Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter, I really appreciate it!
This chapter is a little bigger still, and the one after this is already underway. I've been reviewing my notes on this story, trying to make sure I don't completely botch this up. It's been awhile, but this story is starting to keep me up at night again…well, that and newborn Pippa. Newborns, *Pfft* who needs sleep, am I right? (OMG I miss sleep) But it is a wonderful sign of finally getting into my writing again.
Read on, and don't forget to let me know what you think of it. Has my time away impacted the flow or style of the story? I can't tell.
Bobby grabbed a crowbar and jammed it under the now detached hinge and shoved. Alice did the same to the latch. Bobby's worry grew as the red patch on her shirt spread with every heave on the bar. He knew that getting the door down was the only way to stop her. No point in arguing until then.
With a loud screech, the metal door came free, sending Bobby and Alice back a few paces as the crowbars came free. It fell loudly to the floor, shaking the room.
"Careful going in" Alice warned. "He sounded pretty out of it earlier."
"Let's just hope he's still in there." Bobby clamored over the door and into the panic room. He tried the light switch, frowning when nothing happened.
"Dean," he called out, gently. "Where you at, son?"
Not a sound met his ears. "Damn light. Alice, go get a—"
"Here," she said as she flipped on a flashlight. She climbed into the room next to him and illuminated the light fixture overhead. Glass crunched under her feet, making her shine the light down. "Looks like the bulb exploded—Holy Hell—"
"What," Bobby snapped as the flashlight illuminated the room.
It was in shambles. Everything that hadn't been nailed down was broken, having been thrown or smashed. The wooden table was broken into pieces, the chair now a pile of sticks. Broken glass, ripped magazines, and books littered the floor. "Looks like Dean kept busy while you were cutting through the door…"
Alice's flashlight illuminated a shiny mark on the floor, making her heart skip a beat. "Bobby, look."
She kneeled down and turned the flashlight at an angle, the light catching the slick trail of bloody footprints that crossed the room.
"Jesus, Bobby…," she muttered as she used the light to follow each bloody step until it ended at a quilted lump across the room. Alice recognized the log cabin quilt and almost sighed in relief. Hiding was not his usual stance, but Dean was obviously still there. Alice and Bobby clamored over the wreckage and grabbed the quilt, pulling it away to reveal a strangely quiet Dean. His shoulders were squared, his gazed fixed somewhere off into the distance. One of the wooden legs from a chair was tightly gripped in his hand.
"Dean," Alice said softly. He didn't move at the sound of her voice.
"Careful, Alice," Bobby warned. He had seen Dean lash out before, times when he had been hurt and confused. Or angry.
"Dean? Can you hear me?"
He shifted toward Alice's voice before suddenly scrambling to his feet, swaying as he did. Bobby and Alice paused at the sight of the wooden chair leg held firmly in his fist, neither one of them eager to get smacked. Dean's fingers were bloody, likely torn up from ripping the room apart. His bright eyes were locked onto the open doorway across the room. He took a small step toward the door, the light streaming in from the cellar casting an eerie glow about the room.
"Dean, hold on son, let us help you," Bobby said softly as he placed a guiding hand on Dean's forearm. "Drop the chair leg, Dean. We've got you."
Dean instantly pulled away from Bobby's touch before lashing out. Bobby jumped back, falling against the wall as Dean took another uneven step toward the door. "Out…"
"You alright, Bobby," Alice asked as she shined the flashlight at him.
"Fine, just surprised me is all," Bobby muttered as he moved toward Dean again.
"Dean, we're going to get you out, let's just take it easy," Alice said as she took a step toward him.
Dean's weight shifted back a step, his eyes locking onto her. She frowned at the blank look in his eyes. "Dean? Can you hear me?"
"I don't really think he's all here. He's been through a lot today already, I'm guessing," Bobby said, his voice even and soothing to not spook Dean. "Be careful."
As Alice took a slow step towards him, Dean lashed out, jumping toward her. The chair leg snapped her across the jaw, making her drop to her knees. A fist grazed her as Bobby jumped between them and shoved Dean back a step. He wrestled with Dean, trying to pry the chair leg from his hand. "Stop, Dean!"
