Emma sat at one end of the sagging leather sofa in Rufus Turner's old cabin, scrolling through a website dedicated to local history. Sam came into the room and sat down on the other end of the couch.
"I can't see any pattern to these dig sites."
"Yeah, 'cause they got nothing in common," Dean replied, frustrated. He came over and sat on the arm of the sofa.
"We've got nothing from local lore fifty miles in every direction of all of them," he added, gesturing to the laptop Emma had been working on. "I mean, it's like they're just old dirt. What's Dick looking for?" He drew his flask from a pocket and took a drink. The lights began to flicker.
The brothers were on their feet in an instant, guns drawn. Emma set the laptop aside and scrambled up, instinctively positioning herself behind Sam. Almost as quickly as they'd gone on the alert, the brothers relaxed, leaving Emma bemused as her dad spoke to the empty space in front of the cabin door.
"So how does this work, huh? I leave the cap off and you just genie your way out?" But it seemed there was no answer to his questions.
"Bobby?" Sam called. He and Dean looked around the room, searching for the ghost.
Emma looked too, though so far she hadn't seen anything except the flickering of the electric lights. She knew all about Bobby Singer, the hunter who'd been like a second father to her dad and his brother. The leader of the Leviathans, Dick Roman, had killed him, back before she'd been born, but they'd recently found out that Bobby had dodged his reaper. He'd remained behind as a ghost in spite of the hunter's send-off the Winchester brothers had given him, his spirit tied to the old flask her dad carried.
As Emma watched, Dean and Sam turned again, this time facing toward the kitchen.
"Well, you've been pretty busy for a dead guy," her father commented, replying to a voice she couldn't hear.
"Bobby's here?" Emma said, feeling stupid for asking, but she didn't see so much as a wisp of spectral vapor.
"He's here," Sam confirmed.
"Is he, um, angry?" she asked nervously.
She knew the lore. If a person lingered too long as a ghost, they went mad. Bobby had been a good guy when he was alive. One of the best, to hear her dad tell it, but it was only a matter of time before he became a vengeful spirit. Emma figured there was only one reason why her father and Sam hadn't burned the flask and banished Bobby's ghost. The same reason why they hadn't killed her, back in Seattle. She and Bobby were family.
There was another reason the unseen presence of the ghost worried her. Bobby was a hunter. Emma had been warned over and over by her father never to let any other hunters know she wasn't fully human. But Bobby must know. He'd been around, haunting Dean and Sam, since before she was born. Would he accept her? Or was she just another monster to him?
Sam shook his head, smiling.
"He says hi," he reported with a chuckle.
"...And?" Emma prompted. Sam's expression was amused, her dad's, uncomfortable. Watching the play of emotions on the brothers' features, she knew the ghost must have more to say than simply 'hi'.
"It's okay, Emma, he knows you're family," Sam reassured her. "And now he's calling Dean an idiot-"
"Enough with the play by play," her dad groused. "What was with those numbers you gave us?" he asked in the direction of Rufus' ancient refrigerator. "The empty lot in Cheeseville?"
It was strange listening to the conversation, like eavesdropping on one end of a phone call. Sam grabbed the laptop in response to something Bobby said, typing in a new web address and bringing up the site of some sort of biotech lab. He frowned as he looked at the innocuous-seeming web page.
"Don't you think that's a little bold, even for Dick?" Dean, like Emma, was reading over Sam's shoulder.
"What's bold? What's going on?" she asked, but Dean and Sam were both intent on whatever the ghost was telling them. Sam motioned for her to be quiet.
She fidgeted impatiently, watching them grow more worried and agitated. Emma was about to ask again when the laptop Sam was holding chimed.
"It's an e-mail," he said, clicking to open it. "From Frank."
"Frank's alive?" Dean and Emma said in unison.
"'Sam and Dean, if you're reading this, I'm dead,'" Sam read aloud.
"He's sitting next to me?" Emma frowned at the empty space beside her in the back seat. They had all piled into the car for the cross-country drive to Chicago to try and retrieve Frank Deveraux's hard drive-with all its incriminating information about the Winchesters-from Richard Roman Enterprises. Thanks to the flask Dean carried, the ghost of Bobby Singer had ridden along too.
"I know we aren't exactly normal, but the whole haunted back seat thing is kind of creepy, even by our standards. No offense," Emma added in the general direction of the phantom passenger. Bobby Singer was a friend, but still, sharing the seat with a spectral being was disconcerting.
Dean parked the car at the side of a former industrial building converted to loft apartments in a gentrified neighborhood. They'd driven through the night to locate a young woman named Charlie Bradbury, the Roman Enterprises employee who was working on breaking into Frank's hard drive.
"Let me talk to her first," Emma pleaded. She'd been thinking about the best way to approach the civilian as they drove east. Thanks to Frank Deveraux, they now knew quite a bit about Charlie Bradbury.
"I could say I'm collecting for some animal charity," she offered now.
"Good pretext," Sam agreed, but Dean grunted disapproval.
