A/N: Hey guys, just a slight Trigger Warning: this one is a little intense. Warning for death and murder (not for any main character, but it's on-page and quite severe, though you're reading Supernatural fanfic, so idk what you thought you were getting into). I wouldn't really say graphic as such, but just intense. Please look after yourselves.
See you at the bottom!
Familiar Strangers
The problem with stopping the banishment from happening was that they weren't entirely sure where the spell itself was actually taking place. With that in mind, Toby and Faith headed back to the motel, changed into fresh clothes and hatched a plan.
"Have you ever been on a stakeout before?" Toby asked as he tied the laces of his boots.
"No," Faith confessed. "Will there be donuts?"
Toby didn't bother replying. Together they loaded up on what weapons they could scrape together from the trunk of Toby's car – not their favourite pieces, but enough that they could protect themselves from whatever harm was set in their path – and set out towards Carla's house.
They parked down the road, near the intersection, where nobody coming or going from Carla's house would notice them. Then, they settled in to wait.
"What do you know about Purgatory?" Faith wondered some hour into their watch, the sun high in the sky and her gun in pieces in her lap as she dutifully cleaned each element with an old polishing rag.
"Precious little," said Toby, eyes narrowed on Carla's house, hands hanging limply from the bottom of his steering wheel.
"When she said it, you seemed to think it was only a myth."
Toby inhaled deeply, then exhaled on a sigh. "Supposedly," he began slowly, using a sceptical voice, telling her to take every word with a grain of salt, "it's where monsters go when we kill them."
It was clear what he meant, but she still said, "Monsters?"
He waved a vague hand. "Demons. Vampires. Werewolves. Their souls aren't pure, so they can't go to Heaven; and they're not human enough to make it down to Hell. Ergo, Purgatory."
She frowned. "What's it like?"
"Nobody knows."
"But is it good, or bad?"
He turned away from Carla's still, lifeless house to scowl at her. "I don't know, Faith."
She made a face but dropped her impossible line of questioning. "I guess I've never thought about it before," she admitted. "Where they go when they die. I assumed they just … stopped being."
"Purgatory's just a theory," Toby reminded her. "So far, nobody's been able to actually prove its existence."
"Well, these witches seem pretty sure it's real."
He looked incredulous. "They're witches. They also believe in bloodletting and ritualistic sacrifice as a form of worship. So, pinch of salt."
"I'm just saying, if anyone's gonna know about Purgatory, wouldn't it be the people who're actually gonna go there when they die?"
Toby didn't answer. She figured it was because he knew she had a good point. They sat in silence for a long while, minutes ticking away without so much as a flicker of movement from Carla's house. Faith tried not to think about Carla – about how she'd lost both her daughter and her mother in the same month, and the extremes to which that might push a woman – be her witch or otherwise.
She wanted to ask Toby what they were going to do – who the villain was, and who the right party to save was – but she knew he didn't have any more answers than she did. It was easy to want to believe he knew everything – her own personal Mr. Miyagi – but the truth was that he was only a man. Just a person, a hunter like her, doing his best with the cards he'd been dealt.
He might have been at a skill level high above her own, but she was catching up to him at a breathtaking rate, climbing the rungs of the ladder like it were her only mission in life. She supposed, in some ways, it was.
Whatever the solution was to the impossible problem set before them, they were going to have to find it together, as a team.
She hadn't realised she'd let her eyes slide shut until Toby thumped her lightly on the arm and she jolted awake, flinching upright and reaching automatically for her gun. "Shh," he hushed her, and she froze, fingers hovering over her pistol's grip.
Toby's gaze was focused on the house across the street, and Faith followed his line of sight. The sun was beginning to set, casting the world in the drab shadow of evening, the sky a dusty orange in colour, none of its light reaching the ground. Carla's house was still no more, and Faith and Toby watched as all nine witches – clad in what looked like black, hastily-constructed, homemade ceremonial robes and witches hats – walked out onto the street in single-file.
Faith wasn't sure where she was expecting them to go. Maybe just start walking – head for the busy streets of town dressed as they were – or maybe even whip out broomsticks and just shoot off into the night sky like something out of Harry Potter.
Neither happened. Instead, they all pulled out keys and unlocked various cars, sliding into Fords and Toyotas and Hondas – unexceptional cars when set against the striking, somewhat ridiculous clothes. Faith and Toby slid down in their seats until they were all but huddled out of sight, waiting for the last of the witches to drive away.
When the last one left the street, Faith and Toby gingerly retook their seats and scanned the street for any lingering foes. The street was empty, the last of the witches – a blue Honda Accord – turning the corner in the direction of the centre of the city.
Toby started the car without a word, following the witches as inconspicuously as he could manage in a town this size. Faith grabbed her gun properly, the familiar shape of the grip in her palm a comforting feeling. She checked the clip automatically, keeping one eye on the host of cars they were following.
"Where do you think they're going?" Faith wondered the closer they got to the town centre. "Surely they can't be heading to the centre of town."
"Maybe they want an audience," suggested Toby.
"Why would they want an audience?" she asked.
Toby shook his head and didn't answer.
Faith was right – they were heading into the very centre of town. The centre of Blackhawk was a large square of grass, with a statue of some kind, commemorating a man who must have lived sometime during the founding of the town. The square was lined by shops and the odd food truck, and across the grass was a tasteful fountain and a large gazebo where families could take shelter from the hot summer sun.
The sun continued to set, and the dusty orange had changed to a disconcerting red, the sky nearly crimson in colour, like the heavens themselves were bathing in blood in preparation of the moonless night.
The witches didn't care about parking laws – they parked haphazardly around the square, drawing attention from the people still lingering around the square, doing some last-minute shopping or grabbing a bite to eat at one of the food carts. People began to whisper and shuffle uneasily when the witches stepped from their cars dressed in ceremonial garb and pointed witches hats that should have been tacky but instead just left Faith's blood feeling a few degrees too cold.
They moved serenely, like nobody openly gaped at them, as they floated towards the gazebo, their arms laden with supplies. The strange appearance was drawing a crowd, unsuspecting townsfolk drawing closer. Some looked confused, others entertained. Some looked scared, and some – too many for comfort – looked downright furious.
By that point, Faith and Toby had hurtled from their car, weapons hidden from sight but never far from reach. Luckily, the crowd was thick enough that none of the witches noticed them, and at that stage they were all too busy setting and lighting candles and painting ancient symbols onto the floor of the gazebo in what looked like blood.
"You're not welcome here!" shouted one of the townsfolk, which instantly sparked a tsunami of support from his neighbours. Jeers and sneers poured over the witches, but they seemed for all the world deaf to the crowd's hatred, going about setting up their ritual as if they had all the time – and space – in the world.
"Get out of our town!" screeched one woman, holding tight to a young boy whose eyes were bright with tears of fear.
"Go back to Hell!" shrieked another.
The jeers were awful, and maybe Faith would have thought them unfounded, had she not known exactly what these witches were gearing up to do.
"What do we do?" she asked Toby helplessly. If they were quick enough, they could probably shoot the witches right there and then – the townsfolk would be grateful, if anything – but down to her marrow, Faith knew that wasn't the right thing to do.
Before Toby could answer her, sirens cut through the night air – the sun having finally dropped below the distant mountains, the sky turned dark and moonless. The police pushed their way through the still jeering crowd, but instead of trying to put an end to the mob's violent snarls, they made a beeline for the witches.