"Let me out," Dean cried out, his voice gravelly and pained. His grip on the chair leg tightened as Bobby moved closer. "Dammit, I want out!"
"We're trying to help you, Dean! Just drop the—"
Bobby's words disappeared as Dean shoved him back hard. Bobby stumbled back, falling over one of the bolted down cots. Alice stumbled to her feet, swaying as her vision blurred. "Dean—"
Dean took a step toward the door, shoving her away as he stumbled over broken furniture that littered the floor. He climbed through the doorway and fell over the fallen door. A noise from inside the room startled him. He climbed to his feet, dropping the chair leg as he staggered to the stairs leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.
Upstairs, Sam was getting impatient. He knew Dean was going to be a handful and while he knew his shoulder was the reason Bobby had benching him, he also knew he was the best shot at getting Dean to calm down. He listened to the yelling from the top of the stairs before heading into living room for the box of first aid supplies Bobby kept under the desk. It sounded like they were going to need it. When the house fell quiet, he began to worry and headed to the top of the stairs.
"Bobby, what's going on down—"
He jumped when he came face to face with Dean in the narrow doorway. His voice trailed to nothing as he stared into the vacant expression on Dean's face. One look at Dean turned Sam's stomach. "You alright? Where's Bobby?"
Dean didn't speak as he tried to duck around Sam.
Sam blocked the doorway, his good arm bracing against the doorframe. "Dean?"
Without a word, Dean started swinging. His fist connected with Sam's cheekbone, sending him back a few steps. "Dean, what the hell?"
Dean grabbed him by his shirt and laid another punch across his jaw, not stopping until Sam fell against the counter and slid to the floor. Dean lurched past him, heading for the door. Sam sat against the cabinet, clutching his shoulder, praying Bobby wasn't going to sew him up a third time. He had to keep Dean from leaving, but he was having a hard time getting his feet under him and with his arm, he couldn't even fight back. "Bobby! Get up here!"
Sam was climbing to his feet when Bobby appeared in the room. "Which way?"
Sam breathed through the pain in his shoulder and pointed. "Hallway."
Bobby grunted and grabbed the first aid box from the table. He dumped it out and dug through the pile, grabbing one of the preloaded syringes from Marty before storming out of the room. He didn't care what it took to keep Dean in the house; he wasn't setting foot out the door if Bobby could help it. He'd threatened to break legs before and he was starting to think it might be their best option. Heck, maybe their only option.
The sound of shattering glass caught his attention, making Bobby hurry through the house. He didn't slow down as he walked through the shattered glass, the broken picture frame laying in pieces on the floor. He'd lost more useless knickknacks over the years than he could count…less to dust, in his mind. He hurried out the front door and stopped when Dean came into view. He was standing on the porch with his back to the open door. His body was rigid, his shoulders high and taut. His fists were clenched; Bobby could see blood covering his knuckles. He considered calling out to Dean, but hesitated. Dean obviously wasn't himself, the stress of being in the panic room having set off one hell of a fight or flight reaction.
He eased out onto the porch, holding a hand out to block Alice and Sam who were coming up behind him. He caught Sam's eye and shook his head, motioning for them to stay put and out of sight. They watched as Dean stared across the yard, his gaze fixed on the Impala. Noise from the nearby highway reached them, music filtering through the air. A soft breeze swept over the yard, ruffling his hair. Bobby watched in amazement as Dean's fists slowly uncurled, his shoulders drooping slightly at the apparent relief of being free of the confining space under the house.
They watched as Dean's fast paced breathing turned into slow, long breathes as he pulled in one after another of fresh air. He took one wobbly step down the steep steps before Bobby decided it was time to intervene. "Dean, stop."
Dean's head turned, casting an empty glance over his shoulder but not stopping as he took another step.
"Dean, that's far enough," Bobby said as he took a step toward Dean. "You're out…let's just sit down. Here, we can all sit down on the steps and take a breather."
He watched in frustration as Dean took another step down, his gaze locked on the Impala. "I have to go…"
"You have to stay here—with us," Bobby said as he moved behind Dean, grabbing his shoulder.
