Chapter 8
Then:
Dean huffs. "Well, how are we supposed to find him, anyway? We haven't seen or heard any sign from him since Mystery Spot, anyway."
"Ariel's dreams. She could talk to him there, ask him for help," Sam suggests and I nod.
"It's worth a try." Still unconvinced, Dean glances between us before sighing.
"It's worth a try," he echoes and Sam smiles. I just feel relieved that we have a plan.
Now:
I'm left at Bobby's house the next day when Dean and Sam catch a case involving James Dean's car, the infamous Little Bastard. Dean's positively fangirling as he and Sam load the Impala and I roll my eyes at their backs.
"Boys and their cars."
"Says the girl who fangirled over the Impala," Sam teases me lightly, giving me a grin over his shoulder as he loads his duffel bag into the trunk.
"Hey, if the kid wants to gush over my baby, she can," Dean cuts in, affronted, and I laugh because no matter what he says, he's defending his car, not me. Finally, when they're done and about to leave, Sam turns and envelops me in a tight hug. I squeeze him back, shutting my eyes and burying my face into his shoulder. It's the first time I'll be away from him in more than a week, and I've grown attached to him.
"Take care of yourself," he murmurs against my hair and I nod into his shoulder.
"You, too, Sam." He ruffles my hair affectionately when he releases me. To Dean's surprise, I hug him, too. "Don't be a dick."
"Well, that's heart-warming," Dean deadpans as he pats my back awkwardly. "Don't shoot yourself in the foot." He's referring to the fact that Bobby plans to start training me to use weapons while they're gone.
"Bite me." With a chuckle, Dean squeezes my shoulder one last time before he and Sam get into the Impala. I wave until the car's out of sight before heading back into Bobby's house.
"Are you trying to shoot yourself in the foot?" Bobby snaps irritably at me as I fumble with the shotgun. It's heavy, and I can't hold it up for long. "Aim it right or don't aim it at all!"
I huff and drop the shotgun onto the pile of weapons on the table Bobby had had me set up at the beginning of the training session in the backyard of the house. "It's heavy. I can't hold it."
Bobby studies me critically for a moment before wheeling over to the table and searching through the pile of guns. "Here." He pulls out a handgun. "You load it like this." He slides out the cartridge and loads it, clicking the cartridge back into place before turning off the safety and handing it to me. "Blow out the red Honda's windshield." I aim at the car in question, relieved that the pistol is lighter than the shotgun, and pull the trigger. The resulting bang startles me, but the glass shatters and Bobby looks proud, so I try to cover up my fear even as I come to the firm conclusion that I hate guns. "Take it apart and put it back together." He holds up a stopwatch and I raise an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
"You never know when you'll have to dismantle someone else's gun out in the field." He clicks the stopwatch and I scramble to take apart the gun after turning on the safety. It's putting it back together that I struggle with and eventually, Bobby gives up on me once I pass the two-minute mark. He takes the gun and puts it back together himself before tossing it at me. "Well, at least we know you're no good with firearms now." I snort; I think we'd figured that out the instant Bobby had first handed me the shotgun and I'd freaked out. "What about your lore?"
"The show taught me most of the stuff," I admit.
"Goofer dust?" Bobby tests.
"Uhh...keeps away hellhounds, right?" He nods approvingly and I relax.
"What else deals with hellhounds?"
"Devil's shoestring. Bela Talbot had it in her motel room when the hellhound came for her," I remember.
"What kills werewolves?"
"Um." I wrack my brain, but all I can think of is Remus Lupin from Harry Potter, which then leads to my internal gross sobbing over the fact that Rowling had killed him and Tonks off.
"Lupin?" Bobby sighs and I nod guiltily. At least there's another Potter-nerd around to understand my suffering. "Werewolf is a silver bullet to the heart."
"Oh."
"What about tricksters?" He raises an eyebrow expectantly and I roll my eyes when I catch on.
"They told you?"
"Kid, whatever the Trickster wants with you, it can't be good. You know what happened to Dean, and that was just 'cause he and Sam pissed the Trickster off. It's playing with fire, dealing with him."
I throw my hands in the air helplessly. "I didn't ask him to start popping into my dreams!" Which, surprisingly, hasn't been happening recently, and I add as such. "I mean, ever since I told Sam and Dean about him, he just disappeared."