Faith stepped forwards – honestly having no idea who she was planning to help – but in the end, her assistance was proved unnecessary.
The one called May stepped forwards, a handful of tiny white bones clutched in her hand, eyes nearly glowing red as she began to chant, along with two of her coven. The uniformed deputies collapsed to the ground with soundless screams, twitching like they were being electrocuted.
Faith reacted on instinct – maybe the witches weren't entirely without cause, but tonight, they'd been the first to strike, and that was enough. Faith lifted her gun, aimed, and fired. Her bullet hit May in the shoulder and a spray of blood shot across her sister's face. May collapsed backwards with a cry of surprise. The chanting came to a stop as they turned to stare at Faith in shock.
For a moment the crowd was stunned into silence by the echoing ring of the gunshot, but then their shouts were back in full force. They surged like people at a concert, pressing up against the barrier around the gazebo, but going no further. Faith thought it wasn't magic, though, that kept them at bay. Rather, it was fear.
Carla turned from where she had been painting symbols in the blood of the innocent. Her eyes caught Faith's, and Faith saw true disappointment there. "We told you to leave town," she said with a tut. "Now your fate is sealed."
"Please don't do this, Carla!" Faith begged her. "Just leave town. I'll hold them off. Just grab your coven and leave!"
Carla's lip curled back in a feral snarl. "I won't run."
Faith was horrified to find her eyes growing wet. "Then you're a fool."
It seemed, for a moment, that it was only the two of them in that gazebo, their gazes and hearts locked in a fierce battle of wills. Then Carla dropped her eyes with a sigh and went back to her task. "Maybe so," she murmured, a woman set on her fate, even knowing that fate was obliteration.
Toby fired; he took down two of the witches before Faith could react, and by the time she did, he was down, writhing on the ground along with the deputies, a soundless scream tearing from his throat.
Faith forgot about the witches' banishment spell and fell to her knees beside Toby. She pressed a hand to his chest, shouting his name, but he was lost in a sea of pain. Panic bubbling on her tongue, she turned to the witches, only to find them staring at her, eyes narrowed.
"What are you?" snarled one whose name she didn't know.
"Let him go," Faith snapped, swiping her gun and aiming the barrel between the closest witch's eyes. "Release Toby or I shoot."
The witch didn't so much as blink, and the one to the left of her began to chant even louder, dipping her hand in a bowl of blood and flicking the cooled liquid onto Faith, who recoiled with a gag. But whatever they were trying to do to her – it wasn't working.
"Why won't it work?!" screamed the young one with the bloody hands. "What are you?!"
"Let Toby go," said Faith again, each word a threat. "Or I will kill you."
"No, you won't," said the witch with the gun aimed between her eyes. She looked awfully confident for someone on death row. "If this magic doesn't work on you, then that means you're magic-touched. And that means you're one of us." She lifted her chin. "You won't hurt us."
Faith set her jaw and listened to the calm thump of her own pulse. "Let. Toby. Go."
"Will you leave town?"
"No."
"Then no."
Faith didn't stop to wonder if it was a good or bad idea, didn't stop to give the angel and devil on her each shoulder time to weigh in their two cents. She just squeezed the trigger. The life went out of the witch's eyes like a switch, blood and brains spraying the younger one behind her, but the other witches never ceased their chanting.
Faith realised then and there that they didn't care if they died in the name of their cause. She wondered if she'd ever cared that much about anything before – cared so much about something that she'd die in its name. Wondered if she ever would.
"I don't want to kill any more of you," Faith begged Carla over the screams of the townsfolk. "Please don't make me."
They were a full-fledged mob by now, pushing and shoving against some unseen barrier, all snarls and roars, the deaths they'd witnessed only adding to their terrible fury. Faith thought of the children in that crowd and her heart broke just a little, but there was nothing she could do about that now.
"Please, Carla," she pleaded again.
Carla looked up from her work, hands caked with blood, eyes haunted by grief. "You want this to end, hunter?" she asked, voice ringing over the roar of the mob. "You're going to have to kill me."
Toby continued to writhe on the floor of the gazebo, tendons standing out all over his body, skin red with strain. Faith bit her tongue until she tasted blood and looked desperately at Carla. "Do you want to die?" she asked desperately. "Is that what this is? Suicide?!"
Carla barely blinked. "It's us, or it's them!" she cried, pointing a red stained hand at the hungry mob. "Your choice, Child of War."
Faith's palms turned sweaty, and her knees felt full of water. She tried again. "Let Toby go!"
Carla began to chant, and as one all the surviving witches joined her, even May, who was splayed on the ground and bleeding heavily from the bullet wound in her shoulder. They turned their faces up to the heavens and let words in a language Faith didn't understand pour from their mouths. The blood symbols on the ground began to glow as if white-hot, and the air hummed as if it were filling with charge.
Whatever they were planning, this was it, it was happening now.
Faith looked down at Toby, but he was unconscious, the whites of his eyes flickering. She was left to make this awful decision alone. There was only her and a sea of guilt. She was doing the wrong thing no matter what she chose – which seemed to be a recurring theme in her life as of late.
"Stop!" she begged Carla, desperate to just make her listen. "Please! I'll do anything! Just stop this!"
But the witches didn't stop. They were set in their decision, and the air was building in strength, like a weapon gathering up all the world's power, preparing to catapult a whole town of people into another realm altogether. Something in Faith broke in two, but she knew what she had to do.
"I'm sorry," she said, little more than a whisper. Nobody heard her; she barely heard herself. But it had been said, and all that was left was to pull the trigger.
The charge gathering in the air made everything strangely soundless. Faith barely heard the bang of her gun, let alone the thud as the first witch hit the floor. Then the second, then the third and fourth and so on. Then May, already helpless on the ground.
It all happened so quickly. Quickly enough that none of them knew it was coming – except for Carla, who was last. Her eyes met Faith's, and in the instant before her finger tensed on the trigger, Faith could swear it was relief she saw reflected in Carla's eyes. Then she was on the ground, her a few feet away, and Faith was the only person left standing in the whole gazebo.
She expected the crowd to calm once all the witches were dead. Like maybe the witches had placed a spell on them, and with their death it would be broken, and the people of Blackhawk would turn good once more. But they continued to shout and jeer and cheer, whipped into a frenzy over the witches' deaths. She'd never seen a crowd so happy to witness a massacre. Bile climbed her throat.
Her eyes caught on a child, hunched over on the ground, little hands held over little ears, tears streaming down his face, and Faith in that moment hated herself – and this town – more than she'd ever thought possible to hate a thing before.
Ambulance sirens broke through the din, and then paramedics were hefting the deputies onto gurneys. Faith crouched down beside Toby and slapped him once across the face. He jolted awake, blinking up at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes.
He coughed twice. "What happened?"
She steeled herself. "They're dead."
She helped him sit up, and Toby assessed the carnage around them with a blank expression, giving her no clue as to what was going on behind his unfathomable eyes. Some people had finally regained enough sense to slip free of the overexcited crowd and begin corralling them into calm in the place of the unconscious deputies.
Faith slowly brought a woozy Toby to his feet, and they both declined help from a paramedic when offered it.
A man in an expensive-looking suit broke free from the crowd, two men behind him in slightly less impressive suits, both looking like they hadn't skipped arm day in a decade. Faith had never seen him before, but she knew who he was all the same, watching as he made a beeline for her and Toby, a smile on his face like there wasn't the gory mess of a slaughter at his feet.
