Chapter 22
Then:
"You wanna talk about it?" He doesn't need to clarify what he's referring to.
"Not really." Already, I'm feeling pangs of shame for being so clingy.
"Sure about that?" He nudges my foot with his.
"Pretty sure." I shrug. "Just makes me wonder how much of that was me and how much of that was old me."
"Well, you were just as clingy back then, so who knows?" He grins at the scowl I shoot him before his expression softens. "You're allowed to ask me for stuff, you know. You could ask me to stay."
"Yeah, well, I'm just too good." And I've asked enough of him as it is. Gabriel's lips purse, as if he senses my train of thought, but he doesn't say anything. I'm grateful for that.
Now:
Sam recovers about halfway through the night, long after Dean returns to the house with suspiciously red and puffy eyes, and I give in to unlocking the panic room door and curling up on the bed next to Sam.
"You're all sweaty," I tell him, wrinkling my nose, and he rolls his eyes at me tiredly. The withdrawal must have worn him out.
"Shouldn't've come in here, then." He yawns and ruffles my hair before tugging me against his side and closing his eyes. "You make a pretty good little sister, y'know. Kinda makes me jealous of the angels."
I grin. "I'm just that awesome, I guess." He hums quietly in agreement before his arms go slack around me slowly, his chin resting against the top of my head. His breathing evens out into quiet snoring, and I'm half-tempted to get my phone out to record it. I decide against it in the end, weariness spreading through my limbs as I sink against Sam's chest and slip into unconsciousness, too.
Soft sniggers draw me out of my sleep.
"Aww, ain't that adorable," Dean cooes mockingly.
"I don't know whether I should take a picture or draw Sharpie mustaches on 'em," Gabriel snickers under his breath and I sleepily bat at him. I miss by a mile.
"Draw it on the moose," I mumble without opening my eyes, which earns a new wave of laughter from Dean and Gabriel.
Sam makes a drowsy protesting noise in response. "Don't even try it."
"All right, fine, Sammy the Octopus. Let go of the kid so I can take her home." Sam's arms slide out from around me and I miss their warmth, but they're replaced by Gabriel as he scoops me up. "Don't give me that look, Dean-o, I am stronger than I look." I stifle a yawn as I press my face into Gabriel's shoulder and he shifts me closer to his chest. "Okay, Ariel, say bye-bye to the Winchesters."
I brandish my middle finger in Dean's general direction and the older Winchester snorts in response. "Yeah, you two are definitely related."
Gabriel says with a hint of pride in his voice, "That's my girl."
Before I even realize we've left the panic room, I'm being placed down on a soft bed that I vaguely recognize as my own. It's strange how I've come to think of my room in Gabriel's house as...well, mine.
"Go back to sleep." Gabriel's hand cards through my hair and I lean into the touch absently. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."
"'Kay. Thanks." I stifle another yawn as I tug the covers more securely around myself.
"No problem." I feel his thumb brush against my cheek before he gets up and the door clicks shut behind him. Sleep finds me not long after that.
A few days pass and I notice a pattern: Gabriel's no longer popping in and out of the house like he used to whenever he felt a douchebag needed to be taught a lesson. Instead, he's sticking around whichever room of the house I happen to be in - like if I was in the kitchen, he'd be in the connected living room, or if I was in the library, he'd be in another room nearby.
Not to mention how touchy-feely he's suddenly gotten. I mean, it's not as if we haven't hugged or anything in the past, but now he keeps finding random reasons to express affection, like patting my shoulder whenever he passes me or ruffling my hair whenever I'm leaving the room.
I know why Gabriel's turned over a new leaf: because of the incident with Famine. Because the Horseman had spilled my big secret about wanting to be loved, Gabriel's going out of his way to prove that he cares about me. But by the time Sam calls with an update on their latest case, I'm fed up with it.
So when Sam suggests that I come over to Bobby's place for a little while - from what I understand, Sioux Falls had been overrun with zombies, including one Karen Singer, A.K.A. Bobby's dead wife - to distract the older hunter, I jump on the opportunity.