"Well, maybe that's for the best." Bobby nods conclusively and that's that as he orders gruffly, "Grab those darts and set up the target."
Over the next few days, we discover that my aim with guns sucks, but I've got a knack for memorizing lore and, surprisingly, throwing sharp and pointy objects. I'm okay with knives and darts, able to throw them from a distance and at least hit the target on the first try. On the fourth day of training, I finally hit a bulls-eye, much to Bobby's relief and pride, and Dean calls with an update. He and Sam had finished up the case with Little Bastard - turned out they had had to kill Paris Hilton, from what I gather from the bizarre and brief recount of the tale, and I don't bother asking for clarification - and now they've stumbled upon another job, this time involving a woman who had scratched the back of her own head out.
"Not sure whether that's an 'ow' or an 'ew,'" I say to the cordless phone lying on the kitchen table. Dean is on speakerphone as Bobby pores over a book in the study, having already spoken to Dean and informed him of my training progress.
"Go for a mix of both," Dean suggests with a wry chuckle. "Anyway, we're gonna go check it out. Probably won't be back till this case is over."
"Okay." I try not to sound disappointed, but I do miss them both, angst-ridden as they are.
"You're giving the phone puppy-eyes, aren't you?" Dean sighs.
"Shamelessly," I admit.
"Come on, Air, we'll be back before you know it. Most of these cases don't last longer than a couple of days. Oh, hey, Sam's here. Hang on, I'll put you on speaker."
There's a little fumbling before Sam's voice takes Dean's place.
"Ariel?"
I try not to notice how tired Sam sounds and wonder if he's been having more nightmares. "Hi, Sam."
"Hey!" He immediately perks up at the sound of my voice and I can imagine him smiling on the other end of the line. "How're you doing?"
"Okay, I guess. Found out I'm good with sharp, pointy objects."
"Knives? Huh. Wouldn't've pegged you for that." Sam sounds impressed, though, and I feel even prouder of my accomplishment. "Any luck getting a hold of the Trickster?"
"None at all. It's like he's just vanished." It's weird, but I kind of miss the Trickster's presence in my dreams. All cruel pranks on the Winchesters aside, he had at least been a good listener while I rambled on about the crazy situation I'd found myself in.
"We're keeping a look out for any cases that sound like his M.O., anyway. We're bound to run into him eventually." Sam hesitates as Dean calls something to him from far away. "Listen, Air, we've gotta go. Take care, okay? Give Bobby our best."
"Okay. You and Dean be careful." Sam pauses as he listens to Dean's response, and then chuckles.
"Dean says to quit mothering us."
"You guys are jerks." As Sam laughs, I hang up, still smiling as I go to join Bobby in the study so that he can quiz me in lore.
It's another three days before Dean calls again. They've finished up this case, too, and I'm surprised to hear that it had been the Antichrist.
"He's a good kid," Dean insists when I express said shock, "His name's Jesse, and the only reason he'd gotten those powers was 'cause his mom had been possessed by a demon when she'd gotten pregnant with him. He's in Australia now, lying low."
"Aren't you a little worried that the Antichrist is loose in Australia?" I demand.
"Not really." Dean sounds unimpressed. "Air, Jesse's fine and he's in control. 'Sides, I don't think we can find him if he doesn't want us to." Conceding that, I let it go.
"Hey, you boys still in Alliance?" Bobby asks from beside me.
"Yeah, why?"
"Think I've got a case for you in Alpine, Utah. Should be only a few hours away." Bobby hands me a sheet of paper, since I'm closer to the phone.
"'A twenty-five-year-old man dead in his home due to old age?'" I read skeptically. "Dude, that's fucked up." Bobby whacks me lightly on the head. "Ow, sorry! Won't swear again!"
Dean snickers even as he admits, "That might be up our alley. Sam and I'll check it out. Thanks, Bobby. Air, keep out of trouble."
"Don't I always?" Dean snorts as he hangs up and I'm mildly insulted.
Dean's second phone call, which confirms that there is indeed a case in Alpine, Utah, puts Bobby in an inexplicably terrible mood.
"What's up with you?" I ask as I stir a pot of tomato soup meant to be our lunch - one of the few things I can make simply by reading the instructions on the can - when I see him wheeling into the kitchen. I've already toasted some grilled cheese sandwiches and placed them on the table, one of which Bobby picks up and starts eating.
"Nothing," he grumbles.
"Hey, you eat my cooking, you share what's eating you." I frown at him.
"I don't recall that being one of our rules."
"Okay, so I made it up right now."
"Drop it, kid." Bobby scowls at me. "It's still my house." I huff and obediently fall silent as I ladle soup into two bowls. I place one in front of Bobby, who accepts it grudgingly.
"Sorry," I mumble - damn my inability to have people angry with me - and as I turn away to grab my own bowl of soup, Bobby catches my hand and squeezes it briefly. While my worry doesn't dissipate, the gesture's comforting, and the tension between us eases.
Said tension makes a quick comeback when Dean calls later that evening.
"Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?" I hear as I walk into the study. Bobby's got the phone cradled against his shoulder while he thumbs through a dusty book. He waits for Dean's response. "Well, why're you still talking to me?" He hangs up abruptly before closing the book and wheeling past me wordlessly, grabbing his keys off a pile of books as he goes.
"Wait, where are you going?" I demand, following him.
"To get those idjits out of the tight spot they're obviously gonna end up in."
"Well, I'm coming, too."
Bobby snorts. "'Course you are. You're the only one of us who can drive." He tosses me the keys. "Guess that makes this your first hunt."
I'm not sure whether to feel excited or terrified at the thought. "Awesome," I say, feeling like it's anything but, and follow him out of the house.
It's nearly dusk when we finally enter Alpine, Utah, but we'd made better time than I thought. Bobby orders me to drop him off near the first bar we see.
"I'll meet up with you at the boys' motel."
I hesitate. "You sure?"
Bobby levels me with a glare. "Look, kid, just 'cause I'm in a wheelchair, doesn't make me helpless." I choose not to tell him that it kind of does, but he reads it in my face. Surprisingly, his expression softens. "I get that you're worried. Don't be. I'll call you in about an hour, and I'll be fine." He squeezes my hand. "Okay?"
Grimacing, I nod and park the truck in front of the bar. I unfold the wheelchair next to the passenger seat for Bobby and he shifts into it.
"I got it from here." He pats my arm reassuringly and wheels inside the bar. With a weary sigh, I get back into the truck and head for the motel I know Sam and Dean are staying at. Thankfully, I don't have to ask around for their room number, because as I pull up to the parking lot, Sam is leaving the motel room.
"Sam!" I wave wildly and the taller man spins around so quickly that I'm scared he'll get whiplash.
"Ariel?!" He looks shocked, but his surprise quickly morphs into happiness as I tackle him in a hug. He laughs as he squeezes my shoulders, holding me tightly. It's only been a little more than a week since I've last seen him, but it's felt like forever to me. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at Bobby's," he says as he pulls out of the embrace at last, confused.
"I was, but Bobby had me drive him into town to help you two with the case," I reply, "I'm still a little confused on the details myself."
"Well, Dean and I split up a little while back to check different bars for the witch we think is behind this, but I couldn't find anything." Sam's phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out. "'With Bobby. Get food. Remember the pie,'" he reads and rolls his eyes. "When have I ever forgotten the pie?"
I shrug. "I dunno, but in a future episode of the show, you give him cake and call it the same thing." To be fair, that's in the seventh season of Supernatural and I only know that through Tumblr and Piper, but details.
"Isn't it?" Sam looks genuinely bewildered and I shake my head.
"No, and to save your dignity, I won't tell Dean you just said that." I pat his shoulder comfortingly as he shakes his head long-sufferingly.
"All right, let's go get food for the bottomless pit I call a brother." I laugh as he slings an arm over my shoulder and leads me away.
On the way to the diner and back, Sam tries to get more details about the show out of me and I try not to give too much away, which is easy because I haven't seen most of the episodes beyond the end of the fourth season. I can tell Sam is frustrated with my lack of answers, though, and apologize wearily.
"Nah, don't be." He shifts the takeout tray in his hands and I take the cups of soda from him to lighten the load. "It's just...y'know, whatever advantage we've got-"
"I know. Sorry I can't be much more help." He nudges my shoulder lightly as we reach the motel room parking lot again.
"Don't worry about it. We figured it out in the show and we'll figure it out now." I nod and Sam unlocks the motel room door with one hand, opening the door and pushing his way in.
