he was more concerned about her.
"Ruby. What's wrong?"
"So, is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Did angels rescue Dean?"
The note of urgent fear in her voice put him even more on edge than he already had been,
"You heard."
"Who hasn't? It's the flavour of the week for most demons at the moment, everyone's talking about it. So come on. Tell me what's happening."
"We're not 100% sure that it's angels, but personally? I think so."
"Okay, that's what I needed to hear. Bye, Sam."
She turned on her heel, but only made it a few steps before Sam grabbed her by the arm.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait. What's going on?"
"Sam, they're angels. I'm a demon. They're not gonna care if I'm being helpful. They smite first, and then they ask questions later."
"What do you know about them?"
"Not much. I've never met one, and I don't really want to. All I know is that they scare the holy hell out of me. Watch yourself, Sam."
He scoffed. "I'm not scared of angels."
"Believe me. You should be."
This time, he didn't try to stop her as she stalked off, checking nervously over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner.
As he pulled up outside the house again, Bobby came up to the window and leant down.
"Keep the engine running."
"Why? What's going on?"
"I got a friend one state over, Olivia Lowry. I've been trying to reach her for three days on this angel thing. It's not like her to ignore this many calls."
Sam vaguely recognised the name. "Olivia Lowry - she's a hunter, right?"
"Yeah. We're gonna go check on her. You guys follow me."
Bobby headed to his own car as Dean stepped up to the driver's side of the Impala.
"Scoot over. And gimme that bag."
Sam slid to the passengers side and passed the carrier bag to his brother, discreetly checking his phone for any messages from Ruby as he did so. Dean rustled through the bag for a moment, before looking over to him, affronted.
"Dude?"
"Yeah?"
"Where's the pie?"
The journey to Olivia's was a short one, and they soon found themselves parked outside her house - which looked pretty ordinary, for hunter's standards. Well, the only other hunter's house they knew well enough to compare was Bobby's, and he wasn't exactly the picture of the typical American dream. Guns at the ready, they made short work of the lock on the front door and broke in, calling out as they did so just in case she was lurking behind something, ready to take care of intruders.
"Olivia?"
"Olivia, are you here?"
"Olivia, it's Bobby. We came over to make sure you're-"
He didn't finish the sentence, and the boys almost walked into him where he'd stopped. Olivia was splayed out in the middle of her living room floor, soaked in her own blood and an almost blue tint to her skin. Bobby turned on his heel and left the room, and Dean frowned after him.
"Bobby?"
Sam, meanwhile, had noticed the measures that Olivia had put in place to protect herself.
"Salt line. And Dean, look at this. Olivia was rocking the EMF meter. Spirit activity."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah - on steroids. I've never seen a ghost do this to a person."
Bobby came back, looking a little pale with his eyes full of determined steel.
"Bobby, you all right?"
"I called some hunters nearby-"
"Good. We can use their help."
"...except they ain't answering their phones either."
Sam frowned. "Something's up, huh?"
Bobby shot him a look that clearly implied that a three year old could have made that statement.
"You think?"
"Yeah, this is Jed. I'm not around. Uh, leave a message."
The next closest set of hunters weren't replying either - this was the third phone number Bobby had on file for Jed Blake, and every one so far had gone straight to voicemail. And so Dean left the third message.
"Jed, Dean Winchester again - friend of Bobby Singer's. Look, we think something's happening. We think it's happening to hunters. Just want to make sure you're okay. Call me back."
He couldn't see the other scene at the other end of the phone, but if he had been able to he would have seen striking similarities to the damage caused in Olivia's house. The lines of salt at every window and door. The shattered glass. The burst rib cage and splashes of blood painting the walls.
When he and Sam reached the house a few hours later, they didn't even need to get through the front door to know exactly what had taken place.
After checking the whole house, just to be completely sure that they hadn't missed anything (or anyone's body parts), they headed back to the car, Dean phoning Bobby as he made his way down the stairs.
"We're in Jackson. It's not pretty. He looks even worse than Olivia. What about you?"
