Chapter 3

When the goddess left the diner, Dean sat down. She had to be lying, right? Cas, Crowley, Lucifer, Michael, any crossroads demon ever… even Death himself refused to bring souls back. What made her so special? This wasn't the first monster to make a promise like this, to claim being a deity of some kind. Part of him wondered if he'd taken the deal just to see if she had the juice to pull it off. Maybe it would buy them enough time to figure out how to kill her. Absently, he rubbed his lips. She was by far one of the strangest creatures he'd come across. The cute waitress cleared her throat. Raising his eyebrows, he was about to ask what the hell she wanted when he saw the check. Grumbling to himself, he pulled out some cash and tossed it to the girl. Easing himself from the booth, he realized it was dark outside. There were two missed calls on his phone, both from Sam. Frowning, he began walking to the Impala. The familiar creaking of the door comforted him. Sam was probably worried, but he couldn't go back to the motel. Not yet. He had too much thinking to do. Instead, he drove around the little town. When his phone rang for the fifth time, he decided to head back. Pausing at the door, he took a deep breath.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Sam demanded as soon as the door had opened.

"Out. Doing my job."

"Out? Dean. It's almost eleven."

"So?"

Sam was annoyed and agitated. It was too easy to read in his face.

"So I've been calling you."

Six missed calls in two hours. Yeah. He'd noticed. Dean waited for him to continue. Clearly, he had something he needed to say.

"Did you talk to Roberta?"

He frowned. That had been his intention when he'd left, hadn't it?

"No. I…" what to say? "I talked to this hot chick at a bar. She gave us the name to look up. I went and buried myself in the library."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Dude. The library? You NEVER do the 'library' thing."

Dean shrugged.

"What? I was hoping for a hot librarian."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"I've been listening to the police scanner."

"And?" Dean asked, throwing his jacked on his bed.

"Roberta's dead. Burned. Like Kentucky Fried."

"Dammit!"

She'd played him. Eris had played him and he'd fallen for it. That was why she'd intercepted him in the car, distracted him with a name. She had been keeping him from finding Roberta.

"Dean?"

He turned back to his little brother.

"She was the only one that would talk to us. Guess we're going to the morgue tomorrow."

Dean glanced down at his watch. 11:25. Would it happen at midnight? She hadn't really said.

"Well," Sam said through a yawn. "I'm beat. We'll go take a look around Roberta's house tomorrow."

Dean nodded and sat down at the table. Pretending to read what little information they'd gathered, he listened for Sam's quiet snoring. The clock ticked by slowly. When it hid midnight, nothing happened. Glaring at the empty room and the empty bottle in his hand, he decided to go to bed. He still had a job to do in the morning.

Lazily, his eyes drifted open. The same crappy motel ceiling stared back at him. Sam still snored in the bed beside his. Throwing off the covers, he dragged himself to the fridge. It was early for beer, but he was in no mood to go through this day without one. It was going to be a crappy day. He'd let himself hope for something. Again. Only to have it torn away from him. Again.

"Balls," said a familiar voice. "Are you gonna get me some grub or stand there with your thumb up your ass?"

Dean spun around to see Bobby Singer sitting at the table. A napkin was tucked into his shirt collar and he held a knife and fork in either hand.

"Bobby? Is that really you?"

"No," he drawled. "It's the Dali Lama, ya idjit. Now get me something to eat. I'm starving!"

Dean looked down at his hand and saw a package of bacon. Hadn't he just been holding a bottle of beer? Bobby stared at him expectantly.

"But… you…"

"Died. Yeah. Bullet to the melon. Now hurry up. I don't got a lot of time to enjoy this."

Looking down again, Dean realized he was scrambling eggs in the bacon grease. Taking two plates filled with bacon and eggs to the table, he stared at the man across from him. Bobby shoveled the food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in years.

"You realize this is all in your head, right? I'm still dead."

Dean nodded.

"Don't mean it ain't real."

"But how?"

Bobby stopped for a minute and looked at Dean.

"Think about it. You made a deal. Again. This is the result of that deal."