"Hey, Dean? You find anything?" he calls into the room as he sets the tray down on the table and I start when a raspy voice replies.
"Uhh, you might say that." That sounds nothing like Dean. Sam pulls out his gun as an old man in a bathrobe comes out of the bathroom.
"Who're you?!"
"Dude, relax, it's me." Realization seems to dawn on Sam.
"Dean?"
The old man looks sheepish. "Hi."
"Wait, you can't be Dean. You're, like, seventy years old," I say dumbly.
"Eighty," Dean grumbles and it sounds so much like him suddenly that I'm surprised I didn't catch the resemblance sooner.
"What the hell happened?" Sam demands.
"I, you know...found the game." Dean beelines for the table and grabs a burger.
"I thought you said you were good at poker," Sam persists.
"I am, shut up!" I snort at Dean's grumpiness as he gestures to the gun Sam's still holding. "So you were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?" Chastised, Sam tucks away the gun.
"I didn't know what you were. I mean, have you seen you? You look like-"
"The old chick in Titanic?" Dean interrupts irritably.
"I was going to say the crypt-keeper," I giggle. Dean glowers at me as he takes a bite of the burger.
"Nah, more like Emperor Palpatine," Sam corrects me with a snicker of his own and Dean glares at him next.
"You two finished pokin' fun?"
The door opens and Bobby wheels in. "I see you've met John McCain," he deadpans and I start laughing at the frustration on Dean's face.
Even Sam's biting back a grin, but he calms down long enough to ask, "Either of you want to tell me what happened?"
"Bobby's an idiot. That's what happened," Dean says angrily.
"Hey, nobody asked you to play," Bobby retorts.
"Right. I should have just let you die."
"And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose!"
Sam grins. "It's like Grumpy Old Men."
"Shut up, Sam!" both Bobby and Dean snap in unison.
Slowly, I piece the situation together. "Wait, so...Bobby, you played the game?" I turn to Bobby, who has the decency to look abashed as he nods. "And you lost, so Dean played the game and he lost?" I quickly turn to Sam. "Dude, don't play the game next, I'm sensing a trend here." Sam holds up his hands in surrender.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean rounds on Bobby once more. "He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights."
"You just don't get it." Bobby sounds bitter.
"Yes, we do. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that chair," I cut in. Bobby glares at me and I realize I've hit the nail on the head.
"Piss off, kid. You can't imagine-"
"You got us," Dean adds, "We've never been paralyzed. But I'll tell you something - I've been to hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?"
"Actually, we kind of do," I point out.
"Whose side are you on?!" Dean demands and Sam bites back another grin. Suddenly, Dean's expression shifts from irritation to pain. "Oh! I think I'm having a heart attack!" He sinks into a chair and briefly, my own heart clenches with worry. Sam looks just as concerned.
Bobby, however, doesn't seem to give a damn. "No, you're not. It's acid reflux. Guys your age can't digest certain foods." He gives a pointed look to the burger Dean's still holding and I mentally smack myself for not catching it sooner. "You're gonna wanna put that cheeseburger down." Dean grudgingly drops the burger back onto the takeout tray. "So you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours? It's got to be about the chips."
Dean explains, "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry."
"So they're magic chips," I confirm.
"Definitely." Dean nods.
"You remember what he chanted?" Sam sits down across from Dean and Bobby nods.
"Every word." He turns to me. "What's our next move, then, Ariel?"
I start. "Me?"
"It's your first hunt," Sam agrees, grinning at my confusion. "It's good practice for you."
"Uhh. I guess we find where his chips are stashed?" Bobby and Sam nod approvingly and I relax.
"And steal me fifty," Dean adds, "Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?"
Grinning, I tell him, "I think you ought to put some clothes on." Bobby and Sam vehemently agree and Dean grudgingly goes to do so.
Does anyone else love The Curious Case of Dean Winchester as much as I do? It's just so fun to watch Dean and Bobby bicker. And I never realized how much I loved writing Bobby until this chapter, despite how out-of-character I feel I'm writing him.
Also, does anyone else wonder how exactly Bobby got to the city this episode took place in from his house if he couldn't drive? Hmm...
If this entire chapter feels half-assed, it's because I was writing most of it while listening to Nick Pitera's Les Miserables medley on repeat, so I was sort of distracted the entire time.
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