Dean let out a howl that set everyone's teeth on edge. He turned on the narrow step, his arms coming up defensively, falling backwards as he did. Bobby grabbed him and pulled him close, griping him tightly in order to keep Dean's arms down. "Stop, Dean! Stop fighting me, son. I've got you…you're alright."
"Bobby?" Dean stared up at him, his eyes terror filled as his knees buckled. Bobby stumbled with Dean's weight and braced himself as they fell down the last three steps. Dean didn't make a sound on impact. Bobby laid there on the ground, one hand firmly holding Dean's arm, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. Alice and Sam moved to the edge of the porch and peered down at Bobby.
"You alright, Bobby," Sam called down as he clutched his own shoulder.
"Idjit, do we look alright to you," Bobby snapped. "This couldn't get any—"
The sound of wheels on gravel made everyone freeze. Bobby rolled on his side and spotted the rusty Jeep headed up the driveway. "Balls! That's it. Sam, get my gun—"
"Bobby! You can't shoot your mailman—"
"Watch me! That man is a menace with impeccable timing," Bobby spat as he fought to get to his feet. "Going to find himself on the wrong of my—"
"Bobby, we need a plan." Sam gestured toward Dean as the Jeep pulled closer. "Kind of conspicuous, you know?"
"Just act natural," Alice suggested with a shrug.
"Alice, you're soaked with sweat and your face is bruised beyond belief. Sam, your shoulder is bleeding again and your left eye is practically swollen shut! And look at Dean," Bobby spat. "He's—"
"Mr. Singer! I've got another interesting package for –," the man's voice faded as the Jeep came to a halt in front of the group. His gaze moved over them as his mouth fell open. "Mr. Singer?"
He adjusted his cap, looking uncomfortable as he surveyed his own appearance. Alice caught Bobby's eye before smiling widely and walking down the steps. If she was anything, it was confident. Bobby still couldn't believe some of the stories he had heard about her, but he appreciated her ability to bullshit people. She deliberately stepped over Dean, who was still lying motionless on the ground, his glassy eyes staring at the sky. She tossed her braid over her shoulder and wiped her dirty, bloody hands on her damp shirt as she stepped up to the Jeep. She paused in front of the man and deliberately dabbed at the blood on the corner of her mouth before clearing her throat. "Got anything from Tennessee? I'm expecting a box, should be addressed to Alice Hilty, care of Bobby Singer."
The young man stared at her incredulously before hastily averting his gaze to the crate of mail on the passenger seat. "Umm…I know there is a box…somewhere," he said nervously as he nervously dropped a handful of flyers from the crate. His curious gaze fixed on them once more.
"There a problem," Alice asked as she leaned against the Jeep's door, leaning just far enough into the vehicle to make the mailman squirm.
Sam cleared his throat and motioned with his non-bloody arm, catching the man's attention. "If you could wrap this up, that'd be great."
"Mr. Singer— is everything alright," the man finally asked as he motioned to Dean, who had yet to move.
"Fine, just fine," Bobby murmured as he nudged Dean with his boot, trying to think of a way to get the mailman to leave without calling the cops. "You know how it is…people find out you have a unique collection of something, they want a piece."
"Your collection—wait—he was stealing a Barbie doll," the man asked, disbelief on his face. Bobby instantly regretted the previous story he had told the mailman. He should have known it would come back and bite him in the ass, with an audience no less. Alice cocked her head and grinned wickedly at him. Bobby scowled at her and went back to imagining a deep grave for the mailman somewhere behind the garage; why on Earth had Bobby thought he would have forgotten about the Barbie doll comment already?
With a straight face he hooked a thumb toward Sam. "He's got the second biggest collection in the country. Wanted to buy me out, but I'm not selling! His brother wouldn't take no for an answer," he snapped as he gestured at Dean. "Damn shame he didn't."
Sam turned to Bobby, his face red with indignation. He didn't know what Bobby was talking about, but he was glad Dean wasn't aware enough to hear Bobby telling someone Sam collected Barbie dolls. Why did everyone pick dolls… always with the damn dolls.
Alice cast a curious glance at Sam before holding her hands out for the box the man held. "I'll take that."
