A/Ns: Whoooooooheeeeeee did this one suck! This chapter was supposed to be up last weekend, but I had a horrendous time trying to edit it. I wasn't sure why until the experience repeated itself this weekend, and I finally remembered that I had a beast of a time writing it, too. Which made me remember… oh, yeah, I hate Battle Royale scenarios, they are not my jam and I do not enjoy them, doh! So apologies this is late. I might have the same problem with next chapter...
Chapter Warnings: We're getting into the thick of it. No direct warnings, but y'all are gonna start getting itchy trigger fingers with me. Try to hold tight!
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The Road So Far (This Time Around)
Season 2: Chapter 94
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Ava followed after Sam as he started to poke – very cautiously – around the first level of the house. Andy trailed along behind, glancing about the haunted space like an exit might just be waiting around the next corner. Ava didn't particularly like him. He was too blasé about all of this. But Andy wasn't her focus right now. Sam was.
"Sam, uh… about Br- um, how long I've been… missing."
The hunter, ducking his head into what was once a parlor room, given what was (barely) left of the furniture and décor, tensed before he could help it. But he pushed past it, giving the room a once over – Andy had wandered a dozen feet away to poke at a taxidermy bear's head, which hung crooked on the foyer wall – before turning back to her. She deserved to know the truth.
"Look, Ava… I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to tell you this."
Her expression was frozen, like she knew what he had to say, but wasn't ready to hear it yet. "Tell me what?"
Before Sam could form the words, the ceiling above them creaked in that very distinct way wood does when someone walks on it. All three froze, staring up at the very real possibility another person was in the house with them. Sam glanced back down to see the fear in Ava's eyes and unease in Andy's.
The hunter raised a finger to his lips, catching their attention with the movement. They both nodded, one shakily, the other determinedly. Sam moved towards the stairs cautiously, bending down along the way to pick up the broken remnants of what was probably once a chair. It would work as a rudimentary club, need be. Andy followed behind him, moving equally stealthy as they started slowly up the stairs.
As they neared the top, which reached a landing before immediately turning into the second story hallway, another creak sounded just on the other side of the wall. Sam gestured to Andy, pressing both of them against that wall. He Signed as much as he signaled to Sam – a mix of proper ASL hand signs and old military ones – that he would round the corner first.
When Andy nodded, Sam spun himself around the wall separating the stairwell from the hallway, bat raised. Unfortunately for him, the figure in the hallway had the same thought – the same militaristic training – and they swung their respective clubs right into each other. Sam's opponent had the better choice in weapons – something made out of metal. It tore through the hunter's wooden chair leg like it was butter, enough so that Sam's arm hurt just keeping hold of the broken half. His opponent was strong.
Sam stumbled back a step, brain rushing to figure out his next move – defense – when Andy suddenly launched himself between the two of them. He was waving his arms in a classic 'stop' motion, then held one arm out towards each man, keeping them from attacking each other. Their opponent backed off in surprise, taking a step back. Light from what was once a sunlight and was now just a hole in the roof, illuminated him enough to see basic details.
He was another kid, like them. Taller than Andy or Ava, probably six foot easy, Black, shaved head and army fatigues suggesting military. He lowered his weapon hesitantly as he blinked at them, realizing similar things about them.
"You're just-"
"Kids. Like you," Sam supplied, though he didn't really think of himself as a kid anymore. Not that it mattered – if he'd encountered a bunch of people in their early twenties, kidnapped by evil forces and forced to battle to the death, he would have called them kids too.
"Where…where are we?" the kid – Jake, Sam guessed warily, based on the description his brother had given him about his murderer – looked around the house, eyes wide and haunted. "Last night, when I went to sleep, I was in Afghanistan."
"Yeah," the hunter nodded, talking over Andy's head. The kid had dropped his arms around the same time Jake lowered his weapon, though he made no move to step out from between them. "Wisconsin."
Andy made a sign, and Sam nodded his way, translating for him: "South Dakota for him."
"You know Sign Language?" Jake Tulley asked, lowering his weapon further and shoulders relaxing a hair's width.
"Learned it along with him," was Sam's answer, once more gesturing to Andy with his head.