"From what I've heard, you must be Faith," said the mayor, forcefully shaking her hand. She ripped it from his grip and wiped it on her jeans, but he didn't seem perturbed. "And her brother, Toby, correct?"
Toby didn't answer him, but again, the mayor just smiled happily.
"I'm Mayor Lamb," he said brightly. Faith wanted to hit him; her dominant hand curled into an aching fist with the desperate need to slug him straight in his stupid, hooked nose. "I've got to tell you, you've done our town a great service today."
Faith tasted bile on the back of her tongue. "And what is it exactly that we've done for you, Mayor?"
"Why, you've rid us of a very dangerous group of extremists," he said proudly, and loudly, for everyone nearby to hear. Faith thought he spoke like someone from a sitcom in the 1950s. And that for that reason alone, she didn't trust him one inch.
"I murdered nine people in your town centre," Faith said point-blank. Toby flinched beside her, and it made her want to curl up and die.
The mayor's smile went from mega-watt to ice-fuelled in an instant. "Nine terrorists, my dear," he said, still cheerful to the letter. Faith knew this man had been born to be a politician. "At least, that's what the reports will say, don't you think? You, little miss, are a hero."
Faith's breath caught in her throat, and panic began to itch in her veins. She didn't know what to do. She, unlike him, wasn't a politician. She was built for battle and death. She was built for the ugly things in life, not the delicate, unspoken things. She'd never been good at saying one thing and meaning another, and she'd never been any good at playing games.
Then, to her surprise, Toby shifted just slightly in front of her, placing himself between her and the mayor. It was a subtle move, but real all the same, and some tight muscle in her heart uncoiled.
"I think you have the situation mistaken, Mayor Lamb," said Toby, adopting that American accent that was unfamiliar but necessary.
"Is that so?" the mayor hummed quietly, interestedly. His eyes were pale, and they reminded Faith of the way a fox watched a hen; hungry and intelligent and utterly confident in its ability to catch its coming meal.
"I think you'll find your deputies are the ones who dispatched of your town's dangerous terrorist organisation," Toby said with a half-hearted shrug, as if lazily correcting an error he'd spotted.
"Really?"
"Oh yes," he nodded, "and when ballistics comes back on the bullets that killed your terrorists, it will be impossible to prove otherwise, as all the bullets were fired from guns carried by your sheriff's deputies."
The mayor looked faintly amused now. "Is that so?" he asked again.
"Quite," Toby said again.
The mayor cocked his head, every bit a predator. Some part of Faith wanted to step out from behind the safety of Toby, hold her head up high and dare this foe to come closer, because she'd just killed nine, and she could kill him too, if need be. But she was so small, and tired, and sad. Killing took so much more out of a person than she'd have thought it would. This wasn't like a spirit or a demon. What were witches, after all, but a human with a bad hobby?
A human.
"Why might this be the case?" the mayor asked after a long minute of silence that was filled with chaos around them.
Toby reached into his pocket, pulled free his FBI badge, then flashed it at the mayor with a cheerful smile.
"Because we know what happened to Juniper Hopkins," said Toby calmly. The mayor began to turn pale, and Toby seemed to grow taller. "That's why we're in town, actually. You know how it is – building a case – we have all kinds of eye-witness accounts, even some threatening letters, along with DNA, that we were planning to use…" Toby tutted quietly, shaking his head. "But, this has proved to be more of a mess than we intended. I'd say my partner and I'd be happy to call it even, just this once. Let bygones be bygones, as it were."
The mayor's carefully controlled calm was beginning to slip away. "Why should I believe you?"
Toby shrugged, slipping his badge back into his pocket. "Well," he said with a sniff, "it's really your only option now, isn't it, Mayor Lamb? Look at it this way: we're trusting you, you're trusting us. We'll be on even footing."
"The FBI doesn't just let things go," hissed the mayor.
Toby's smile was so cold, it could have frozen lava. "And small town mayors don't murder their citizens for practising witchcraft," he said, clapping the mayor roughly on the shoulder. "Seems we're both acting out of character, aren't we, my friend?"
Toby might as well have socked him across the face for how stunned the Mayor looked.
"Now, my partner and I best be off," Toby continued with a lazy stretch, like they weren't standing in a field of bodies, like they had all the time in the world. "Lots of paperwork involved, to make all this disappear. I suspect you're going to be much the same." He shot the mayor a cheerful beam. "Best get to work, Mayor."
Then he grabbed Faith by the arm and dragged her away. They went directly to the car without stopping once. People stared as they passed, but nobody stopped them. They climbed into the car and Toby drove them to their motel.
They still had some food left in the mini-fridge, so Toby threw that in the microwave and sat Faith down to get the full story.
"Should we be leaving town?" she asked, foot tapping restlessly against the floor.
"I can't drive until I've had a meal and a shower, at the least," he said reproachfully. "And neither can you."
"But if they find us."
"We have time," he assured her. "From the beginning, Faith. Please."
She went through everything that happened, and the only time Toby interrupted was to go get their food, dishing it up into two bowls. She spoke around mouthfuls, eating despite the way it seared her tongue. Then, once she was done, she paused and looked up at him expectantly.
But Toby didn't say anything. He didn't tell her that she'd done the right thing. Didn't tell her she'd done the wrong thing. Didn't give her any words of wisdom at all. All he said was, "Go get in the shower. The quicker this town's in the rear-view, the better I'll feel."
In the shower, Faith scrubbed her skin until it was red and raw, then dressed in clean clothes and packed their things while Toby used the shower next. By the time he was dry and dressed, their things were gathered in bags at the door, and she was waiting restlessly at the end of her bed.
Toby didn't say a word as he led the way out into the parking lot. It was still night-time; the sky moonless and dark. Faith threw her bag into the backseat of Toby shitty car and slammed the door shut behind her. Toby didn't comment on her mood, which was probably for the best.
Faith shut her eyes as they drove out of Blackhawk. She didn't want to look at the town as they left it, didn't want to think about the townsfolk she'd saved – most of whom hadn't deserved it at all. They deserved to rot, and she knew it. Some part of her had wanted them to go to Purgatory – were such a place even real. She might not have been a witch, but she knew a thing or two about what it was like to be persecuted for what you couldn't help but be.
When she opened her eyes again over half an hour later, they were well and truly out of Blackhawk and Faith felt like she could finally breathe again.
"Wanna talk about it?" Toby offered a full hour into their drive, the soft strumming of a guitar drifting from his rusty old stereo.
"No," she said, and that was that.
Sometime later, long after Faith had put in her earbuds and Toby had started a new audiobook, Faith looked out the window and noticed a sign proclaiming they were entering Badlands National Park. She slipped a bud from her ear.
"I'm no geography professor," she said over Toby's audiobook narrator, "but isn't Sioux Falls in the other direction?"
"We're going to the Roadhouse, remember?"
It took Faith a moment to recall her conversation with Bobby the night before last, when he'd mentioned the Roadhouse – a place where he thought Faith could, quote, 'make some new friends'. A lot had happened between then and now; it felt like a whole lifetime ago she'd last spoken to Bobby.
"What's the Roadhouse?" she demanded, half suspicious that this was all some terrible ruse; though, to achieve what, she wasn't entirely certain.
Toby's side-glance told her he knew the direction her thoughts had taken. "It's the most well-known bar in the country – among the hunting community, at least," he told her in a voice soaked with patience. "They're good people. You'll like it."