Digging into his own plate of food, he stared at Bobby.

"If you keep looking at me like that, boy, you're gonna have to buy me a drink."

"Sorry I just… I didn't think it would actually work."

"Listen to me. We don't have much time. There's more to this than you think."

"She told me I had twenty-four hours."

"Yeah. And that's the problem. That's 24 hours you're on your butt, defenseless. She's put you in something like a coma."

Dean's brow furrowed in thought.

"So what?" "Dean," Bobby said with a roll of his eyes. "You know better than this. I taught you better."

Looking down at his plate, he felt emotion well up inside him.

"It's too much, Bobby," he said, voice cracking. "I can't do this without you. Things have gone to hell since you…"

"Dean," he said, voice softer. "You've gotta do this without me. My time is up. We don't get second chances. This is the way things are supposed to be. You know that."

"I'm tired of the way things are supposed to be. We never catch a break."

Bobby shook his head.

"Get it together, Dean. You need to figure out how to get rid of this thing. Do your job."

"I'm sick of the damn job, Bobby! I loose everyone! Every time! How many times has Sammy died because of me? Mom? Dad? You? I'm sick and tired of hunter's funerals."

Their plates were gone now, though Dean couldn't remember clearing them.

"Well boo hoo. Cry me a river. You want me to put on some "Days of Our Lives" to make you feel better?"

He should have expected that reaction. Maybe he'd wanted it.

"I just wish things were easier."

"And I wish I had a steak in front of me. But we don't live in a land of wishes. We live here, in this crap heap. And it's YOUR job to make it better. Quit moanin' about it and fix it. Figure out what this thing is and stop it."

Staring down at the table for a minute more, Dean took a deep breath.

"Alright. You've been around her, right? What do you know?"

"She's powerful. Got some major mojo. She likes to play with people. Like a cat with a piece of string. From what I heard, she brings people back upstairs just for the heck of it."

"And she's really a god?"

Bobby shrugged.

"Far as I can tell."

Dean nodded slowly, thinking.

"We need to go talk to someone who knows more about mesopotamian lore."

Dean stood and they began walking out of the house. When had they left the motel? They both sat down in the car and Dean put the key in the ignition. It clicked. The engine refused to turn over. "Aw, come on, Baby. Don't do this to me."

He tried again. Click. Click.

"Lets open her up," Bobby said, exiting the car.

Popping the hood, he joined Bobby at the front, looking at the engine.

"Well I don't know what ya did to 'er, but she's broke."

Pulling tools out of the trunk, they began taking the car apart. They worked on it until the sun went down. Heading back inside when they couldn't see anymore, Dean grabbed two beers out of the fridge.

"You know our time is almost over," Bobby said quietly.

"Yeah, I know," Dean answered.

"I'm proud of you."

His chest twinged painfully.

"I miss you, Bobby."

"I know you do, son. I miss you too. But we both know I don't belong here."

Silent tears broke free from his eyes, dropping to the floor.

"She said I had a day. This was only half a day."

"Time moves differently in our heads. You've been out for too long already."

"I don't want you to go. I can't do this without you."

"Bull."

Dean shook his head and wiped at his face.

"Fine. Then I don't want to. Bobby, you were more of a father to me than he ever was."

"And you boys are the only kids I ever had. Don't you forget that. And don't you go makin' deals bringin' people back. I don't belong here. I wish I could be here with you, but I can't."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered.

"There's nothin to be sorry for, boy. Anything that happened to me was my own choice. Don't take on blame that ain't yours."

He looked over to where Bobby sat only to see the chair was empty. The ache in his chest tightened, threatening to choke him.

##

Ereshkigal stood over the two pups as they slept, wings twitching with desire. She let them unfold, just for a moment. The little dog was deep in his dream with his lost loved one. But the fluffy one… He slept with the easy breathing of peace. Leaning close to him, she breathed onto him. The effects would take some time, but she was immortal. Waiting was something she'd mastered centuries ago. As the furry one stirred, no doubt by her foul breath, she left to find something to eat. Perhaps it was time to find a deep fried Twinkie, whatever that was.