Jake glanced between them. "What, are you brothers or something?"
Andy positively beamed, raising a fist and knocking in time with the nodding of his head. Sam huffed a laugh.
"Something like that. Look, we need to figure out where we are." He turned as he said it, addressing Ava as she climbed up to the landing of the stairs, joining them hesitantly. Andy moved out of the way as Jake took the few steps forward needed to see the fourth kid trapped there with them. "Ava, this is Jake. Jake, Ava."
"Wait," Jake straightened, eyes snapping to Sam's. His body language screamed that he wanted to back away, but he kept himself still. "I never told you that. How do you know my name?"
Sam grimaced, the expression pulling into a self-deprecating smile. Andy was already Signing the same answer. "I'm psychic."
"Psychic," Jake repeated, skepticism clear in his voice.
"Yeah. We all have powers." Sam glanced at Ava, but he was really talking more to Jake. He knew Ava had powers; knew she'd fall in line with what was happening more readily. Perhaps not as prepared as someone with military training, but unlike Jake, it wasn't the crazy that was happening right now that would cause Ava to double take. "It started a little over a year ago, right? You found you could do things? Things you didn't think were possible?"
Jake's eyes were wide, but edged with something dangerous. He was more suspicious that Sam knew these things than the truth itself. If this was the kid destined to murder him, Sam was going to have to keep a careful eye on him. Maybe he could talk him out of anything rash, get him to see that they could all make it out alive if they worked together this time.
"I have visions. I see things before they happen," Sam continued, trying for some even ground.
"Yeah, me too," Ava added, offering a small, weak smile at their newcomer.
Andy started signing away, and Sam struggled to interpret before he figured out the direction his pseudo-brother was going.
"He can communicate telepathically," the Winchester offered. "Send images to people's minds. It doesn't work that well on us, though. Comes with a hell of a headache."
The kid offered an apologetic grimace and a shrug of his shoulders. Jake transferred his stare from Andy to Sam.
"What do you mean, us?"
Sam sighed just under his breath, really dreading this next part.
-o-o-o
They met on the Wisconsin border. Dean had already been headed south, for Sioux Falls, and Bobby reasoned him out of driving the rest of the way there. Especially with the Feds hanging around. They didn't have much to go on, but Ash's algorithm had landed them in Wisconsin in the first place. They might as well continue on that hunt like it might be fruitful.
It made Dean twitchy as hell, but they didn't have any better ideas.
"The kid'll get you a sign," Bobby said with more confidence than he felt, but doubled down, regardless. Andy would reach out to Dean the same way he had in Dean's timeline. They had to believe that. "Just give 'em time to figure out where they are."
'If they're alive,' Dean thought, mood dark, but he didn't voice it. It would be cruel. He glanced at Bobby, then looked away. Andy had become one of them. Family. He was terrified they would be too late to save him. To save them both.
"Where's the next town you and Sam were looking at?"
Dean shook himself from morbid thoughts that wouldn't find his brothers any faster. He pulled a map out of Baby's glovebox and spread it out on the hood. The corners flapped in the frigid breeze, and Dean hoped wherever Andy and Sam were, it was indoors.
"Saint Martins." Dean pointed to it on the map, circled in red. "South of Milwaukee."
"Alright, then we head there," Bobby decided firmly, carrying the decision for the both of them. He knew Dean was panicking and hiding it behind anger and pessimism. So he'd just have to be the pragmatic optimist for the both of them. "And we call everyone we know on the way. See if any of 'em have heard anything. We'll start with Ash."
Dean nodded, head hung low, but he folded up the map and rounded the Impala for the driver's side door. He paused with it open, one foot already in the car. "What about psychics?"
Bobby, who was heading for his truck parked behind the Impala, raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Psychics?"
"Yeah, Pamela and, and… Missouri. Could they help find 'em?"
"Pamela Barnes?" Bobby clarified, surprised Dean even knew the name. She hadn't come up in Dean's notes on the future, though the more they went through that supposed future, the more Bobby realized the boy's memory was spotty. Not that he could blame him. Ten years' worth of details – some that might not have seemed important at the time – was a lot to dredge up and recall with perfect reflection.