No part of Faith wanted to go to a bar filled with people she didn't know. She was tired and sore and full of so much pain that she was sure at any moment it would overflow and pour from her like water escaping from a broken dam. Anything could set it off, she thought – a word, a look, even just a feeling. She really just needed to be alone.
She groaned. "Toby, I don't want to go to a bar and make small talk with day-drinkers. I just want to go back to Bobby's, hug Rumsfeld, and take a bath."
"Trust me, that's not what you need."
"A bit presumptuous."
His glance was flat. "I've been where you are, Faith."
"You've killed an entire coven of witches whose only true crime was getting retribution for their dead sisters?"
Toby sighed, and Faith knew she was being difficult. She couldn't help it; she was prickly at the best of times. And right now, locked in a car with Toby, she didn't want to be cajoled back into her usual self. She just wanted to grieve in her own way.
Alone.
"Look, this job is a lonely one," Toby began, and with a quiet sigh Faith sank down in the passenger seat, settling in for a lecture. "Hunters – we're not like civilians. We struggle to form connections with people who aren't part of the life. The only people we have – the only people, Faith – are other hunters. And I know it's tempting to want to go lock yourself in a room to brood and mope, but isolating yourself won't make you feel any better."
Teeth gritted; she looked over at him moodily. "I don't like talking to strangers."
"Faith," he sounded exasperated, "talking to strangers is 80% of your new career path."
She found she didn't have a good answer to that. Toby sighed again.
"Just come to the Roadhouse with me; have a beer, shoot some pool, talk to someone who isn't me or Bobby. I guarantee you'll feel better."
She still felt sour. "Yeah? You wanna bet?"
"No."
Scowling, Faith sank even deeper into her seat.
"If you're going to be like this after every hunt, then this isn't the job for you," he said frankly.
"Give me a break, Tobias," she replied. "I'm still acclimating."
He remained unimpressed. "Acclimate faster."
Faith's only response was to shove her earbud back into her ear and turn the volume up until it drowned out even the grumble of the car's engine.
Faith didn't mind the long journey; the rocking of the car around her was soothing, and the music in her ears kept her mind from the dark places it liked to go when she was usually alone with her thoughts. At some point, she slipped into sleep, the soothing strum of a guitar lulling her from the land of consciousness.
In her dream, Faith was stood in at a window. The view was familiar to her – a nondescript street lined with trees, a building across from her, made of dark red brick and mortar. It was as if she'd spent years peering out at this exact view. The shape of the half-dead tree in front of her reminded her of something, and the sheen of mist clung to the metal of the fire escape, condensation making it glitter and glow.
She could almost smell the air – all rain and freshly baked bread. It was a familiar smell, and something about it made her heart twist and ache for something she didn't know how to ask for.
Turn around, a voice seemed to whisper in her ear. It wasn't a human's voice, but rather something dark and husky and made up of multitudes, like dozens of voices were hissing it at once, creating an echo in the room and in her head.
But Faith didn't want to turn around. She wanted to stand at this window, breathe in this familiar, comforting scent, and just live in this one moment. Because if she kept staring out the window at this plain but wonderful view, then nothing would go wrong. She couldn't be hurt if she just didn't turn around.
Turn around, Cursed One, the multitude of voices hissed and sneered in her ear. She could feel them – those evil, bodiless things – slithering and crawling over the back of her neck. Faith breathed in that cool, comforting scent and tried to ignore the prickling at her back; tried to ignore the hands struggling to turn her to face the rest of the room.
Turn around now, they hissed again, and the crawling became itching. Faith stared hard out at the view before her – a calm street. There was no danger out there. None at all. It was normal and easy and safe. And there was a pane of glass separating her from it. Something in her chest told her it had always been there; that she'd been standing at this window for months now; years.
The itching feeling turned to scratching, and tears pricked at her eyes as razor-sharp talons sliced through her clothes to the delicate skin beneath.
Turn around and face it, they snarled, so many of them now. The scent of rain and bread was disappearing, swallowed up by something sharp and pungent, salt mixed with sulphur. Faith stopped breathing, but the scent was already stuck in her nose, forcing its way down her throat.
TURN AROUND!
With a helpless gasp, Faith spun away from the view of the safe, unblemished street outside the window to face what was inside the apartment.
Blood everywhere, smeared on every surface, a collage of large, bloodied handprints. The stink of salt and sulphur grew strong enough to choke her, and the world tilted as Faith collapsed to her knees. There was writing on the wall, smeared in the ruby blood of her boyfriend. She knew what it said without having to read it, but she read it anyway.
THE CURSE DIES WITH YOU.
The shadowy somethings in the room with her cackled and screeched, hissing the threatening words back at her, throwing them like daggers. She took each one with a flinch, her eyes never leaving those damning, bloody words.
Faith's eyes shot open, and she awoke with a gasp. She was in the car; the sun was shining in through the windshield and she could see they were parked outside of a shabby looking bar stood in the middle of nowhere. Faith looked over at Toby, whose hand was still braced on her shoulder, the kind of worried look to his baby blue eyes that made her want to hit something.
"You all right?" he asked carefully, still holding her shoulder.
She shrugged out of his hold and scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. "This it, then?" she asked flatly, ignoring his concern. She was wildly unimpressed.
The building in front of her looked a hundred years old, with all the wooden boards across its front bending at odd angles. It probably hadn't had a fresh coat of paint since it was first built, and the grass around it was tall, dead and unkept, probably reaching her chest if she were to be standing.
The only thing about the whole building that didn't make it look like an abandoned outhouse was the new-looking sign hung up the very top of the bar's facade, reading Harvelle's Roadhouse in bulbs that she had no doubt would shine like stars once the sun went down.
Faith turned her unimpressed stare onto Toby. "We drove five hours in the opposite direction for this?"
"Never judge a book by its cover, Faith," he replied, opening his door and stepping out into the July heat.
Faith sat in the car for an extra few moments, shutting her eyes and breathing in the stink of humid air and booze. Though perhaps not the most appealing of scents, it helped wash the memory of Nate's blood from her nose and throat, and the heat of the sun on her face reminded her that she was alive. She let the horror of that dream dissipate, focusing on what she could hear and smell and touch. On what was real.
Her moment of peace was broken by Toby slapping his hand against the top of his shitty car. "Are you coming or what?"
With a heaving sigh, Faith climbed out into the stifling heat, wishing she'd worn shorts rather than her sweltering jeans.
Toby locked his car then strode across the dirt towards the door. The sign in the window very clearly said closed, but it wasn't actually locked, so Toby didn't hesitate to push open the door and slip into the air-conditioned bar. Faith reluctantly followed in his wake.
The inside was a lot more appealing than the outside. It looked less like an abandoned shack and more like a genuine roadhouse. The bar was large, square and clean, a plethora of liquors lined up across the back wall, lit up from below. Small tables and chairs dotted the room. Faith spied a dart board on the far wall, and up a small flight of stairs stood a pool table. The inside smelt like alcohol and something herby, maybe sage, or lavender.
"We're closed," said a woman's voice, and Faith realised she'd been so focused on the room, she hadn't noticed the woman stood behind the bar, head buried in what looked like an old ledger. She didn't even look up to speak, like they weren't worth the effort.
"Even for us?" Toby asked smoothly. At the sound of his English accent, the woman glanced up. She was pretty; a couple of decades older than Faith with shoulder-length caramel hair and a mature, hardened face. Her eyes were severe, but Faith thought she could see kindness in them, especially when she spied Toby and her expression turned soft.
