For the rest of my shift, I can't stop thinking about what Bobby said on the phone. I found the demon that killed your family and Theo.
I swore after Theo's death that I would never go back to hunting, because it only hurt the people I cared about. But this was different. This isn't hunting any old monster that any other hunter could take care of. This is the demon that killed everyone I ever cared about, except Bobby.
And who is there left to protect, anyway? No family. No boyfriend. I don't even really have close friends, just coworkers I occasionally go out for drinks with. Who would I be endangering by going back to hunting, just this once? Bobby can certainly take care of himself.
By the time I'm driving home from work, I'm sure that I'm going to help Bobby and the Winchesters hunt this thing down. I plan to take a few weeks, maybe longer, off of work to do it. I should be able to return when I'm done, if nothing goes horribly wrong.
Nevertheless, I spend half an hour pacing my small apartment before I call Bobby. The phone rings three times, and I don't return his "hello" before getting to the point. "I'm in. I'll leave tonight and meet you at your house as soon as possible. You still live at the salvage yard in Sioux Falls?"
"Yeah. But are you sure you want to do this? I don't wanna force you into nothin'. You can trust me and the Winchester boys here to take care of it."
"I'm sure."
"Alright then. See you soon."
The drive from my home in Silver Spring, Maryland, to Bobby's house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, is going to take about twenty hours, assuming a few stops for food and gas. I decide to cram in a few hours of sleep before I leave.
When I wake up, it's just past ten o'clock. I didn't sleep well. Bobby's call only brought back painful memories to mind, memories I had been trying so hard to get rid of.
I grab a large backpack and stuff in it a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a comb, along with a bundle of cash I'd kept in a safe-maybe it was the hunter in me, but I never fully trusted banks, and always withdraw most of my paycheck to make sure I have cash. I still mail in my bill payments for my car, rent, and cell phone.
Also out of the safe comes a large bag of hunting gear. I haven't touched it in quite a while, so when I do open it, I check that everything is still there, clean and load the guns, sharpen the knives, and wipe the dust off of my journal (which Bobby had insisted I start, as every good hunter has one).
After loading the two bags in the trunk, I stop nearby for gas and some snacks for the road. I set my GPS to give me directions to Sioux Falls, even though I could probably have figured it out on my own. And then I'm off.
It already feels like a long drive an hour in, alone with my thoughts and the radio. My car is a crappy old Honda Civic from the early 2000s, but it's done me good since I started college and even after I started making decent money I decided to keep it until it dies.
By the time I'm in Minnesota, I'm starting to feel tired, but it's nothing compared to when I used to pull double-shifts at the hospital during my residency. Bobby's house is only a couple hours away now.
I arrive in Sioux Falls just before six at night, having made pretty good time. Once I'm there, it's not hard to find my way to Bobby's house from memory-I frequented this area for almost six years while I was in foster care and Bobby would bring me to his house to learn about hunting.
When I pull up to his house, I see a car parked nearby that is definitely not from the salvage yard. I'm no car buff, but I can tell the beautiful black Chevy was probably made before I was born, kept in pristine condition.
I hardly get the chance to knock before the door opens. I haven't seen his face in years; he's older, grayer, a little rougher around the edges. But it's him. Bobby Singer.
"Come here, boy." He hugs me briefly but tightly, and I return it. Then he lets me go and steps back, taking a look at me. "Look at you. How old were you when I last saw you? Eighteen?"
"Around there, yeah."
He nods. "Well, come in."
He leads me into the living room which has changed surprisingly little, still stuffed with books and old furniture. In it, however, are Dean and another guy who I assume is the brother that Bobby mentioned.
"Hey, Doc." Dean nods at me, seeming happy to set a lore book aside. "Long time no see."
If I was the conversational type, I would ask how his shoulder's doing. But because I'm not and I know that it should be fine by now thanks to me, I don't.
Bobby introduces me to Dean's brother Sam, who is aggravatingly tall when he stands up to come shake my hand. "Bobby's been telling us a lot about you," he says, and I try not to feel frustrated that Bobby has probably spilled my life story to them. As I mentioned before, I'm not the touchy-feely type, and though I'd shared some of my story with Dean the night he came to the practice, I'd been vague. "I'm sorry about what happened to your family," he goes on. "We lost our mom to a demon when we were kids."
I nod, but that's not really what I'm here to talk about. "So what have you found out about this demon?" I ask, turning to Bobby.
"Well, for one thing," he says, "it's been watching you since you were born."