"Yeah, best psychic in the state, right?" Dean offered half a smile, more sad than anything else, and Bobby tried not to read into that.
"Yeah," Bobby confirmed warily as he regarded Dean, unsure what to make of his expression. "I'll give her a call. Don't know the other one – Missouri? You got her number?"
Dean shook his head. "Missouri Mosely. She's the psychic dad went to after…"
Bobby nodded, knowing exactly when John went to a psychic. He'd said as much, when he'd first come to Bobby to train up. He'd just never mentioned a name. "Alright, I'll see if someone out there does."
The Winchester boy nodded, trying not to look as hopeless as he felt, and climbed into the Impala. Bobby followed suit, getting into his truck. He glanced over at Sarge, who met his gaze with a small whine.
"Don't worry, boy," Bobby said, scratching behind the Shepherd's ears. "We'll find 'em. We'll bring 'em both home."
-o-o-o-
Jake and Ava were not taking the news particularly well. Not that Sam had expected them to. But for once he would love to skip the whole 'truth is out there' spiel, followed by the panic and denial of civilians wishing they could take back the last hour of their lives and go back to ignorant bliss.
"So, we're soldiers in a demon war to bring on the Apocalypse?"
Sam winced. "When you put it like that…"
They had relocated back downstairs, in what was probably once a respectable foyer in whatever house they'd found themselves in. Ava had already tried the front door, Andy lending a hand when it hadn't budged.
"And, we've been picked?" The skepticism in Jake's voice was again, warranted, but unhelpful in their current situation.
"Yes," Sam sighed, really wanting to end this conversation and start looking for clues as to where they were. The faster he could get Ava and Jake on board with the idea they weren't getting out of here without help, the sooner he and Andy could start finding that help.
"Why us?"
"I'm not sure, okay?" Sam lied through his teeth, trying for a smile but landing with a grimace. "But look, I just know-"
"Sam, I'm sorry," Ava interrupted as she came back to the group, abandoning the door. Andy trailed after her, and she crossed her arms over her chest, either in fear or self-consciousness. "Psychics and spoon-bending, that's one thing. But demons?"
"I know it sounds crazy," Sam tried again, Andy nodding along in support. "But-"
"It doesn't just sound it," Jake muttered, cutting Sam off. It was from his expression that Sam was losing him. Glancing at Ava made it clear he was losing them both.
"Look, I don't really care what you think, okay? I know what brought us here-"
"A yellow-eyed demon," Ava said hollowly, clearly not believing him. "You said you've seen him, but I haven't." She glanced at the other three psychic kids. "Have any of you?"
Jake shook his head, while Andy nodded emphatically, an expression on his face saying he wished he hadn't.
"He hasn't… been around lately," Sam finished lamely, realizing explaining Azazel's disappearance was only going to muddy things further, pushing them further away from acceptance. Sam considered giving up; let them believe what they wanted, while he and Andy found a way out of here. But he had to give it one more try. Their odds of escaping alive increased if they stuck together. If they didn't turn on each other out of fear and desperation to survive. Sam cleared his throat. "My brother and I exorcised him back to Hell. But his plan is still in motion. The fact that we're all here is proof that it's started."
"I thought you said he was your brother," Ava sniffed, gesturing to Andy with her head. Andy was already Signing a response.
"Oh, I was there," Andy confirmed, expression wide before crumpling, "Getting my ass handed to me."
When Sam didn't immediately translate, instead looking pained himself and lowering his gaze to the floor, Jake prodded. "What did he say?"
"He said he was there," Sam bit out, voice quiet and clipped. "I didn't catch the rest."
Andy sent him a knowing look, a little smile in the corner of his mouth regardless of their circumstances. "Liar."
"Look, it doesn't matter if you believe me or not," Sam insisted, trying to get them back on track and not think about his surrogate little brother bleeding out on the ground from a demon who had set this trap just as surely as the Rivergrove one. Trying not to think of Dean's notes, that only one of them would walk away from this, and it wasn't him or Andy.
He gestured with a sweeping arm towards the front door, still locked up tight. "We're not walking out of here. Wherever this is, it's on supernatural lockdown. So we have to find another way, and the best way to do that is together."
Ava tensed, but when Jake glanced her way she gave a one shouldered shrug. "I'm just a secretary from Peoria. This is so above my paygrade."
"Alright," Jake conceded, looking back at Sam and giving a tentative nod. "How do we get out of here, then?"
"We find weapons, if there are any," the younger Winchester breathed out, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt to have them on board. "Iron, silver, salt, if we can find it."
"Salt is a weapon?" Jake asked with raised eyebrows. He glanced at Andy for confirmation, the kid nodding. He mimed pouring salt in a circle around him.
Sam huffed. "Brave new world, right? We need to find out where we are, too. If we can find an address, or any sort of clue, Andy can send it to my brother."
"Dean?" Ava asked, voice tentative like she wasn't sure she had the right name. "The guy you tried to call in Lafayette?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded, smiling gently.
Ava shifted weight on her feet, looking both hopeful and terrified of that hope. "Where is he?"
"Hopefully close." Sam glanced at Andy as he said it, trying to convey the same confidence and strength he was hoping to instill in Ava. He turned back to the scared woman. "We were still looking for you, Ava. Some signs pointed to Wisconsin, so that's where we were. If we're lucky… Dean's not far from here."
If they were lucky. Which was a big if.
"Let's split up into groups of two. No one goes anywhere alone." Sam looked at each of the kids in turn, already feeling the weight of responsibility for them settle in his gut like lead. "Andy, go with Ava. Look for an address, anything that tells us where we are." Ava looked put out by that, but Sam ignored it, instead meeting Andy's gaze. "You find something, you send it to Dean. Right away."
Andy nodded, eyes filled with more determination than fear. That was his Jedi.
Sam turned to Jake. He didn't want Andy or Ava alone with him, not if it was the same man Dean had talked about. The one that stabbed Sam in the back, literally. Which left the younger Winchester as the one to be paired with the army man. He could hear his brother throwing a hissy fit already, but better him than the other two. At least Sam was prepared for what might happen.
"Jake, you and I will search for weapons." The army man nodded, and Sam tried to bolster his own confidence with a deep breath. It just came out as a dreadful sigh. "Let's get going. Stick together, and stay safe."
-o-o-o-
Persephone stared at the iron-wrought gates of a cemetery as they drove under the arched entryway. It was dark and quiet; the gravesite was an old one rarely visited by grieving families, let alone anyone so late at night. There was no electric lightsource to mark the dirt road they drove on, which was bumpy and ill maintained. As Tom put the car in park two-thirds of their way through the plots, Persephone turned her ward-blue eyes on the demon.
"This is not Appleton, Wisconsin."
"Aren't you the observant one," Tom answered without answering, smiling at her in the same way sharks would smile, if only they were able. "This is a pitstop."
With a flourish of his hand, that delicate gold chain formed between Persephone's neck and his hand once more. He went about tying the end of it to the steering wheel, whistling as he did so. When he pulled his hands away, the chain was fused to the leather ring with no start and no end. Persephone glared at it.
"Don't trust me, demon?" she asked with a mocking smile of her own.
"Why rely on trust when I can ensure you'll stay right here?" Tom opened the driver side door and climbed out of the car. He bent over, one arm on the top of the door, one arm on the roof, to give her another version of the same grin. "Sit tight, Princess, I'll be back in a jiffy."
Persephone stuck her tongue out at the demon as he closed the car and sauntered off into tombstones and darkness. Once he was out of sight, the woman grumpily pulled out Chuck's phone – which she had stolen on her way out of the house earlier that day – to learn what a 'pit stop' was.
-o-o-o-
Andy and Ava ended up on the second story after a search of the first floor, divided among Sam and Jake, didn't yield any sort of information on their whereabouts or the last owner of the house. The whole of the first floor had been picked pretty clean by scavengers, bored teenagers, and squatters over the years. So, they headed upstairs, hoping to find an office of sorts for whoever lived here last.
"So how'd you lose your voice?" Ava asked casually as they searched what was once a bedroom. She was pulling dresser drawers open, but there wasn't much left except moth-eaten clothing from what had to be the fifties or sixties. So exciting.