"Tobias," she said, abandoning her work and coming around the bar to draw Toby into a firm embrace. "I heard about Oliver," she continued in a deep Southern accent, holding him tight. Toby went tense but otherwise didn't react, hugging her back. "I've been so worried about you. Where in the hell have you been?"
"Community service," said Toby, pulling back from the woman's embrace to jerk his chin at Faith, who stood awkwardly, her hands tucked into her pockets. "Bobby called with a job; next thing I know, I've got myself a rookie."
The woman turned her eyes onto Faith, and Faith felt very much like she'd just been slid beneath a microscope. "Boy, she can't be any older than Jo, and you're taking her hunting?" the woman finally said, voice laced with disapproval.
"She's twenty-four, actually," Toby said calmly. "And she'd have gone off hunting either way. Just my job now to keep her alive long enough to get the hang of it."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "She a good shot, at least?"
"She is an exceptional shot," snapped Faith. "She also has ears. And a mouth. And a name."
The woman looked at her a moment, then slowly smiled. It wasn't an amused look, or even particularly warm, but it glowed with something that she thought might have come vaguely close to approval. The woman held out a hand. "Ellen."
Faith took the hand and shook it firmly. "Faith."
"Faith," Ellen mused, looking her up and down. Something flickered and disappeared in her eyes. "Sounds more like a stripper's name than a hunter's."
Faith snorted. "I'm not much for dancing. But I wouldn't say no to the tips."
Ellen's lips twitched, but it was her only reaction. She returned her attention to Toby. "What'll it be?"
"Thought you weren't open," he replied.
"For you, honey, I can make an exception."
Toby asked for a beer and took a seat at the bar. He looked so much like he belonged, so comfortable in this place. Faith, however, stood out like a sore thumb. Hands still tucked into her pockets, she rocked back and forth on her heels, trying to decide what to do.
"And you?" asked Ellen once she'd set Toby's beer in front of him.
"Nothing for me, thanks," Faith said. Toby was frowning down at his beer, and she could feel everything he wanted to say. She got the sense he maybe needed a moment alone with this Ellen woman. Clearly, they had a history, and they hadn't seen one another since Oliver died. The least Faith could do was give them some space. "I might just shoot some pool, if you don't mind."
Ellen waved a hand towards the pool table up the back. "Be my guest."
Faith began a game of pool while Ellen and Toby began to talk. They spoke in low tones she couldn't hear, but she didn't begrudge them their time alone. Faith wondered if maybe this trip to the Roadhouse hadn't entirely been for her benefit after all.
Her insides were a roiling storm of pain and confusion, but as she went through the motions of lining up shots and versing herself in a game of pool, slowly but surely some of the tension began to bleed out of her muscles. This was familiar – she couldn't even count how many nights she'd spent hunched over a pool table in her life. More often than not hustling herself some cash, sometimes waiting for her opponents to get drunk enough to make picking their pockets easier.
Those years hadn't been happy, exactly, but they'd been uncomplicated in a way her life wasn't anymore. And for that reason, they were years she'd treasure forever.
"Whoa," breathed someone just as Faith was bent over the pool table, trying to line up a trick shot. "Is it my birthday or what?"
She looked over her shoulder, finding a guy about her age, maybe a little older, wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of dirty cargo pants. He had sharp features and a truly horrendous mullet. Faith straightened from her position, and he managed to pull his eyes away from where her jeans had wrapped firmly around her ass.
"And who, milady, might you be?" the guy asked, sashaying towards her, eyes alight with interest.
"Out of your league," she replied instinctively, her go-to retort to keep handsy drunk men at bay. She didn't actually think it was true, but it usually threw men off their game just enough to make a quick escape.
But this one wasn't quite so easily put off. "Baby, I own the whole ballpark," he said smoothly. Despite herself, Faith laughed. The man with terrible taste in haircuts thrust out a hand. "Ash," he told her, and she guessed it was his name.
Reluctantly, she put her hand in his. "Faith," she said, then ripped her hand out of his when he tried to bring it to his lips. Ash smirked as Faith's nose crinkled in discontent.
"Whoa," he said again, staring at her now in an entirely different way to before. "Ooh, mama. Make that face again."
The look she shot him clearly spelled out how insane she thought he was. "I'm not feeding your creepy kink, asshole."
The guy – Ash, he'd called himself – took a step backwards and held up his hands as if in surrender. "What's with the bad vibes?" he asked, sounding just to the left of high as balls. "I was just gonna say you reminded me of someone."
Faith was suddenly aware of the pool cue in her hand and the weight of his eyes on her face. "I remind you of who?"
"Well, I didn't know her," he shrugged, "but Ellen's got pictures of her all over the place. Hey Ellen!"
Ellen was leant across the bar, holding Toby's hands in hers with a sympathetic look on her kind face. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the two of them were talking about. Ellen looked up, seeming annoyed at Ash for interrupting them.
"What's the name of that lady? Y'know, the one from the pictures? The PB to your J back in the day?"
Still annoyed, Ellen opened her mouth – probably to tell him off – but then her eyes flickered to Faith, and she went still. Feeling under the microscope for the second time in as many minutes, Faith stared right back at her, expectant.
Ellen's mouth popped open, and she seemed to forget all about Toby, leaning across the bar towards Faith. Heart hammering in her chest, Faith set the pool cue against the table and crossed the room to reach her.
"What'd you say your name was?" Ellen asked once she'd reached her. Faith knew she hadn't forgotten already, but sensed she needed to hear it once again.
Even so, it was hard to make her dry mouth cooperate long enough to say, "Faith."
"Faith what?"
Faith said, voice trembling just a little, "Bueller."
Ellen looked vaguely like she was going to pass out. She laid a hand to her forehead, taking a breath, then walked around the length of the square bar. For a moment Faith thought she was going to escape out the back door and just leave, but then she turned back towards them. Once she'd reached Faith, Ellen extended her hand as if to take Faith's face in her grasp. But she froze, hand held awkwardly out between them, a look of wonderment on her face.
"You're her," she finally said.
The last two days, her time in Blackhawk and the horror of the night before – it all felt small now, pale in comparison to the piece of the puzzle to her life that lay before her. She could deal with her own guilt later; right now, there were answers for the taking, and Faith wasn't going to let anything stand in her way.
"You knew her, didn't you?" Faith said, breath catching with anticipation. "Emily Jett?"
There was a glassy sheen to Ellen's eyes, but she was far from crying. "You look like her," she said, voice thick with emotion. "I didn't notice it before, but now…"
"Ellen, you knew Faith's mother?" Toby interjected, but Ellen still couldn't tear her eyes away from Faith. "Ellen?"
Ellen's only answer was to gather Faith into an unexpected embrace. "I'm so sorry," she breathed into Faith's shoulder. Unsure what to do, Faith could only hold Ellen in return, waiting for her to gather the pieces of herself together. "Look at you," Ellen laughed wetly, pulling back and finally taking Faith's face in her hands, getting a good look at her.
Faith still wasn't sure what to say, so she didn't say anything. Ellen seemed to get a hold of herself, laughing again, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing, then gestured for them to take a seat as she dabbed gently at the corners of her eyes.
"I'd offer to make your favourite, but last time I saw you, you were still on formula," Ellen chuckled. Slowly, Faith lowered herself onto one of the barstools. Toby sat to her right and Ash took a seat at the other end of the bar, producing a thick laptop from seemingly nowhere and beginning to tap away at it like it was an Olympic sport.