"I checked on Carl Bates and R.C. Adams. They've redecorated... in red."
"What the hell is going on here, Bobby? Why did a bunch of ghosts suddenly want to gank off-duty hunters?"
"I don't know, but until we find out, you guys better get your asses to my place."
"We're on our way."
Halfway back to Bobby's, they agreed to switch drivers when they stopped for gas. Dean slid across to the passenger side as Sam got out, and by the time he had the pump in his hand Dean was snoring lightly. Chuckling to himself, Sam filled the car up and stepped into the store to grab some water bottles before ducking into the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he caught the mirror in front of him fogging over, and his heart sank. So they were the next target. Doing his best to stay calm, he reached up to wipe some of the condensation away - and tensed as Henriksen's face appeared next to his in the mirror.
"Hi, Sam. It's been a while."
He turned around to see the ghost at full length, looking as coolly disinterested as he had done while being alive.
"Henriksen. Are you… Did you…"
"I didn't survive... if that's what you're asking."
"I'm sorry."
"I know you are."
"Look, if we'd known Lilith was coming-"
Henriksen cut him off with a wave of a hand. "You wouldn't have left half a dozen innocent people in that police station to die in your place. You did this to me. It was your fault. She was after you, and I paid the price. You left us there to die!"
And he lunged, throwing Sam across the room before grabbing hold of him again and pinning him against the mirrors. As Sam noticed the brand on the back of Henriksen's hand, the ghost slammed his head against the sink. He dropped to the floor, feeling trails of warm blood mingle with his hair.
Henriksen moved to go for Sam's neck just as Dean burst through the door, gun in hand. He fired, blasting the ghost of Henriksen away with ease.
"You good?"
After bundling a very bruised Sam into the passenger seat, Dean sent the Impala roaring down the highway in the dark while pressing his phone to his ear.
"Damn it, Bobby! Pick up!" He glanced over at Sam as he used a handful of wet napkins to soothe the scrapes. "How you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?"
He huffed. "None. I'll be fine, Dean."
"Henriksen?"
"Yep."
"Why? What did he want?"
"Revenge, 'cause we got him killed."
Dean shot him a look. "Sam."
"Well, we did, Dean."
"All right. Stop right there. Whatever the hell is going on, it's happening to us now, okay? I can't get a hold of Bobby, so if you're not thinking answers, don't think at all."
They both lapsed into silence, quietly fearing for the safety of their oldest friend.
By the time they reached Bobby's house again the sun was rising, and everything looked normal - from the outside. The same old heaps of rusting junk-ass car frames and stacks of worn-through tyres, the same old dilapidated wood panel front, the same old overflowing mailbox and bins. But it felt too quiet. They got out of the car and just stood there for a moment, listening. Something felt wrong here, uncomfortably silent. Guns cocked, they crept their way into the house.
"Bobby?"
Sam caught his foot on something and looked down - an iron poker.
"They got here before us. Look."
Dean nodded towards the stairs. "I'll go. You check outside."
Sam picked his way through the maze of the junkyard, eyes flicking back and forth between the heaps of scrap, looking for signs of movement.
"Bobby? Bobby, you there?"
Huddled in one of the junked vans, Bobby lay completely still. One little ghost girl sat with her hand over his mouth, and the other little ghost girl smiled coldly as Sam walked right past.
He knew that if he even made so much as a cough, they would kill him there and then.
He had no choice but to wait and hope.
Upstairs, Dean cursed under his breath every time a floorboard creaked - why was this damned house as grouchy and irritable as its owner?
"Bobby?"
A door opened down the hall and he stopped, tense. But nobody appeared. His lips twitched.
"Come out, come out, whoever you are."
With slow, silent steps, a pretty girl with shoulder length brown hair made her way into the hallway. She wore a cardigan with sleeves longer than her arms and soft, tatty jeans.
"Dean Winchester. Still so bossy. You don't recognize me?"
He looked at her a moment longer, and another girl appeared in his mind. One with short blonde hair and a far colder smile, but the same sweet face. As the recognition crossed his face, she smiled - and this time, it looked genuine. "This is what I looked like before that demon cut off my hair and dressed me like a slut."
"Meg?"
"Hi. It's okay, I'm not a demon. I promise."
"You're the girl the demon possessed."
"Meg Masters. Nice to finally talk to you when I'm not, you know, choking on my own blood." She held her hands up in surrender with a giggle. "It's okay. Seriously, I'm just a college girl. Sorry - was. I was walking home one night and got jumped by all this smoke. Next thing you know, I'm a prisoner…" She tapped a finger against her temple, "in here. Now, I was awake. I had to watch while she murdered people."
His heart sank. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, yeah? So sorry you had me thrown off a building?" Her voice became suddenly icy, and he couldn't stop himself from flinching.
"Well, we thought-"
"No, you didn't think! I kept waiting, praying! I was trapped in there screaming at you! "Just help me, please!" You're supposed to help people, Dean. Why didn't you help me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying you're sorry!" And she lunged forwards and slapped him across the face, putting every inch of metaphysical muscle she had into that one movement. He went tumbling to the floor, holding his stinging jaw.
"Meg. Meg…"
She aimed a swift kick between his legs, and he folded in two.
"No... You just attacked. Did you ever think there was a girl in here? No. You just charged in, slashing and burning. You think you're some kind of hero?"
"No, I don't."
She tugged him upwards by his jacket, giving him a closer look at the brand on the skin of her hand.
"You're damn right. Do you have any idea what it's like to be ridden for months by pure evil... while your family has no idea what happened to you?"
"We did the best we could."
She scoffed and shoved him away, gearing up for another kick.
The creepiest thing about the ghosts of those poor little girls, Bobby decided, with their thin and mouldering blonde hair and sallow faces, was the way that they spoke. Always trailing their words one into the other, finishing each other's sentences like they knew exactly what was going on in each other's heads. Hell, they probably did. RIght now, it was making him feel more on edge by the moment.
"Are you scared, Bobby?"
"We were scared, Bobby."
"When the monster came for us... and grabbed us tight."
"And we couldn't even scream. You were right there, Bobby."
"You were in the house."
"You were so close."
Their grimy hands kept a strong hold on him; such small fingers being so strong shouldn't've been possible, but that's the afterlife for you. Give a ghost of any size something to be angry enough about, and they would be capable of the most incredible - and terrifying - feats.
Sam paced back the way he had come, thoughts racing. He'd looked everywhere, surely. And then he noticed his breath pooling into clouds in front of him. He was so stupid! How long had he been ignoring the biggest clue he had, right in front of him?
"Bobby?"
"You could have saved us, Bobby."
"You walked right past that door."
"The monster had us. And you didn't find us."
"And now they won't find you."
Meg loomed over Dean where he huddled on the floor, rage burning in her eyes. Those real, human emotions were piercing his very soul, it felt like, and he almost wished that demonic coolness was there instead.
"It wasn't just me, Dean. I had a sister. A little sister. She worshipped me. You know how little siblings are, right? How they'll do anything for you. She was never the same after I disappeared. She just... she just got lost. And when my body was lying in the morgue beat-up and broken…"
"Oh, Meg."
"Do you know what that did to her? She killed herself!" She stomped down onto Dean's stomach as hard as she could, relishing in the way it made him cough. "Because of you, Dean! Because all you were thinking about was your family, your revenge, and your demons! Fifty words of Latin a little sooner, and I'd still be alive. My baby sister would still be alive. That blood is on your hands, Dean!"
He nodded, breathing heavily. "You're right."
She aimed another swift kick at him.
Deciding to actually use his brain for a moment, Sam turned slowly on the spot, looking at every inch of metal around him for the slightest hint of Bobby's presence - and found one. The old man's face was reflected in a cracked, dusty wing mirror that looked like the slightest of nudges would shatter it. And reflected alongside him were two impossibly pale little girls.
"Bobby! Hold on, Bobby! I'm coming! Bobby!"
