Bobby's Daughter
I do not own anything you recognize…
Chapter Four
After we grabbed something to eat, I showed him to his room on the second floor. It was three doors down from my room. I had purposely given him the room that had the windows welded shut for some reason. Just so he would have all the more trouble escaping. And hell, I knew he was planning on it. Not to mention, the room I gave him was haunted by the maid my Grandfather had.
Boy it would be fun to see him react to that.
"Need anything, holler," I told him as I dropped his bag at the foot of his bed.
He nodded and I left the room, walking toward mine.
I took a quick shower and changed into a sports bra and long night pants. I had just lain down when I heard a gun shot. What the hell happened?
I shot out of bed, stopping to grab my Winchester gun from the night stand. Ironic, huh?
Running to Dean's room, I passed Betsy – the ghost from the Revolutionary War. Her story was actually kind of sad. Her honey never came home to her like he promised. So she basically went crazy waiting for him. Turned out he married George Washington's daughter. Some honey he was. So now she just walks down the hallway on the second floor. Not that I mind her or anything.
Once I got to Dean's room, I kicked the door in. Apparently, Dean had been trying to get out of the room so the door hit him in the face. He fell backward. "What the hell," he asked, scrambling up. He pushed me out into the hallway and, upon seeing Betsy, sent a bullet into the wall.
Well, that solved the mystery of who shot the gun. Without Catherine Willows' help. Damn TV.
"Jesus," he cursed. "You're house is haunted."
"I told you that," I said, pushing him out of the way to access the damage to my burgundy wall. He had just missed a photo of my father. Stupid man. (I mean both my father and my houseguest.) Finding no damage, I turned to him. "You have a lot of explaining to do."
"Is that Bobby Singer," he asked, staring at the picture of my dad.
"Robert Singer," I corrected. "Yeah, why?"
"How do you know him?" He was still transfixed on the photo.
"He's my Dad."
"What?" Dean looked at me, jaw hanging slightly ajar.
"Yeah," I explained. "I took my mother's last name because my father was never around." That's when it struck me. My dad was a hunter, so he made sure – when he was around – that I had a little training in the supernatural field. Dean had shot at a ghost. Was he a hunter?
"What do you know about your dad," Dean asked.
"What do you know?"
"I asked you first."
"I asked you second."
"I asked you first."
"I'm a lady."
"That's debatable."
"Dean!" I tried to slap his head, but he held up his gun. He wasn't threatening, just making a point. So I held up mine. "That's filled with rock salt I'm guessing," I told him. "Mine's a silver bullet." He grumbled something and lowered his gun. I followed suit. "My father's a hunter. I know. And I know you are too."
"Have any coffee," he asked.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Where did his mind go so quickly? I mean, I know men have short attention spans, but come on!
"It's gonna be a long talk."
Pop References:
One: Winchester gun
Two: Catherine Willows from CSI.
Three: Jesus. Hahaha… lol, just had to add that in there.