"You don't have to go," Gabriel points out as I pack my backpack with a few clothes, leaning against the doorway of my room.
"Bobby's my friend."
"You want me to-?"
"No, I do not." I point at him warningly. "And don't follow me, either. I don't need a chaperone."
He holds up his hands in surrender, raising an eyebrow. "Fine, whatever you say. What crawled up your ass, anyway?"
"You've been acting weird ever since we ran into Famine," I point out, "Excuse me for wanting a little space."
Gabriel blinks, clearly hurt. "I thought...but Famine said-"
"Screw what Famine said!" I sling the backpack over my shoulder. "I don't need your constant approval!"
"Ariel-"
"Just leave me alone!" I storm past him and downstairs. Cola barks from the couch and I stroke his ears in farewell before heading for the door. I tap the doorknob, thinking of Bobby's house, and open the door, slamming it shut behind me. Halfway across the salvage yard to the front door, I grimace, turning around again, but the door's gone.
Well, I've gotten this far. I cross the rest of the way to Bobby's door and knock on it. Dean's the one who gets the door, giving me a wan smile - he always looks tired these days - and ruffling my hair. It reminds me of Gabriel's constant hovering, and my mood immediately takes a nosedive.
"Hey, Air. Bobby's over in the study with Sam."
"Thanks." He shuts the door behind me and moves back to the kitchen, where a pot is simmering on the stove. Even as I watch, Castiel comes into view, peering into the pot curiously, and receives a quiet scolding from Dean when he attempts to reach into the pot to taste whatever's cooking. Chastised, the angel is shooed out of the kitchen, where he greets me with a small smile.
"Hello, Ariel."
"Hey, Cas. Still traumatized by ground beef?"
He wrinkles his nose. "I would rather not discuss it."
"Fair enough." I grin and make my way to the study, where Sam and Bobby are poring over ancient, dusty texts. "Is this the part where I attempt to be cute and cover your eyes?" I tease, wrapping my arms around Bobby's shoulders from behind.
"Get off, kid," he snaps, but I can hear the affection behind it as he turns slightly to smile wearily at me. "Good to see you, too." I can see the heavy grief in his expression, though, and give him an extra hug for it. "I thought I told you to get off."
"That's the thanks I get for coming all the way here to harass you?" I let go and steal his trucker's cap in the process, putting it on my own head as I drop into a chair. The cap's too big for me, though, and flops over my eyes. I can hear Sam chuckling as he snatches the cap off my head and returns it to a disgruntled Bobby.
"Is Gabriel not with you?" Castiel asks from the doorway of the study and wincing at the reminder of our argument, I shake my head.
"No, we're, uh...not really getting along at the moment."
"I see." Castiel frowns and then promptly disappears, probably to confront Gabriel.
"Never gonna get used to that," Bobby mutters as he returns to his book, "So what did you and Gabriel fight over? You two seemed just fine last time we saw you."
"He's gotten extra-clingy since Famine." I shrug. "I told him to lay off before coming here."
"You ever think it might be because the overgrown pigeon's worried about you?" It takes me a minute to realize that Bobby's referring to Gabriel.
"Overgrown pigeon?" I echo.
"Well, he is," Bobby defends himself. I can't help but laugh at the image of Gabriel running around the sidewalks of New York City, scaring tourists by flapping his arms.
"Anyway, he shouldn't be worried about me, I'm fine. Whatever Famine said was highly exaggerated, and Gabriel took it way too seriously, like someone else I know." I aim the last part at the kitchen.
"Piss off, Hobbit!" Dean calls back without missing a beat.
"Excuse you, I happen to be fun-sized!" Dean starts laughing hysterically at that, and even Sam and Bobby are biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from chuckling. "Ugh, you all suck." I slouch in my chair, sulking, even as Castiel pops back into the study, looking as if someone's delivered him grave news. "What is it, Cas?" I ask, sitting back up in my chair.