"How did you know her?" Faith wondered, because it was the only place she could possibly think to start.
Ellen's eyes had a shine to them again, pretty hazel lined by silver. "She was my best friend," she told Faith proudly. "Best hunter – hell, best person – I knew."
"You spent a lot of time with her?"
"She stopped by here between hunts – especially while she was pregnant with you. Knew I'd rip her a new one if she didn't stop to rest, have a proper meal and a lie down."
That was news to Faith. "She hunted while she was pregnant with me?"
Ellen chuckled and began mixing up some kind of complicated drink from the dozens of liquor bottles lined up on the shelf behind her. "As if she was going to let pregnancy stop her," she scoffed. "That woman had more stubbornness in one finger than most people have in their entire bodies. You shoulda' seen her as a kid; she got us into so much trouble…"
Faith's heart felt like it had swollen up into her windpipe, making it difficult to breathe, let alone talk. "You knew her as a kid?"
"We both came from hunting families," Ellen told her quietly, shaking her concoction in a tumbler. "It's a tight-knit community; was even more so back then. We got schooled together 'cause we were the same age. That was the way, back then. School wasn't such a big deal, not like it is now. Our education was more focused on the occult than it was on any numbers or science."
"Emily's parents were hunters?" Faith wondered.
Ellen nodded. "And their parents before them. It's in your blood, girl. Though I can't say I'm thrilled to see you found your way back to it."
Faith frowned. "You knew I wasn't hunting?" she asked, but at the same time, a thousand more questions swept over her. Faith wasn't sure where to begin, but they came spilling out of her all the same, impossible to staunch. "Did you know where I was? Who I was with? Why didn't you ever come to find me – or, or to let me know…something…anything…"
Ellen reached out to grip her hands and Faith's rambles trailed off into sad nothing.
"Back then, computers weren't so easily accessed," she told Faith gently. "I didn't have Ash around to look you up. After…after your mama died, I looked for you in all the ways I could, but whatever happened, she'd sent you deep underground. By the time I'd met Ash, you were already grown. I figured you had a life of your own. One that didn't involve hunting. I wasn't about to ruin that for you."
"I wish you had," Faith blurted. "You have no idea what it was like… I was, I was nothing. I had nothing. But if I'd known you, if I'd known anyone who actually cared…"
The sheen to Ellen's eyes finally spilt over. But Faith didn't know what to feel. She just stared at Ellen, struggling to figure out what the mess of emotion in her gut meant. Struggling to figure out what to do with all the feeling there, bubbling and roiling, as if it wanted to escape as much as she wanted it gone.
The longer Faith was quiet, grinding her teeth and glaring, the more upset Ellen looked. Faith didn't want to cause her distress. It was just a lot to take on board – particularly after the week she'd just had. Faith searched desperately for something to say to break the tense silence she'd unintentionally created.
"I don't mean to…" she struggled for words, and eventually just sighed. "It's a lot to take in."
"Of course it is," said Ellen quietly, eyes lined with silver. Faith got the impression that Ellen wasn't the type who cried easily and wasn't sure how to react to her tears now. "Here," she said, reaching for the drink she'd made that Faith had forgotten about.
It was a short glass, the liquid inside pink in colour with a thin layer of foam on the surface. A sprig of mint and a wedge of grapefruit garnished the top, and honestly, it looked delicious.
"I didn't think this was a cocktail sorta bar," Faith admitted.
"Not typically," Ellen said with a thin chuckle. "But I take a course, every year, to keep my skills sharp. Hunters tend to stick to beer and whiskey, but every now and then a tourist will stumble in and order an appletini. I like to be prepared."
Faith took a careful sip of the cocktail. It was sweet on her tongue with a sharp aftertaste, and it warmed her from the inside out. "It's delicious," Faith told her honestly.
Ellen looked pleased. "I thought you'd like it."
They were silent for a few moments, the only sound the loud clacking of Ash's fingers on his laptop keyboard.
"So, what've you been doing with yourself?" Ellen asked. She still looked a little raw; maybe even nervous. Faith had no idea what she had to be nervous about. Wasn't Faith the one with something to lose, here? Not the other way round?
But Faith didn't want to talk about herself – she was sitting across from someone who'd been best friends with her mother. How could she waste this opportunity blathering on about herself when she could be getting answers to questions she'd spent her whole life wondering?
"What was she like?" Faith asked hoarsely.
Toby looked at her in concern, but Ellen's eyes held understanding in them. She pursed her lips, took a moment to think, then said, "You really wanna know?"
Faith nodded. This time she was sure. "I really do."
Ellen grabbed a beer from below the counter, opening it on the edge of the bar with barely a flick of her wrist, then throwing back a mouthful. Faith watched her move and couldn't help but wonder if her mom would have moved the same way; if who she was looking at was just an echo of the woman her mother might have turned out to be.
"She was tough as nails," Ellen began in the same way most storytellers did; that gentle, sweeping tone that drew a person into a story and made them want to know more. "When her mama died, she was only ten, and her daddy, he made her step up in a big way. Made her cook and clean. Be the woman of the house far before she should've had to be. She grew up quick and took to hunting like a duck takes to water."
"What happened to him?" Faith asked breathlessly. "Her father?"
The thought that maybe she still had a grandfather somewhere out there … it was almost too much for her to know. The idea tangled and caught like lace in a rosebush, a pretty thing catching on something made to hurt.
Ellen's face creased with sympathy. "He met his end on a hunt, as most of us do," she said gently. "It was a couple years before your mama fell pregnant, so he never knew…"
"He never knew I existed," she finished, the words ringing with finality. It didn't bother her. Faith hadn't been one of those orphans who'd pictured herself with a family out there who had missed her and loved her and just wanted their darling baby girl to come home again.
She'd always known exactly what she was. Alone, and unloved.
It occurred to her suddenly that she could ask about her father. If Ellen was best friends with her mom, there was no way she didn't know, at the very least, the identity of Faith's dad. But Faith was only just now wrapping her head around the fact that there was now a person in her life who had known her mom as a person, not just a distant, hazy concept. Adding a father into the mix felt perilous, like Faith might get lost in the swamp of her own possibilities if she tried.
No, today wasn't the day to learn about her father. There would be plenty of time for that. First, she needed to wrap her mind around the fact that Emily had been real; that her mother had been a person with hopes, and dreams, and likes and dislikes, and friends.
"What was her go-to drink?" Faith asked Ellen abruptly.
Thankfully, Ellen wasn't thrown off by the question. "Whiskey sour."
For some reason, that made Faith chuckle. "Really?"
"Yeah," Ellen was smiling too. "What's yours?"
Faith was almost embarrassed to say. "Beer," she shrugged.
"Oh, come on," Ellen sensed the lie.
Faith wrinkled her nose but relented. "…Chocolate Martini. That's my favourite."
Ellen's smile was the widest Faith had yet seen. "Interesting."
The front door opened with a bang, and Faith automatically reached for her gun as she turned towards the sound, but it was only a young woman, maybe a few years younger than Faith. She was walking backwards through the door, hauling what looked like a huge case of some kind of beer.
"Dammit Jo, what did I tell you about lifting those things on your own?" Ellen snapped immediately, rounding the bar to help the younger girl take the load.