He fumbled the box and held it out to Alice, cringing as their hands brushed. She hefted the box in one hand and smiled at the thick black Ho-Tu design on the underside. Abraham's hand was getting steadier.
"Thanks," she said as she wiped a drop of blood from the package. "I appreciate it."
The man continued to stare at the group until Bobby walked to the Jeep. "You better get a move on… might get kinda ugly while we wait for the cops."
They watched as he quickly shifted gears and took off, the Jeep kicking up dust and gravel as it sped from the yard.
"Think he's going to call the cops," Sam asked as the taillights disappeared from view.
"Not if he thinks I already did. If he does, we'll just have to hope its Jody Mills that takes the call," Bobby spat. "Let's get back inside."
Bobby and Alice hefted Dean between them, each one keeping their groans of discomfort to themselves. "Where you want him," Alice asked as they maneuvered him through the door.
"Couch," Bobby grunted as Dean's head narrowly missed a bookcase in the hallway.
Dean didn't move when they dropped him on the cushions. He continued to stare at the ceiling, making Bobby lean close and wave a hand over his face. "That doesn't bode well," he mumbled. "Sam, what do you make of this?"
Sam shook his head. "I thought you medicated him—that sedative from Marty."
Bobby tossed the still full syringe on the coffee table between them. "Nope. He dropped like a stone all on his own when I grabbed him. Alice, you got any ideas?"
Alice looked up from her own bloody shirt, startled by the question. "This one is beyond me, Bobby. Seems more likely this one is physical, not supernatural. You know that's more my thing. Call that doctor friend of yours."
Bobby grumbled before reaching for his phone. "Hope he still does house calls."
An hour later, Bobby, Alice, and Sam were pacing the porch; impatience and worry making their footfalls heavy. Doctor Fisher had been quicker to respond than Bobby had expected, his beat up pickup truck cruising into the yard only an hour after Bobby had asked a nurse to forward a message to him. Doctor Fisher had called Bobby on the way over, getting a short list of the events that had transpired. Upon arriving, he had taken one look at the bloody, worn out group, all clamoring to explain what had happened before marching them outside and slamming the door closed behind him. He was a man of action and listening to multiple sets of concerns did nothing but waste his time.
"Once he's gone, we'll finish patching up Dean and then we'll have to patch each other up," Bobby stated as he glanced at the closed door again. "We can't afford for any one of us to be laid up for long."
Sam nodded sullenly while Alice stared to the ends of her boots while she planned how to do her own patching up. "You get Sam squared away and I'll check you over, Bobby."
"Don't forget Alice's side," Sam muttered as he glanced at the still closed door.
She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn't care much for being the one under scrutiny. The sound of the door opening interrupted her objection. "Someone needs to sit with him while we have a talk," Dr. Fisher said as he stepped through the doorway.
Alice moved silently through the doorway and disappeared into the dim house.
"What the hell happened to that kid, Bobby," he asked as he held up a hand to silence the sudden chatter. "I know what you told me, about the Fay. I've checked a lot of hunters in my day, but he's been through the wringer pretty badly. Don't suppose you'd let me admit him to the hospital for a few days?"
Sam immediately shook his head as Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "We can't."
Dr. Fisher sighed before dropping his bag on the porch and folding his arms while staring at the two men. "Be best if you would. Aside from his physical injuries, of which there are plenty mind you, his mental state is in the shitter. From everything you all have told me and what I've seen from him, he's in shock. He's had enough and just shut down. No telling how long it could last."
Sam sputtered in surprise. "Is there anything you can do for him? Something to snap him out of it maybe?"
Dr. Fisher's dark eyes latched onto Sam, his face stern. "You already turned down the hospital. That was what I could do for him. You'll need to keep him warm, comfortable, and for God's sake don't let whatever happened today happen again. No dark rooms, no loud noises, nothing that would cause him to panic again. His mind can't take any more stimulation right now; no fear, no panic, no nothing. He'll probably be having nightmares for a while, so you better sit in shifts with him. Get some fluids in him before he dehydrates. I'll be back tomorrow. I'll give you two days; if nothing changes, I'm taking him to the hospital and you won't get in my way, understand me?"