"Gabriel wishes for you to have your space," Castiel tells me quietly, "Just as you requested."
"Oh." Guilt slams into me like a speeding bus.
"Hey, we found a case not too far from here that looks like a salt-and-burn," Sam suggests, catching my mood, "You wanna tag along?"
"Yeah, okay," I agree before my brain catches up. It, unfortunately, decides to agree. Maybe with a little time, I can pull up the courage to talk to Gabriel later.
"Dean, Ariel's coming with us to Freeport!" Sam calls towards the kitchen.
"Yeah, fine, after lunch!" Dean snaps back irritably, swearing when whatever's on the stove ends up boiling over.
So that's how I find myself climbing into the Impala after a lunch of spaghetti (thankfully, Dean saved the pasta before it had overcooked) and after saying goodbye to Bobby. Castiel disappears again to search for God before we set off. Sioux Falls looks ransacked as we leave, the people of the town still cleaning up after the zombie attacks.
Dean, seeing me looking out the window, says quietly, "It was a mess trying to cover up what really happened."
"We had to get the sheriff on our side," Sam adds.
"Someone's going to end up noticing soon," I point out, "Probably other hunters." I still remember the hunters who had attacked me and Sam in that bar months ago. It seems like forever since that had happened. Judging by the withdrawn expression on Sam's face, he seems to be recalling the same incident.
"Probably," Dean agrees, "But we'll deal with that when we have to."
The rest of the trip to Freeport is quiet, and only punctuated by me lobbing little paper pieces of an old straw wrapper from the backseat at Sam's head. He's still brushing little white bits out of his hair when we climb out of the car at the motel parking lot while Dean goes to check us in, snickering all the way.
"You missed one," I say innocently, plucking a piece of paper off Sam's shoulder, and oddly enough, he smirks. I think I'd rather have a bitchface thrown at me.
"Yeah, well, I know how ticklish you are." My horror must show on my face, because Sam starts laughing and doesn't stop until Dean returns with the keys to the motel room.
We set down to researching that night - and by research, I mean Sam is mainly researching on the laptop while Dean drowns his sorrows in a bottle of Jack and I'm caught awkwardly hovering between helping Sam with research and bothering Dean into putting the alcohol away. The latter doesn't really work, so I settle for the former.
Between me and Sam, we discover the ghost's main targets: kids at the elementary school. Already, there have been three deaths in the school, and the school has been threatened with being shut down if the murders don't stop.
"Which death was the first one?" I ask.
"Well, that was two years ago." Sam pulls up the news article. "He was found dead in the playground of the school by the janitor in the morning. Must've been lying there all night."
"'Clarence Wilson?'" I read skeptically, "Was this kid bullied?"
"Yep."
"Not surprised, with a name like that," Dean points out as he drains his bottle.
"The other two kids were within the past week. They were Clarence's classmates," Sam explains.
"You think Clarence is the ghost and they're the ones who killed him, so he's back for revenge," I realize.
"Looks like it."
"So then who's he after next?" Dean drops the empty bottle into the trashcan and peers over Sam's shoulder.
"We'll have to talk to the victims' parents and find out who they were close to two years ago."
The next night, we drive to the cemetery and start digging away at Clarence Wilson's grave. There are two more children who had been friends with the victims two years ago, and we suspect they're the next targets.
"So that's two lives spared," Sam had said as he returned from questioning the victims' parents earlier that day.
Now, as we hit the coffin with our shovels, I ask, "There any chance of the ghost showing up here?"
"Definitely." Dean nudges me back so that he can pry open the coffin. I cover my nose as the stench of half-rotted corpse drifts up towards us. "That's why Sam's on the lookout."
"Unh!" Sam topples over and Dean rolls his eyes.
"Guess that means he's here." He looks up at Sam's form as the taller Winchester staggers to his feet. "What's the matter, Sammy, nine-year-old getting the better of you?"