"I can handle it," Jo snapped even as she let Ellen take half the weight. Together they set down the pack and Jo wiped some dust nonchalantly from her hands, only to quickly realise they weren't alone in the bar. "Toby?" she asked, seeming surprised to see him there.
"Hey Jo," Toby waved at her, but made no move for a hug.
Jo frowned at him, hesitating in the doorway. "I, uh, I heard about Ollie," she said quietly.
Toby cleared his throat and looked away.
"Sorry," Jo murmured, and that was that.
"Faith, this is my daughter Jo. Jo, this is Faith," said Ellen in a clear, stern voice, leaving no room for interpretation. This was the new direction of the conversation, and there would be no deviating from it. "Faith is Emily's little girl."
It was strange for Faith to hear herself being called somebody's 'little girl', especially considering that by now, all these years later, she was anything but. Though Faith hid her discomfort well, and Jo suddenly went from looking sad to intrigued in an instant. "Emily Jett?" she asked, intrigue lighting her pretty eyes. "No way."
Faith was charmed, and even Ellen smiled. "Way," she told her daughter warmly.
"Wow," Jo murmured, her face open and sweet, blonde hair a halo around it. "Mom talks about Emily so often, I feel like I know her even though she's been dead for decades…" she trailed off, realising how callous the words sounded when said to her orphaned daughter. Jo winced at herself again. "Sorry."
Faith was quick to smile. "It's okay," she promised. "You're not wrong. She has been dead for decades. You shouldn't have to apologise for telling the truth."
Jo's smile returned.
Faith turned to look at Toby, but he was hunched in on himself like he was expecting a blow, and she knew that Jo's callous mention of Oliver had hurt him. As awful as it was to say, she needed to get away from the gloom of him – because she herself was a storm cloud. She didn't want to join his and become a supercell. She wanted to find a patch of sunlight and fade into rain.
"Hey, d'you wanna shoot some pool?" Faith asked Jo.
"Uh, I've actually gotta shelve the new stock…" Jo began regretfully, only for Ellen to interrupt.
"I can do it, just this once," she said, somehow managing to sound both stern and warm in the same moment. "You go spend some time with Faith."
Jo looked like she'd be less surprised if Ellen offered to paint her nails and braid her hair. "Really?" she asked, eyes narrowed like she thought it might somehow be a trap.
Ellen smiled like she could read her daughter's mind. "In another life, the two of you woulda grown up sisters," she said simply. "I'm simply rightin' a wrong."
The words hit deeper than Faith expected them to, but instead of letting it show Faith simply picked up her cocktail and made her way back up the small flight of steps to the pool table, which was still in disarray from her miniature game back before she'd been interrupted by Ash.
Jo stopped by the bar to say a brisk but proper hello to Toby and fetch herself a cold beer, and while she did Faith set aside her own drink and reset the table. When Jo rejoined her, she stepped back to let the younger girl break.
"So, you in school?" Faith asked, admittedly impressed when Jo sunk two balls on the break. There couldn't have been more than three- or four-years difference between them, so it seemed the safest place to start a conversation.
"Dropped out last semester," Jo admitted freely, no note of shame in the words. Faith could definitely respect her for it. "Wasn't for me."
"Fair enough," Faith nodded, watching as Jo lined up another shot but didn't quite make it. "I never did the whole college thing, myself. Hell, I didn't even get my GED."
"You dropped out of high school to hunt?" Jo asked, watching with interest as Faith took her shot, sinking a striped ball with ease.
"Nah, I didn't know about the supernatural back then," Faith admitted. "I was kinda sheltered from the whole thing. In fact, I didn't know about any of this until a few months ago."
Jo pursed her lips, seeming to weigh her options, then she tentatively asked, "What happened a few months ago?"
It surprised Faith that there came no immediate stab of pain, no jab of agony at her sternum that usually accompanied this question. She wasn't 'over' what had happened, not by any means, but it had gone from a gaping, seeping wound to something bandaged and medicated, all her innards held inside once again.
It was just a fact of her past, and it had already hurt her as much as it could. Talking about it now, it couldn't do her any more harm. The only power it had over her was what she gave it. And she wouldn't give it more than it deserved.
"I had a boyfriend," she began quietly, picking up her drink and watching as Jo lined up another shot. "His name was Nate…"
She told her tale to the best of her ability, keeping things vague enough that the personal details were left out, but leaving in enough of the details that Jo got the full picture. That she understood everything that had led her to this moment. They finished one game of pool (Faith won) and started another and moved onto another round of drinks just as the bar opened for the evening and people slowly started to stream into the building.
When Faith faltered over their time in Blackhawk, Jo stopped just passively listening. "So, this was your first real hunt?"
"I guess it was, yeah," Faith nodded, throwing back a mouthful of beer.
"You should feel proud," said Jo.
Faith's laugh was bitter. "Nothing about me feels proud, Jo," she said sourly. "I feel like a murderer."
"But that's the gig," Jo said point-blank. Faith looked up from the cue she was rolling between her palms. "It's not pretty, and it's not nice, but that's the whole gig, Faith. They may not be human, but you're still killing things."
Faith threw back some more beer. "So then, why should I be proud?"
"Because we're doing what needs to be done. What nobody else has the balls to do. Because we're stepping up to the plate and putting ourselves on the line, we're saving lives. More than that, we're saving souls. And that's worth it."
Faith stared at Jo a long minute, taking stock of the younger woman in a way she hadn't before. "You're a hunter too, then?"
When Jo snorted, the sound echoed with bitterness. "Would be, if my mom would loosen the reins a little and let me live my own life."
"If it helps," Faith began tentatively, "any orphan would give anything to have a mom around to stop them from hunting."
Jo cocked her head. "Would you?"
Faith's smile was wry. "I'm a special case."
"How so?"
It took Faith a moment to piece together the words floating loose in her brain, gathering them like pieces to a puzzle. "Nate always said I lived life looking for a fight," she confessed, lowering her voice, the words a piece of herself she hadn't thought about in months. She looked down at her knuckles, seeing them for a moment broken and bloody. "Like I had battles in my bones, he used to say. He was kind of a poet in that way."
Jo's smile was wistful. "He sounds nice."
Faith's smile was wistful, too. "Yeah."
They played pool for a few minutes in companionable silence. "You know," Jo began after some time, their previous words settled around them like dust after a storm, "the people in that town you saved – I'd be willing to bet only a small fraction of them were the ones attacking the witches. The majority of them were probably innocents – women and children and the elderly."
Faith said nothing, and Jo nudged her gently with her hip.
"You saved more people than you killed, Faith," Jo said quietly. "That's the equation. That's always the equation when it comes to hunting. And that's why we keep on doing it. You've gotta be okay with it if you wanna hunt. Because this won't be the only hard call you gotta make. It's only going to be the first of endless many."
"Yeah," Faith sighed. "I think I knew that all along."
Jo smiled softly. "So maybe you didn't do the right thing," she said with a shrug. "But you did do the only thing; nobody can blame you for that."
Faith drained the last of her beer and set the empty bottle on a nearby table. Somebody had turned on the jukebox and Guns N' Roses' Sympathy for the Devil was playing throughout the bar. Faith couldn't help but let her hips sway to the beat.
"I can't regret it," she said, lining up to take a shot and missing the black ball by a few inches. "I saved Toby, in the end. I couldn't ever regret that."