Bobby nodded solemnly as the man spoke. He had known this man for decades, when he gave instructions, he meant them. As for taking Dean, Bobby had seen Fisher drag more than one unwilling hunter off to the hospital.
"As for him snapping out of it, you'll just have to wait. His body went into hardcore fight or flight but his mind opted to shut everything down instead. Self-preservation can be a mysterious thing… Now, it looks like you've ignored my discharge instructions, Mr. Winchester," the man said as he stepped up and scrutinized the line of stitches that could be seen through the edges of Sam's ripped shirt. "I told you no heavy lifting, no driving, and certainly no activities that would have led to this." He pulled the collar of Sam's shirt down and frowned as the dried blood pulled on the stitches. "Want to explain how you went from a concussion in my ER to this nasty bit of home medicine?"
Sam looked guiltily at the man. "We've had a few rough days."
"I can see that," Dr. Fisher said dryly as he moved onto Bobby. The men looked at each other, Bobby obviously not bothered or concerned by the man's observation. "Anything I can help with? You look worse for wear as well."
Bobby slowly shook his head. "We can manage our bumps and bruises, although Sam might need a more professional look at his shoulder. Dean, though…I might be calling you tonight if nothing changes."
"That would be wise," Dr. Fisher murmured as he looked at Sam. "You've got resources. Use them. Sam, I want you in my emergency room later for me to look at that mangled mess. And for God's sake, Singer, get whatever this is finished before I have to send a fleet of ambulances out here for the lot of you!"
As taillights disappeared from the yard, Sam and Bobby headed for the couch. Dean was lying perfectly motionless, his blank eyes staring at the ceiling, seemingly unaware of the quilt being tucked firmly around him. Alice didn't say anything as Bobby dragged a chair next to the couch, motioning for Sam to sit.
Bobby dragged the first aid kit out and started picking broken glass from Dean's feet. Sam carefully and meticulously set about cleaning Dean's hands, occasionally borrowing the tweezers from Bobby to pull a few slivers of glass from Dean's knuckles. They worked in silence, Bobby vaguely aware of Alice slipping out the back door with a small bag in her hand. Dean did nothing while they worked to clean his wounds, his unblinking eyes continued to stare at the ceiling. It was unnerving, but neither Sam nor Bobby spoke of it. They had all been laid up at some point, but Dean tended to excel at it. Alice had once joked that Dean's blood type, emergency contact number, and favorite pie flavor should be tattooed on his chest; Bobby was starting to think it wouldn't be a bad idea.
Once Dean was wrapped back up in the quilt, Bobby turned to work on Sam, whose eyes never left Dean's empty ones. It was slow steady work, the sound of scissors and the rattle of an ibuprofen bottle cutting into the heavy silence that had invaded the house. Bobby went looking for Alice once Sam started to lay Fay repellents around the room. They couldn't afford to have their guard down, even if they were so close to an all-nighter in the local emergency room.
Bobby slipped out the back door and headed to the garage, the dim light peeking under the door. He found Alice sitting on the hood of Chevelle, trying to tape a wad of gauze to her side.
"Stubborn woman," he said loudly as he approached her. She jumped at his words, frowning as he stepped close and scrutinized her handiwork. "That gauze looks kind of lopsided from here. Want some help?"
"I'm not a natural lefty," she ground out through a half smile. She didn't want help. She had spent years doing everything on her own, preferring it to the nagging that came with partners.
"Let me help."
"I'm fine, Bobby. I'll be back inside in a few minutes."
"Not if you bleed to death on my Chevelle, you won't be," he said as he pushed her hands out of the way. Long gashes laced down one side of her torso, but something about them made Bobby hesitate. The edges had signs of healing, but had obviously been torn back open.
"You came here already torn up from a hunt," he snapped. "You want to tell me just how in the hell this happened?! And why I'm just now finding out about it?! Damn reckless!"
"The hunt in Florida I was working on? I got a little banged up—"
"More like torn to shreds—"
"Bobby! I swear it was healing fine until I got thrown around in the woods looking for those damn nettles. It got ripped open again, I patched it up with a few things earlier, but when Dean threw me down in the panic room…Well, this happened," she said as she pulled the gauze away, blood sluggishly draining from the gashes.
Bobby adjusted his cap. "And you didn't think the damned licensed doctor would have been the right person to look at this? Damn it, Alice."
"Don't you lecture me, Bobby Singer. We've got enough going on between Sam and Dean."
Bobby huffed in frustration. "Get your ass back inside. My house, my rules. I get to decide who keeps the damn secrets around here and it's not you, or Sam, or Dean. Got it?!"
Alice almost chuckled at his stern appearance but knew better. They might both be injured, but that wouldn't keep Bobby from laying down the law in his house. She walked ahead of him, one hand firmly holding her bleeding side. It was going to need stitches. She and Bobby both knew it.
Alice slipped back into the house and planted herself at the desk while Bobby began washing his hands. The high pile of books blocked Bobby's view of her but he knew she was right back to the lore. The quiet sound of pages being methodically turned became a rhythm they all fell into. Sam didn't speak as he continued to glance from Dean to the clock, constantly recalculating the minutes since Dean had last been alert. Knowing Alice was deliberately avoiding her turn, Bobby checked his own injuries over in the bathroom mirror. Bruises laced down one side of his chest, he knew the feeling of cracked ribs to well. With a sigh and a firm shake of his head, he headed to his troublesome houseguest.
She didn't look up as Bobby thumped a chair down beside her, dropping the first aid kit on the book in front of her. "Let's get this over with," he muttered as he motioned to the box.
She shoved the box off of the book and turned to look up at Bobby, watching his face carefully. "How did you get Dean shaken loose, Bobby? When he ended up in Virginia. That must have taken some serious mojo. Who did you call?"
Bobby shook his head as he glanced across the room at Sam. He must have talked to her about that. "An acquaintance," he said, his voice firm as he pulled the stitch kit from the box. "Unbutton your over shirt so I can see what the hell I'm doing."
"Don't you think that anyone who can help us now might be worth a phone call," Alice pressed as she slowly pulled her over shirt off before dropping it to the floor. Just one more shirt for the garbage can.
"Not this time I don't," Bobby snapped. "I'm sure Sam covered my feelings on the matter when he talked to you about it."
"He did. I was hoping to change your mind."
"Not going to happen."
"Does this person have any ability to find the Fay? Maybe get us a face to face meeting? Or—"
"Alice, we are not going to ask for anything more from this person, you hear me? Now, before you bleed on my leather chair, let's get this done, alright? I don't want to hear another goddamn word about it!"
Alice bit her tongue, anger boiling inside. It wasn't like Bobby to hold out on sharing information.
"We need to start sleeping in shifts, so the sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can get some shut eye," Bobby snapped as he threaded the needle.
She glanced over the pile of books to see Sam finally asleep in the chair, one hand on Dean's chest; a pose familiar between the two brothers. "Think we can figure this out?"
"Not a doubt in my mind," Bobby stated firmly with a quick glance toward the boys. "And now is not the time to start second guessing ourselves, got it?"
She nodded slowly, the thought obviously on her mind. "We need a plan."
Bobby nodded and adjusted his position as he pushed the needle through torn flesh. "We have one. We're going to keep Dean here while we get our hands on Crowley…We need to add more Fay repellents around the house. I'd rather put Dean back in the panic room with all the iron surrounding him but…there's no way to get him down there now in his condition."
"Don't forget the room is in shambles, Bobby, he literally destroyed everything in it," Alice ground out thrown gritted teeth. Bobby wasn't taking his usual time with the needle, his hands moving quickly as he tried to finish the job. "Besides, he'd probably freak back out."
Bobby grunted as he taped gauze over the mess. "I'll go get the herbs, you find the box of stuff Sam had earlier."
They spent the next hour laying iron bars and silver bells in the windows and doorways before crushing herbs and sprinkling them around the house. Bobby tied red ribbons to Dean's wrists and ankles before stuffing a piece of bread in his pocket. His green eyes were laced with exhaustion as he continued to stare at the ceiling, his hands moving ever so slightly over the quilt.