He clambered up to the back doors of the van and pried them open with a crowbar, only to be shoved backwards by one of the girls. He felt himself slam into the car below, blood dripping from the cuts that sliced into the skin of his back. As he adjusted his grip on the crowbar one of the girls threw themselves at him, and he slashed up at her. Finally free from his captors, Bobby hauled himself upwards and dispatched the other ghost with ease, only relaxing once both figures were gone. He leant down and pulled Sam to his feet.
"You good?"
"Yeah, I think."
"Come on. Let's go see if Dean's managed to get himself into trouble."
Naturally, Dean was deep in it. He'd just about got his hand back onto his gun, and Meg was still taunting.
"Come on, Dean, did your brain get french-fried in Hell? You can't shoot me with bullets."
He smirked, cocking the gun. "Oh, honey. I'm not shooting you."
And down came the chandelier - the iron chandelier - which came crashing through Meg, dissipating her into smoky fragments.
"Iron. Gotta love it."
The three of them regrouped in the study, sifting through Bobby's seemingly endless cache of books. Once Dean finished telling the others what he'd experienced, Sam frowned.
"So, they're all people we know?"
"Not just know. People we couldn't save, no matter the reason. Hey, I saw something on Meg. Did she have a tattoo when she was alive?"
"I don't think so. Not that I remember seeing one, anyway."
"It was like a… a mark on her hand. Almost like a brand, or a scar."
"Hey, I saw a mark too, on Henriksen."
That bit of information snagged like a fish hook in Bobby's brain - he hadn't noticed a mark on either of the little girls. Although, in his defense, he had been far more concerned about the fact they were imminently preparing to kill him at the time.
"What did it look like?"
Sam opened his mouth, then stopped, thought for a second, and held his hand out.
"Uh, paper? I'm not exactly sure how to describe it."
Dean passed him a scrap and took one himself, and the brothers fell into silence for a few moments as they sketched what they could remember. When they eventually held them up for comparison, they were almost identical.
"That's it."
"Nice to know I wasn't imagining things, I guess."
Bobby squinted at the design - a four sided shape with curved sides within a circle, with a small semicircular symbol at each corner of the internal quadrilateral - and scowled. He was getting a very bad feeling about this.
"I may have seen this before. We got to move."
He brushed past the boys and headed through the kitchen, turning back when he realised they weren't following.
"Well come on then. Follow me."
Sam nodded. "Okay, but where are we going?"
He rolled his eyes. "Some place safe, you idiot. Now grab those books."
Bobby waited impatiently at the bottom of the stairs to the basement as the boys carefully toed their way down to him. Each of them had an armful of thick tomes, but he didn't see that as a good enough excuse to be a slowpoke. When they eventually made it onto flat ground again - both looking a little wobbly - he set off, leading them towards the far end of the basement and the thick iron door that was set deep into it. The looks of awe on their faces only grew as he opened the door, revealing an impressive circular room. The entirety of the floorspace had been turned into a devils trap, and various pentagrams and other protective symbols were scrawled across the walls and ceiling; there was even a pentagram shadow cast by the large vent in the roof. The little room was furnished with a single bed, a desk, a chair, several more stacks of books, and a few posters beneath a surprisingly powerful wall light. Sam had to force himself to remember how speech worked after standing there gaping like a goldfish for a few moments.
"Bobby, is this…"
"Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof."
"You built a panic room?"
He shrugged, like the explanation was obvious. "I had a weekend off. Got bored."
Dean shook his head in amazement. "Bobby."
"What?"
"You're awesome."
His eyes wandered to the poster of the swimsuit model near the little cot, and Bobby smacked him upside the head.
"Never mind that. We got work to do."
Safely tucked away behind the heavy panic room door, the boys took their time to pack a fresh set of anti-ghost bullets while Bobby tried to work out what they were actually dealing with. As Dean reached for an empty cartridge, he sighed.
"See, this is why I can't get behind God."
Not expecting the sudden topic of conversation, Sam blinked at him.
"What are you talking about?"