Jo turned to look at Toby, who hadn't moved from his place at the bar in the whole hour she and Faith had been talking. He was still chatting with Ellen, who spoke to him in between serving customers and tending to the bar. He looked relaxed but tired, and Faith resolved not to drink any more so she could be the one to drive them back to Bobby's when they decided it was time to leave.
"I think you'll be good for him," Jo said, and Faith looked away from the bar.
"Hm?"
"Hunting with someone… It creates a bond I don't think's the same to any other job in the world," Jo continued softly. "He had that before, but now that Ollie's gone… Mom and I were really worried about him."
"He was…not in a good place, when we first met," Faith admitted. "And he gets this look in his eyes, sometimes. Like he's not really here. It…it worries me."
"As a hunter, what you need more than anything else is somebody to watch your back," Jo said. "Somebody to be there for you, no matter what. No matter if you're in a fight or if you're pissed off. If you're busy or distracted. You've just gotta show up. That's what matters. You do that, you're already winning."
When Faith smiled, it was a sad twist of her lips. "I don't think he's staying with me permanently. This is just a temporary thing; until he's sure I'm not gonna run off half-cocked and get myself eaten by a Rugaru or something."
Jo snorted at the picture Faith painted, shaking her head. "I don't think you give him enough credit," she said. At Faith's searching look, she added, "I've known him a long time now, and if there's one thing Tobias is, it's loyal. He's taken you under his wing, and he doesn't take that sort of thing lightly."
Jo had given Faith plenty to think about, and she could already feel the wounds of the last few days beginning to close over. They'd leave scars, of course – because how could they not? – but no longer were they gaping holes in her side. She felt healed, patched up in a way she hadn't before walking into the Roadhouse. She realised now that Toby had been right.
Even when she thought what she needed was to be alone, what she really needed was to spend time with others like her; friends who could help share the terrible burden that was their purpose in life. Faith had a feeling the Roadhouse and its inhabitants were going to become another eye in the storm for Faith, a safe place in this land where she could stop in between hunts to just breathe.
Jo sank the black ball and won the game.
"Best two out of three?" Faith suggested hopefully. Jo grinned wolfishly and suggested they put money on it.
Three hours later, the Roadhouse was packed full of locals, the music was turned up loud and the atmosphere was bright as the north star on a clear night. Faith almost didn't want to leave, but even she had to admit she was getting tired, and she and Toby both needed rest.
"You sure you don't wanna spend the night out back?" Ellen asked for at least the third time in as many minutes. "We've got cots out there for this very reason."
"Bobby's is only a couple hours out," Faith assured her, supporting the weight of Toby, who had indulged far more than she had in Ellen's generous hospitality. "I'd rather drive through and spend tomorrow resting."
"If you're sure," Ellen said, still looking reluctant.
Faith smiled. "I'm sure."
Ellen insisted on walking she and Toby out to their car, leaving Jo behind to man the bar. Faith parted with her after exchanging numbers and promising to keep in contact. It had been awhile since Faith had made a new friend, and even longer since she'd made one of her own age and gender. She thought Nate would be very proud, if he knew.
Ellen helped Faith manoeuvre a tired, sluggish Toby into the passenger seat of his car, then make sure all his limbs were inside the vehicle before they shut the door after him. He slumped against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, and the two huffed a quiet chuckle at his expense.
"It was really great to meet you, Ellen," Faith said politely. She might not have been raised under the best of circumstances, but she wasn't completely without manners.
Ellen's smile was unsteady. "I'm still in shock, honestly," she admitted. "Emily's daughter."
She shook her head as if to clear it, maybe of something unpleasant. Faith understood how she felt. It was no easy thing, meeting someone from your past so unexpectedly. Ellen had probably thought she'd never see Faith again, and Faith had never imagined she'd ever meet anyone like Ellen at all. It was a big deal no matter which direction they looked at it from; it was going to take some getting used to on both sides of the coin.
"Now," Ellen began importantly, bracing her hands on Faith's shoulders, "you ever need anything – anything at all – you call me. You hear me, Faith? I mean it."
"I know," Faith nodded. They'd exchanged numbers, too, but Faith honestly couldn't see herself reaching for Ellen's number before Jo's. Maybe because Ellen knew so much – too much – about her. Things she didn't even know about herself. It was intimidating, not that she'd ever admit it. "We'll come back, any time we pass through."
"You'd better," Ellen said sternly. "You said you're headed to Bobby Singer's?"
Faith nodded.
Ellen looked relieved. "Good. He'll take care of you."
Faith couldn't help but swell with indignation, standing taller than before. "I can take care of myself."
Ellen smiled peacefully and reached up to tuck a lock of Faith's wild chocolate hair behind her ear in a gesture of such maternal affection that everything soft in Faith turned to cement, muscles locking into place like somebody had sounded the alarm in her soul. Ellen didn't appear to notice.
"I dunno what kind of shit your mama had gotten herself into, those final days," Ellen began slowly, choosing her words with great care. "But I always had my suspicions that it was gonna try and dig its claws into you, hard as it could. And that was why she hid you from all this – hid you even from me, the one who shoulda rightfully taken you on."
Something about the words seemed more meaningful than simple sentiment, and that along with the heaviness in Ellen's eyes made a puzzle piece click into place. Her jaw loose, she stared at Ellen in the neon glow of the Roadhouse's front sign, trying to imagine this woman as something more than a familiar stranger.
"She made you my godmother, didn't she?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer. "Emily?"
Ellen's eyes looked wet in the purple-and-blue glow of the lights, but no tears spilled free. Faith got the sense that Ellen wasn't the type to cry easily, or even often at all. She was too strong for that. Too used to holding tight to the pain and letting it gather dust in a drawer inside her head marked Do Not Open.
Faith could relate.
"She was gone by the time I had Joanna Beth," Ellen said softly. "But growing up, we always knew that when we eventually had kids, they'd be each other's as much as our own."
The words made something in Faith's chest cleave in two. She'd never had anyone – not a single person – she could say that about. Nate, maybe, but a relationship wasn't the same thing as family, and she knew it.
"You two were really close, huh?"
Ellen's smile held decades of old pain as she gently brushed her hair back again. "The closest."
Faith didn't know what to say, so she just said, "I promise to call, if I need anything, or even just to talk. And any time Toby and I next come past on a hunt…"
Ellen's smile fell into a frown. "Honey, I can't stop you hunting," she began carefully, each word tentative, a soldier prodding at the earth with a stick, searching for landmines. "I may be your godmother in spirit, but that's about it. I have no real authority, and I can see you're all grown now, too. Your decisions are your own. But this life … it ain't an easy one."
"But it's the one I'm choosing," Faith said firmly, no give in her tone. She respected Ellen – as much as she could respect someone she'd met only half a day ago, and before which had never even heard about. "At least for now," she added, because even she knew that nothing in this world was permanent. Not even the good things. Not truly.
A long minute of silence, Ellen taking the measure of her in the bright glow of her bar's sign.
Finally, she nodded, accepting what she knew she couldn't change. She brought Faith in by the shoulders, pressing a gentle, loving kiss to the centre of her forehead. "You take care now, honey," she said quietly. "And don't be a stranger."
Faith smiled as she left Ellen's arms and rounded the car to the driver's side, keys in her hands rattling, a bone-deep calm settling like sediment in the bottom of her chest. "Wouldn't dream of it."
A/N: Hey guys, I really hope you enjoyed this one. In the next chapter, we finally check back in with Dean and Sam; as well as catch back up a little with canon – so you'll understand where we are in relation to the timeline :)
Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated!