We sit on the porch to eat.
Dean brought an assortment of food home with him, much of which he had already dug into. Sam scolded him for that.
We sit outside, the sun peaking in the sky, because Castiel can't enter the cabin due to the warding. He doesn't eat anything, but I think the brothers still want him to be included. It's unintentionally sweet, really.
"Wait so…Lilith had to break the final seal to free the Devil? But then she died?" I ask, trying to catch up on a rather complicated history.
"No, Lilith was the final seal. When she was killed, the cage opened and the Devil got free," Dean reiterates.
"How did Lilith die? Did she kill herself or something? Like sacrifice herself to the Devil?" I wonder.
"No. I killed her." Sam can't even look at me when he says it. He stares down at the sandwich in his hand, a guilty look written all over his face. "I was trying to stop it, I didn't know at the time that she was the last seal. I thought that by killing her, I would prevent the apocalypse from happening. Instead, I started it."
"You didn't know," Dean's tone is both dismissive and terse.
I look at Cas to try and take a cue as to how to act, but he kind of just looks mildly angry. No help at all, as per usual.
"Well…Could be worse," I say lightly, trying to break the suddenly somber mood.
Sam looks at me. "Worse than the end of the world?"
I stutter for a moment. "Uh…Ok. Maybe it couldn't be. But…at least we have good pie." I hold up my plastic plate filled with pie.
Dean nods. "I can get behind that."
~O~
By late afternoon, Cas and I are back out in the forest.
"Ok," I take a deep breath in, my chest expanding. "I'm ready."
He raises his hands to probe my mind, but at the last moment, I pull back. Annoyance creases his brow.
"Is it going to hurt?" I ask.
"You may experience some slight discomfort, but so long as you don't fight it, it shouldn't be painful," he says and goes to touch me again, but I pull back once more.
"Will I be able to see into your brain too?" I ask. This time, plain irritation overtakes his face.
"No. Maybe. I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Haven't you done this before?" I begin to get antsy over his possible lack of experience with mind-probing.
"I have, but not on a psychic. Certainly not on a psychic as powerful as you. Your mind is different to that of an average human's and thus may react differently," he states. "Now, hold still."
And without delay, he grips either side of my head with his palms and my eyes fall closed.
At first, it's like I'm simply asleep. I feel nothing, think about nothing. Only, somehow I'm aware that I'm unconscious.
Then, blinding light. It's so bright that I have to raise my hand to block it out and when I finally lower it, I realise I'm on the street that I grew up on. Dilapidated houses run on either side of the road, a split and broken footpath that no one uses bordering them and, right in front of me, my childhood home.
There's old junk in the front yard and the front door is practically hanging off its hinges.
"This is where you grew up." Castiel's voice startles me and my head whips to the side to look at him. He stares at the house with an unreadable expression.
"Why are we here?" I ask.
"It's a place of significance for you," he states, walking closer to the house. I follow him. "We're in a specific memory of yours. We just need to figure out which memory it is and if it's of use."
At that moment, the front door swings open and my father comes limping out. He's chunky and bleary-eyed, with his car keys in hand, and he seems not to know that Cas and I are there.
He stops on the front veranda and turns back. There, in the doorway, stands six year old me. I'm in an oversized, dirty t-shirt that hits below my knees. Tear tracks mar my little, chubby cheeks.
"I'll be back in a few days," my father can't meet six-year-old-me's eyes. "There's pre-made meals in the fridge." With that, he continues down through the front yard and onto the street, breezing straight past Cas and I like we don't exist.
Six-year-old-me stands in the doorway for a long time, before finally shutting the door.
I look down at the cracked pavement beneath my feet, my heart aching. When I look up again, we're in a house. A familiar one, though it is not my childhood home.
It has high ceilings and deep, mahogany walls with white accenting. We're in a sitting room with a large, brick fireplace and high-backed chairs that are a little dusty. Though everything is grand and beautiful, it is also degenerating from neglect. The colour of the walls are faded, the wooden floorboards are stained and dirty, and the decor is sparse and outdated.
"This is her house," I breathe.
"Who?" Castiel asks.
"Mrs Dahlia. This is her mansion, down the street from my old place," I explain. "God, it's just as I remember." I spin in a circle, taking in every comforting detail.
The doorbell rings, an ominous toon that echoes through the empty foyer, the sitting room we stand in and the rest of the home.
Tapping footsteps come from up the staircase and Mrs Dahlia appears.
Her wild, dark hair curtains her pale face as she ambles to the door and pulls it open. "Little Darcy. What do you want now?" Her voice is abrasive and almost harsh, but even when I was young, I was never afraid of her.
"More cookies, preferably. But I'd settle for a glass of milk. Ours is rotten and smells bad," I hear my younger self's voice. A memory such as this one is distinct. This version of myself is eleven years old and walks in wearing baggy jeans and a ripped shirt.
She - me - tries to be nonchalant and casual, but the truth is that there's no food at home and, at eleven years old, I don't have any money to go and buy some.
"I suppose if I'm to eat you, I better fatten you up," Mrs Dahlia lets out a long suffering sigh. Eleven-year-old-me grins a toothy smile and walks with her through the foyer and into the kitchen. Cas and I follow behind. Our footsteps make no noise on the creaky floorboards.
The kitchen is long and spacious, with a chipped marble countertop and a big, silver fridge.
"How long's he been gone this time?" Mrs Dahlia questions.
"A few weeks," eleven-year-old-me replies. "But he'll be back before the end of the week."
Mrs Dahlia pulls out all the makings for a ham sandwich. "How do you know that?"
Eleven-year-old-me shrugs. "I just do, I guess."
At this, Mrs Dahlia pauses. "Is that right?" She hums and goes back to the cupboard for one final ingredient for the sandwich - which is odd, considering the bread, butter, ham and cheese is all already out on the bench. Eleven-year-old-me is busy finding a plate and butter knife.
Mrs Dahlia's hand reaches into the darkness of the cupboard, but then her whole body freezes. Her head slowly spins around and her shrewd gaze latches straight onto Castiel and I.
With a gasp, my eyes fly open and we're back in the forest, the sun sinking below the horizon. I realise we were in my head for a lot longer than I thought. Castiel's hands are on my cheeks, warm fingers splayed up toward my brow bone. He slowly lets them drop, trailing down my jaw before falling to his side.
"What the hell? How did she know we were there? I mean it was just a memory right?" I question.
"I don't know," Castiel sounds worried, in his own stern way. "But I think we need to interrogate Mrs Dahlia."
~O~
"You want us to go where?" Dean asks incredulously.
"Bloomington, Illinois," I say. "It's where I grew up."
"There's a woman there who I believe is responsible for the block in Darcy's mind," Castiel explains. "We need to go there and force her to remove it."
I side-eye him. "Force her? You mean ask."
His brows furrow. "No. I mean force, with torture if necessary."
"Cas," Sam cringes just as I exclaim, "No!"
I turn to face Castiel completely, crossing my arms over my chest.
"We are not torturing sweet, old Mrs Dahlia. She might not even still be alive for all we know! And besides, we don't know for sure that she did anything to me. We didn't see what she was going to pull out of the cupboard," I point out.
"So you think she was maybe poisoning you?" Sam asks. "With something to keep your powers subdued?"
"I don't know. I mean, that sounds ridiculous, right?" I look around the circle of men, who all stare back at me impassively. "Right?!" Apparently none of them think it's ridiculous. They're probably used to hearing some pretty crazy shit. "Ok, whatever. I still have a hard time believing that she was also psychic and that she somehow knew about my powers and that she had a magical way of blocking them. It's all a little far-fetched."
"More far-fetched than Lucifer breaking free of a cage in hell?" Dean questions.
I ponder that for a beat. "No. I suppose it's not any more far-fetched than that."
Dean snatches up the keys to the Impala off the small table on the cabin porch. "I guess we're hitting the road."
~O~
A/N: a short chapter, but with some important plot development and backstory. I really hope you guys are enjoying and that I'm, at least sort of, getting the characterisation of Dean, Sam and especially Cas right. He's not an easy character to write, since he is often so odd and stoic at the same time.
Please leave a review if you enjoyed! I do so love to read them xx
Lots of love xx