He shrugged. "If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason, just random, horrible, evil. I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?"
Sam glanced across at Bobby for some help, but the old man raised an eyebrow.
"I ain't touching this one with a 10-foot pole."
There was a few minutes of very awkward silence where Dean looked a little smug and Sam tried to come up with something - anything - to say, before Bobby grinned and propped up the book he'd been reading from.
"Found it."
"What?"
"The symbol you saw, the brand on the ghosts…"
"Yeah?"
"Mark of the Witness."
Sam didn't particularly like the sound of that. "Witness? Witness to what?"
"The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts, they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them... on purpose."
"Who?"
He pulled a face. "Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called "the rising of the witnesses." It figures into an ancient prophecy."
Something about his words set alarm bells ringing inside Dean's mind.
"Wait, wait. What - what book is that prophecy from?"
"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short - Revelations. This is a sign, boys."
The brothers asked their question in unison - even though both of them already had an idea of the answer.
"A sign of what?"
"The apocalypse."
Dean raised an eyebrow.
"Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, five-dollars-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?"
"That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a - a mile marker.
Sam leant to look at the rest of the page. "Okay, so, what do we do now?"
Getting up, Dean swung his arms and paced about the small space.
"I say road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience. Bunny Ranch. Go and eat at all the best diners in the states."
Bobby rolled his eyes.
"First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?"
"Oh yeah, great plan. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?"
"I've found a spell that says it'll send the witnesses back to their rest. Should work."
One particular word in that sentence hadn't exactly put Sam's mind at ease.
"Should. Great. That's real encouraging, huh?"
"If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house."
"Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?"
"So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden? Spell's got to be cast over an open fire."
"The fireplace in the library."
"Bingo."
Dean sighed, arms crossed like a petulant toddler.
"That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?"
Armed with the weapons they had readied, the three of them stood at the door to the panic room, apprehensive. Bobby - knowing that at least one of them had to pretend they were confident in what they were doing - took the lead.
"Cover each other. And aim careful. Don't run out of ammo until I'm done, or they'll shred you. Ready?"
The brothers nodded and he opened the door. The trio moved in single file out of the room and headed for the stairs, stopping as they set eyes on the curly haired figure sitting there. He was large and shabbily dressed, and looked gloomy as he made eye contact with them.
"Hey, Dean. You remember me?"
Dean nodded - how could he forget? The death of the slightly-off-the-rails conspiracy theorist back when they'd had that trouble with the shapeshifter in the bank had been an unfortunate tragedy. If only Ronald had listened when he had told him to drop the gun.
"Ronald, huh? With the laser eyes? I wish I could say it's good to see you."
"I am dead because of you. You were supposed to help me!"
Bobby tutted and fired, ending the conversation and heading upstairs.
"If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk."
They made it to the library without any further interruptions, and as Bobby set up the basic equipment for the spell, Sam enclosed them in a ring of salt and Dean got the fire going. Sam was finished first, and Bobby pointed at the ceiling.
"Upstairs, linen closet - red hex box. It'll be heavy, so watch your step on the way down."
"Got it."
As he left the two little girls appeared. Neither of them managed to get a word out, however, as Dean shot through them efficiently and finished stoking the fire. Bobby tapped him on the back.
"Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood."
Dean almost did a double take.
"Opium?"
This time, it was more of a tap than a shove.
"Go!"
The girls appeared again, but Bobby knew they couldn't touch him within the salt ring, and instead poured his attention into perfecting the chalk symbols needed for the spell to work properly. But he could still see them out of the corner of his eye - two stringy haired blonde girls, their pretty dresses smeared with blood.
"Bobby. You walked right by us while that monster ate us all up."
"You could have saved us."
Finishing the symbol, he picked up his gun and shot them without a second thought. He didn't need to hear all of that again.
Tucking the heavy red box under one arm, Sam made sure his gun was secure in his other hand - and good thing too, as he turned around and ended up face to face with Meg.
"You know what really pisses me off, Sam?"
He fired, but missed; she'd anticipated the action and flickered out of existence just in time for the bullet to sail through the space where she'd been only a millisecond before.
