A/N: Don't own Supernatural.
To be completely honest, it is almost impossible to tell from the outside that anything is wrong. Same old overgrown, worn-down, dilapidated house that has been my home for most of my life. Same driveway where Bobby's old truck used to sit. Same creaky front porch under which our dog Rumsfeld used to lie. Same front yard we could never mow because of the half buried car parts. The only thing really out of place is the open door. He would never leave it open. Even with all of the sigils and wardings, he would never leave it open.
Dean pulls up to the only real home we've ever had and I am out of the car before he can fully stop it. Boots crunching through gravel and leaves and garbage, I hit the steps at a dead run.
"Jane, damn it, STOP!" I don't know he's behind me until I feel his arms around my waist. That fact, much more than his yelling, drives home that I'm not really thinking about this. My head's not in the game right this second.
"Bobby," I sob. Because I already know.
"We don't know anything yet. Nothing. Calm down. We might not be alone, Jay. You know better." He's pissed, he's worried, he's struggling to keep it together.
"Head in the game," I tell him, breathing deeply, fooling neither of us.
He takes his gun out, as I do mine, and pushes the open door. It creaks more than usual. It doesn't swing easily, though. Too much debris scattered behind it. Forgetting how mad he is at losing the element of surprise, he calls out.
"Bobby?"
"Uncle Bobby!" I shout trying so damn hard to get into the house. Dean is still not letting me in.
"Cut that shit out right now, Jane. So help me, I will cuff you in the damn car. We're going in, but we do it smart. Keep your eyes open. Get a grip on the panic." I shut my mouth, stand up straight, stop pushing against his back, stop trying to push my way around him. I stop pushing him.
This is Dean the Leader now. He's unquestionably in charge on any hunt. He's earned it. Bobby has an understanding of the supernatural that nearly matches that of his library, Sam is smarter than anyone I've ever known, and I'm pretty damn good at interpreting languages and spotting behavioral patterns. Dean is simply the best Hunter there has ever been. His instincts are nearly always right, even if his heart sometimes stops him from following them. He sees things we don't, instantly understands the best strategy for a given situation. Not to say he's infallible - he fucks up his fair share - but he is without question the one who directs this show.
Right now I'm not with the program. He does not ever tolerate this. It's not about him loving me, or respecting me. It's about us staying alive. Out here, in the world we move in, survival is above all else. Hurt feelings and anger can be dealt with later. But first there has to be a later. Dean takes on the job of making sure that happens, and he takes it very seriously.
He leads me slowly into the foyer, a space that has never been tidy even on the best of days, but is now truly in disarray. It isn't long before Dean stops, blocking my view just because of his size. He is stock still, and I no longer care to see what's in front of us.
"Oh, God," he says reaching behind himself to take my hand. He just instinctively knows where it will be.
But I don't want his hand right now. I don't want his comfort or his anger or his leadership or any of it. I don't want it.
I want Bobby.
I step to the right of him, and this time he doesn't even attempt to stop me. This time he just lets me see what I know he wants to protect me from.
A wheelchair pierced by bullets. So many, many bullets. In the midst of this chaotic mess between the kitchen and the library, knocked over on its side and utterly destroyed, is the proof I didn't need to see to know the truth. I drop to my knees and turn it rightside up, knowing it won't change anything. I touch the holes and the dry, flaky blood that unnecessarily scream the already accepted fact.
He's dead.
Doesn't matter at all that this is the future, or that Zachariah sent us here, or that I haven't quite accepted we're in the real future and not just some dystopian construct straight out of the cruelty of the angel's mind. What matters is he's dead.
Uncle Bobby is dead and where the hell was I? Why the hell was the wheelchair-bound old man here by himself?
"Where were we?"
Dean approaches me so slowly, starts to bend when he gets close. "What? Babe, what are you-"
"Where the fuck were we?!" I scream, standing so fast I flip the chair back over. "He's dead. He's DEAD, and he was alone. No sign of us here, no Impala, no piece of shit loner out there we stole to get to him, no sign of anybody else. He was alone, Dean. Where were we?"
"I don't know. Oh, Jane, I don't know, but we'll find out. I promise." His words are accompanied by a fierce hug, the kind I often crave, the kind that never fails to calm my every fear. But I'm not afraid. I'm pissed. I give him one squeeze then let go and walk away. I hear him grip the chair and whisper, "Where is everybody, Bobby?"
I know I'm being selfish in my anger. He's lost another father, too. But better the anger and selfishness than the grief that is rolling under my skin, threatening to break out. I can't do it. I can't be consumed by that kind of sadness. I don't think even Dean could reach that far down to rescue me again. So instead, I turn to the coping strategies laid out for me by a lifetime of examples from the men in my life.
Gone is the meek, unsure girl I've been for more than a year now. Gone is the pseudo-sophisticated woman I've been trying to be since my first year of college. All that is left at this moment of fury and heartache is the scrappy, battle-tested, smartass, hardheaded, tough kid raised by Bobby, John, and Rufus.
I slam the sliding door to the library and yell and throw shit around.
It's not enough that they took my mom and dad, I think as I knock over a case full of books that I used to study when Bobby was first teaching me Latin. It's not enough that they killed John, I fume with the crash of a lamp by which we used to read. It's not enough that they made me watch Dean die and be dragged away, I rage as I overturn a couch where we used to eat popcorn and watch crappy reality TV. None of that was quite enough.
Now the powers that darken a world that needs light so badly have taken the one who cares for us all. Me, Dean, Sam. But the Hunter community, too. His town, his unknowing friends, the ones who call him a drunk - he protected them all.
And he died alone.
I reach his desk and the storm of angry destruction dissipates. I can't break this. For all the wear and tear and dust and cobwebs, I can't break this. I lean against his desk and finally the tears come, and I wonder if I will ever run out.
"Jay," Dean says, voice cracking but trying so hard to be the level-headed one.
I know all he really wants to do is break the few things I've left whole in here. But he's going to try to put together his broken girlfriend instead. He comes up behind me again, towers over me in that protective way he has, a way that says I am untouchable, safe, and defended. This time I turn, wrap my arms around him, get on tiptoe and hang from his strong, broad shoulders like a child. He holds me, but only until the sobs have slowed. He wipes my tears away. We have work to do here.
In the diffused light streaming through the broken windows, we search the house, knowing that anything that might have been here is long gone. It doesn't appear that there has been anything or anyone here in a long time, though. There are still some clothes in our room; they're old and musty, but in one piece. We each pack a bag and meet back in the library. Dean removes a false front on the fire place and removes Bobby's journal. We both knew it would be there. It's further proof that he was in that chair when those holes were made.
A photo falls out. A line-up photo of Bobby, and me, and Cas with other people neither Dean nor I know, all armed, all standing in front of a sign.
We know where we have to go now.
A/N: I felt like Jane was due for a complete meltdown. Losing Bobby would be the thing to do it. If you're reading, please let me know what you think!