"Uh-uh. What if the Leviathans already replaced her with one of their own?"
"I can handle a Levi-" Emma began.
"Bobby has a point," Sam interrupted. It was clear from the brothers' reactions that the fourth occupant of the car was weighing in with his opinion. Dean gave a reluctant nod.
"If you carry the flask with you, you'll have Bobby for back-up," Sam told Emma.
She addressed the empty seat next to her.
"Thanks, um, Uncle Bobby."
"And Sam and I will be close by," Dean added.
"Thanks, Dad," Emma beamed.
By the time Charlie Bradbury pulled up to the apartment building on her bright yellow scooter, Emma had her disguise: an SPCA donation can Dean had stolen off the counter of a nearby convenience store. Her pulse sped up as the young woman walked through the front door, disappearing inside the building.
"Knife?" Dean demanded. Emma opened her jacket, revealing the Amazon blade tucked into her sleeve.
"Borax?" Obediently, she produced a small plastic bottle, the kind that normally held breath spray. The mint-flavored product had been replaced with sodium borate, courtesy of Sam.
"And I've got the flask right here," Emma said, interrupting her father's checklist.
"Okay. You're up. Sam and I-"
"Will be right behind me. I know, Dad." Emma smiled reassuringly at him. "I can handle this."
The long hallway leading to Charlie Bradbury's apartment was clean and brightly lit, a stark contrast to the last time Emma had stalked a corridor carrying her Amazon blade concealed in her sleeve. That had been the gloomy, run-down hotel in Seattle where she'd confronted her father. She could still remember the turmoil of her thoughts. Kill Dean Winchester, and complete her initiation into the tribe? Or plead for mercy and understanding from a stranger? A hunter, who might see nothing but a monster when he looked at her?
Emma shook off the memory. Her dad might have seen a monster at his door that night, but he'd also seen a daughter. And now here she was, a hunter herself, or at least in training to be one, and this time, she knew exactly what she would do when she knocked on Charlie Bradbury's door. This time, she wasn't alone, either. She slid a hand into her jacket pocket and touched the flask.
"You with me, Uncle Bobby?" Emma breathed, the whisper mingled with a chuckle at the absurdity of her query. Even if the ghost was speaking to her, she couldn't hear him.
A framed print hanging on the wall seemed to shift as she passed. She paused, looking at it critically. It was definitely crooked, a minor flaw, but out of place in the tidy, well-maintained building.
"Bobby?" Maybe they could communicate after all. The picture shifted back, level once more. Emma grinned.
"I've got this under control, Uncle Bobby, but I'm glad you're here."
Reaching the civilian's apartment, she knocked, holding her donation can in front of her. Emma imagined the woman peering through the security peephole and smiled innocently.
"Hi! My name is Emma and I'm collecting for the SPCA," she chirped brightly as the door cracked open. Charlie Bradbury looked wary. Her eyes shifted, left and right, up and down the hallway. It was more than suspicion, Emma realized. The woman was afraid.
"Sorry. I don't really have time for this," she began, but Emma just cranked her smile up a notch.
"Won't take a minute. Just a quick donation, whatever spare change you have lying around to help cute little puppies and kittens," she wheedled.
"I really can't- Uhn!" She made as if to shut the door in Emma's face, but it didn't budge. Uncle Bobby, Emma thought, grateful for the assist.
"Okay, fine. For the puppies," the civilian huffed. She retreated into the apartment, leaving the door open behind her. Emma followed her inside, taking in a quick impression of a neat, cheerful space decorated with… Children's toys? The teen shook her head, focusing her attention on Charlie.
The woman really was frightened, she saw as she fumbled in an oversized purse for some money. Emma decided it was time to drop the pretext.
"Look, I know you're scared. I know why," she went on as Charlie looked up at her, eyes wide. "I'm here to help you."
Charlie turned to face Emma fully. If anything, the teen thought, she looked terrified instead of reassured. Then Emma realized she was looking over her shoulder. She turned to see her dad in the doorway.
"It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you," he began, but Charlie whirled, grabbing a toy sword from a display stand. Dean moved into the apartment, followed closely by Sam.
"Get away from me, you shapeshifter!" Charlie stabbed Emma's uncle with her plastic sword, which promptly broke in half.
"Jeez!" Sam protested.
"They're not Leviathans!" Emma interjected as Dean tugged the broken pieces out of Charlie's hands.
"We're not, okay? You want us to prove it? You know what borax does to them?" Her dad pulled a bottle of cleaning solution out of his coat pocket.
"Yeah," Charlie said slowly, still looking wild-eyed and frightened in spite of their reassurances. Dean poured cleanser on Sam's and Emma's outstretched hands, then his own. Charlie began to calm down as the liquid splashed harmlessly.
"Your turn," Emma's father insisted, showing his trademark paranoia. Charlie took the bottle and poured some borax over her own hand, demonstrating her human status.
"Who the hell are you guys?" she demanded.
Emma spoke up.
"This is my uncle," she introduced Sam, "and this is my dad. They're basically superheroes."