"Dean? Can you hear me," Bobby asked quietly, keeping his voice low. Sam twitched in the chair but didn't wake. Dean's eyes slid closed before his hands stilled.
"Any change," Alice asked from across the room.
"Nothing to get excited over," Bobby ground out. "Hopefully he'll get some decent rest and sleep it off."
They sat around the kitchen table, both silent as they eyed the notes they had taken earlier in the day. Bobby could see Alice wasn't done digging about Charlotte. Her curiosity wasn't enough to make him relent and give out her contact information but an hour of listening to her sigh was enough to get under his skin.
"Fine! What is it," he ground out, as he tossed a stack of notes back down on the table.
"What," she asked, confused, as she looked up from her own notes.
"Let's hear it. You've got some point you want to make, so let's hear it so I can get back to reading in moderate peace," Bobby snapped as he leaned back in his chair.
"What if we're making a huge mistake," she suddenly asked as she leaned on her arms, glancing into the other room at the boys. "Other than a face to face with the Fay the other only option we seem to have is talking to Crowley…what if that tips the scales out of our favor? Right now, does Crowley even know Dean is a Tiend? Probably not…so if we tell him that, confirm it, then why in our right minds would we assume Crowley would help us fight the Fay? Or keep Dean from Hell when he's won him fair and square based on some ancient agreement between Lucifer and the First Fay?"
Bobby kept silent, his eyes narrowing as she spoke. "If Crowley will help us—"
"But why would he?! Is there any prize that Crowley wants more than a Winchester? And if you have some knowledge of one, now is the prime to speak up, Bobby!"
Bobby glanced at the boys. "No, I don't have anything he would want more. But we need to know what Crowley knows about this deal and no one is going to know the red tape better than him. If there is a way to keep Dean from the Fay, he'll be the one to know."
Alice frowned and shrugged. "Bobby, this is a clear cut case of Crowley getting a Winchester back into Hell without having to make a single move. He's going to bag the biggest prize, without even knowing it. And if he does know what's going on, all he has to do it wait for the Fay to deliver. We aren't going to find anything to help us. Not in the Fay lore."
Bobby sighed and tossed the notes in a pile. With just a few words, Alice had reduced them from lifesaving information to worthless scraps of paper. "You're right. There's nothing Crowley wants more than a Winchester in the pit. Unless we find a way to strike a better bargain with Crowley than the Fay…"
"How do we do that?"
"Not a clue," Bobby muttered. "How are we supposed to compete with a delivery of hundreds of souls, including one that happens to be a Winchester?"
Without another word, Alice watched as Bobby grabbed a bottle of whiskey and headed for the cellar. He didn't say anything, defeat on his face as he disappeared into the dark, the door slamming behind him. She fell back against the chair and sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She was exhausted. They all were.
She sat thumbing through another volume when she realized what he had said. He was right. They did need to know what Crowley knew but she was willing to bet that he wasn't the only one who would know details. Ignoring Bobby's previous warnings and threats, she began yanking on desk drawers until she found one that was locked. With a quick glance to make sure the boys were still sleeping, she pried the lock open and dumped the contents on the desk. Hearing Bobby on the cellar stairs again, she scrambled to grab the stone and map before taking off for the front door.
There was no going back; the broken lock on the drawer guaranteed an argument with Bobby, but there was no reason they had to have it now. She grabbed her jacket as she rounded the staircase, pulling her keys from the pocket. As she crossed the door's threshold, the sound of Bobby yelling her name made her hit the ground running. She heard the screen door slam behind her, his threats suddenly drowned out by the sound of her motorcycle as it slid across the gravel and out of sight.
Okay, so this chapter was bigger and the next is already underway. I had to strip the next chapter down for parts, it wasn't working with some changes that will be necessary.
I, for one, am really excited to see what all happens in the next chapter. They have Dean for the moment. Bobby is getting cranky. Alice has the scrying stone. She probably doesn't remember that she still has that nasty little hex bag in her pocket from Bobby….I bet he remembers it though. Wonder what happens if….
Thanks for reading! And for those that write reviews, you're my most favorite in the universe.