"You saw how I suffered for months. I thought you must have learned something. I thought I died for something."
"Meg."
"But what you're doing with that demon, Ruby... How many innocent bodies has Ruby burned through for kicks? How many girls just like me? And you don't send her back to Hell? You're a monster!"
A snarl curling at his face, Sam shot again - and this time it landed.
Struggling to loosen the false bottom in the drawer that Bobby had specified, Dean only turned away from his task when the doors between the kitchen and the library slammed themselves shut. Bobby had noticed too.
"Dean?"
"I'm all right, Bobby! Keep working!" He moved to go back to the drawer, only to find that Henriksen was blocking his path. "Victor."
"Dean."
"I know."
"No. You don't."
He shrugged. "It's my fault you're dead. I left you behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, "I should have known." I should have protected you." He reached for the gun, but Henriksen sent it flying across the room.
"Unh-unh. Not so fast. You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of... white light? If only. 45 minutes."
"What?"
"Over 45 minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first. Remember her? Nancy, the virgin. Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece. Right in front of us, made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming."
He felt the blood drain from his face - had he been able to look into a mirror, he probably would have looked to be in the same greyscale as the other ghosts.
"No. No."
"I was the last."
"Victor…"
"Tell me how it's fair. You get saved from Hell - I die. Why do you deserve another chance, Dean?"
But he didn't give him a chance to answer. Instead, he reached a translucent hand through Dean's skin and bones, and settled his icy fingers about Dean's heart.
Dean cried out, feeling the deep chill run right through his body, and heart a blast as Sam burst into the room and fired, dispelling Henriksen. He doubled over, clutching at his chest and breathing heavily, and felt Sam come behind him and pull him upright.
"You all right?"
"No."
"Yeah I know, stupid question. Let's go."
Together they finally managed to release the panel in the drawer and gather everything Bobby had requested - Dean, naturally, taking a moment to marvel at the sheer volume of Class A drugs their father figure kept in his stash - and took them along with the hex box to the library.
As they tried to help Bobby set the rest of the spell up, Ronald popped back into the room, now looking more angry than miserable. Dean snatched up his gun, not wanting a repeat of Henriksen's trick.
"Ronald. Hey, come on, man. I thought we were pals."
"That's when I was breathing. Now I'm gonna eat you alive."
He pulled a face. "Well...come on man, I'm not a cheeseburger."
Ronald vanished before he could fire, and the boys took up opposite positions at the perimeter of the room to fend off the ghosts as Bobby started the incantation. The window blew open, scattering the salt circle and leaving them all vulnerable. Before they could replace it, Meg, Ronald and Henriksen appeared simultaneously, closing in. They got off to a good start, but Henriksen amanged to knock Dean's gun away again - and the spare gun he went for was empty. Backing towards the fire, he grabbed an iron poker and slashed at him with that, relaxing a tiny bit as he vanished but still well aware of the danger they were in. Meg appeared again and slammed the smaller desk towards the wall, trapping Sam behind it. He tried to push it away, but had no luck. Dean noticed his predicament and rushed to help.
"Sam!"
"Cover Bobby!"
Just as Bobby moved to finish the spell, the little girls appeared and grabbed him by the wrists, allowing Meg to shove a hand into his back. He gasped and dropped the bowl.
"Dean!" Thankfully he was close enough, and just about managed to seize it between his fingertips. "Fireplace!"
And he tossed the contents into the fire. It turned a brilliant blue, and the ghosts vanished with a cry. The room fell silent, and Bobby fell to his knees, wheezing a little.
"Bobby?"
Without any force keeping it there, Sam was able to get out from behind the desk with ease, and he moved over to help Dean get Bobby back on his feet. He got upright, and then brushed the two off, nodding in response to their questions.