"Oh, shut up," Sam grumbles even as he grabs an iron rod, swinging it at something out of my range of vision. When he's certain that the ghost is gone, he reaches down to help me out of the hole in the ground while Dean hoists himself up. The ghost materializes again just as Dean gets the kerosene and salt, and the little boy falters between going for Sam's throat or mine.
My breath catches because the boy is so tiny, barely coming up to my stomach, and his face, while pale and obviously ghostly, is smooth and young. Poor kid. Then his expression twists in rage as he rushes at me and I decide that pity or not, I'm not going to stand around and let him tear me to shreds, so I jump back and let Sam swing at him again with the iron rod.
"You done?" he yells over his shoulder at Dean.
"Almost!" This time, the ghost materializes near Dean and knocks him over, causing the lighter in his hand to go flying. I catch it and flick it open before tossing it down into the grave. The skeleton catches fire and Clarence Wilson's spirit goes up in flames with his bones. Grimacing, Dean sits up, rubbing his head where it had hit the ground, and Sam claps a hand on my shoulder in a silent congratulation.
The break between cases doesn't last long, but it's technically not a case that follows the salt-and-burn.
It's a rude wake-up call.
I'm sleeping on the couch while Sam and Dean take the beds, since I'm smaller and can fit on the badly-sized furniture, so I'm the first to jolt awake when the lock on the door clicks open. I look at the beds, where Sam is stirring at the noise and Dean is still soundly asleep, and realize that it's definitely not someone friendly coming in. As if to prove me right, two men in ski masks enter, both carrying shotguns. One aims directly at me, seeing that I'm awake, and I freeze. The other man aims at Sam, whose eyes are opening slowly.
"Scream and I shoot," the man aiming at me snarls quietly and I swallow, but nod.
"Ariel-!" Sam begins hoarsely, scrambling into a sitting position, but the other man pumps his shotgun.
"Stay down." Sam throws a helpless look at Dean, who's starting to shuffle around in his half-conscious state, and the man closer to Sam inches forward far enough to snatch the handgun out from under Dean's pillow. Dean's eyes open when his fingers don't find the gun and he sits up sleepily. "Looking for this?" The man holds up the handgun even as he pops the cartridge out of the gun and tosses it aside.
Dean blinks between him and his partner. "Mornin'," he deadpans.
"Shut up. Hands where I can see 'em."
Dean lifts his hands slightly even as he squints. "Wait a minute. Is that you, Roy?" He smiles, but there's no humor in it. "It is, isn't it? Which makes you Walt." He looks over at the man pointing the shotgun at me. "Heya, Walt."
The two men look at each other before Walt strips off his ski mask. "Don't matter." I'm itching to bolt, my adrenaline pumping, but I know that before I get any distance between us, the hunter - is he a hunter? - will shoot. Roy yanks his mask off, too.
"Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?" Dean asks innocently.
"You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?" Walt snarls, looking at Sam even though his gun remains trained on me.
"Who told you that?" Sam asks carefully, his eyes flickering between me and Walt worriedly.
"We ain't the only hunters after you." Walt pumps his shotgun and Sam flinches.
"Look, I can explain, just...just don't hurt Ariel. Let her go, she's got nothing to do with it."
Walt looks at me and then at Roy, waiting for his order. Roy glances over his shoulder at me briefly before shaking his head. "She'll squeal on us. Kill her first."
"NO-!" Dean shouts as he launches up and off the bed, but Walt pulls the trigger. The sound is muffled as fire blossoms in my chest. My head hits the arm of the couch, but that pain is dull compared to the searing agony in my chest.
Sam screams my name, but I can't bring my limbs to respond even as I hear another muffled gunshot. The pain dissolves into unnerving numbness, and I can't feel my face or my hands or my feet, aside from a bizarre icy feeling spreading through every pore of my body.
Then thankfully, blessedly, darkness takes over.
I don't care how short this chapter is. I had to end it there. -cackles evilly-
I know the case isn't that detailed, and honestly, I feel like this is more of a filler chapter until I get to the real meat of Dark Side of the Moon. So here it is, and hopefully, I'll have the next chapter up around Tuesday.
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