Night had fallen during their ordeal, and the exertions of the day had weakened them all considerably. Once the adrenaline wore off and they started feeling a bit more like normal humans again, the three of them just about managed to eat before going to sleep. Exhausted, Bobby went to his bedroom and the boys crashed in the living room, Sam taking the couch and Dean finding a comfy spot on the floor. Sam was asleep within moments, but Dean lay there thinking for a while. He must have drifted off eventually, because the next thing he knew he was waking up to the sight of two figures standing in the dim kitchen. He blinked, brushing the sleep from his eyes, and saw that it was the angels. Sitting up and glancing over at Sam - who was snoring softly, dead to the world - he got up and moved to join them. Castiel was staring out of the window, and didn't meet his gaze for a while.
"Excellent job with the witnesses."
He frowned. "You were hip to all this?"
"I was, uh, made aware."
"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest." He pointed an accusatory finger at the pair of them, which Castiel blatantly ignored.
Jophiel, leaning against the counter and playing with some of the empty beer bottles next to the sink, shrugged. "But you didn't. That's what counts, right?"
"I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos - you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."
"You clearly haven't read the Bible in enough depth then."
Castiel agreed. "Angels are warriors of God. We are soldiers."
He looked between the two of them. "Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?"
"We're not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns."
"Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"
"There's a God."
"I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"
"The Lord works…"
"If you say "mysterious ways," so help me, I will kick your ass."
Castiel fell silent, and Jophiel looked a little awkward.
"Look, Dean. Things are… complicated. Sometimes it's hard for us to understand everything fully. There's just a lot going on."
He huffed. "So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse."
"That's why we're here. Big things afoot and all that."
"Do I want to know what kind of things?"
She smiled softly. "Probably not."
"But you're gonna tell me anyway, right?"
"Yeah, basically."
Castiel cut in. "You need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals."
"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld."
At that, Jophiel snorted, mouthing an apology at Castiel as he shot a stern look at her.
"Those seals are being broken by Lilith."
Hearing that she was involved in this didn't really surprise him, but it wasn't pleasant to hear nonetheless - especially after how things had gone the last time the two of them were in a room together. "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses."
"Mm-hmm. And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead."
"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."
"Lilith has a certain sense of humor."
"Well, we put those spirits back to rest."
Jophiel shook her head, having regained a little of her composure. "It doesn't matter. The seal was broken."
"Why break the seal anyway?"
"It might be easier to think of the seals as locks on a door."
"Okay. Last one opens and…"
She paused for a second, and Castiel cut in.
"Lucifer walks free."
Dean looked between them, waiting for the punchline. Nothing. "Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."
"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as us. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?"
"To stop Lucifer."
"That's why we've arrived."
"Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice."
Castiel's face twitched with indignation. "We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."
He vanished, and Jophiel sighed.
"We're trying, Dean. But the demons have been preparing for this for a very long time, and we don't even know which of the potential seals they're going to target. Most demons have been hanging around Earth for a while, getting involved with deals and causing chaos. Most angels haven't set foot here in millenia, and even those of us that have, like me, are on unfamiliar territory right now. We're on the back foot here. We're asking for your help because we need it." She laid a hand on his arm that felt like an apology, and smiled gently.
"Sweet dreams, Dean."
And with that she disappeared.
He blinked awake on the couch in the early morning light, unsure of where he was for a few moments. He could've sworn he'd fallen asleep on the floor. Unless… had the angels come to him in a dream? Oh there was no way he was telling Sam that. His baby brother would have a field day. He groaned as he sat up, running a hand over his face as he watched Sam scrape a snack together from the little actual food that Bobby had in the kitchen. Feeling that he was being watched, Sam glanced over his shoulder, turning fully when he saw the look on his brother's face.
"You all right? What's wrong, Dean?"
Dean took a moment to respond, thinking of how best to phrase his concerns.
"So... You got no problem believing in... God and Angels?"
He shrugged. "No, not really."
"So, I guess that means that you believe in the Devil."
"Why are you asking me all this?"
But Dean didn't give him an answer - and Sam had a feeling that whatever had disturbed him would come to light sooner rather than later.
Whether he liked it or not.
See you soon, and happy reading!
Much love,
Azzie xx