Andy signed something she couldn't read, turning from the bedside table he was searching through.
"Not sure why I asked," Ava muttered, turning away.
Andy just shrugged and went back to the top drawer of the side table. There was an empty bottle of horse tranquilizer and a couple of old needles. He closed the drawer, careful of the exposed tips. A junky had probably camped out in the place at some point over the years. He hoped whoever it was had lived through the experience. This place gave him the creeps like only a hunt ever did. Andy was under no illusion this place was haunted. Especially given the last location Azazel had tossed a bunch of psychic kids together.
But he wasn't thinking about that.
Working extra hard to not think about demon girls in forests or impromptu vocal cord amputations, Andy gestured to Ava that he was heading to the next room. She followed behind him.
The next room had more potential. There were tables up against the wall, an old desk, some filing cabinets and lockers that looked beat up but not particularly rifled through. There were taxidermy animals up on the walls, covered in cobwebs from years left hanging in this musty place. Every surface in the room was covered in a disarray of papers and notebooks, pamphlets and books, broken photo frames, and an array of bits and bobs. Andy supposed most people looking for an abandoned house weren't interested in paperwork. This place, wherever it was, was apparently no exception. It took some digging as he and Ava split up the room, but eventually Andy found what he was looking for.
He raised his arms in triumph, staring at a stack of unopened mail that had been a desk drawer. Andy hurried over to the window for what little light the moon outside offered and held up one of the envelopes.
It was addressed to a Freeman Daggett, 121 Summerland Road, Appleton, Wisconsin.
"What is it?" Ava asked, crossing the room towards him. Andy didn't answer, knowing she wouldn't be able to understand him anyway. He was too busy staring at that address, trying to place where he'd heard of it before.
When it came to him, Andy almost dropped the letter. The Morton House. Dean had mentioned that once, on a hunt. One of the most haunted houses in America. What had he called the ghost that terrorized anyone who dared to stay the night?
A pissed off, Silence of the Lambs inspired, psycho ghost.
Andy swallowed past the lump in his throat. It didn't matter. They could deal with Hannibal Lecter 2.0 after he got a message out to Dean.
"Andy?"
Ava was behind him now, but Andy didn't pay her any attention. He closed his eyes, holding the envelope with both hands, and concentrated. He'd never sent an image to a target so far away before, but he was confident he could do it. He just had to focus.
-o-o-o-
Ava stared resolutely at her companion's back. Andy, who didn't seem to pay much attention on a good day, was ignoring her now, focusing on whatever it was he'd found in the desk. Slowly, Ava pulled the knife from the inside of her jacket and she neared the other psychic kid standing by the window. Ava drew a steadying breath, reminding herself that this got easier with each kill, and she had quite a number of those under her belt now.
"Sorry about this," she whispered insincerely from right behind Andy. Ava pulled her arm back, prepared to bury the blade in his spine.
She thrust forward just as her head exploded in pain.
-o-o-o-
Dean climbed out of the Impala, rage-disguised-fear building with every stupid town he and Bobby went to that didn't have his brothers. Not that they'd made it far; this was only their second, but it didn't matter, because it wasn't the right location either. Hopelessness was building, and with it, fury.
Once they'd called her, Pamela Barnes had promised to get on a séance immediately. She'd called them back within the hour to confirm Wisconsin as their target location. Northeastern Wisconsin, to be more precise. Not that it had been. It narrowed their search radius to the same 100-mile one Dean and Sam had already been checking.
Bobby had cuffed him on the head for saying that aloud, and he'd had to grumble an apology to Pamela. It confirmed they were in the right area, which was more than they'd had before. Pamela took it like the champ she always was, shrugging off Dean's anger like it was water rolling off oil.
"This isn't working," the older Winchester griped as he and Bobby made it back to their vehicles. Sarge barked from the window, as if to agree with him.
"You got any better ideas, I'm all ears," Bobby sniped back, knowing Dean's frustration wasn't aimed at him but getting sick of it all the same. He was just as worried too, damnit, but you didn't see him whining and complaining about how unfair their shit lives were.
"Sorry, Bobby," Dean grumbled. "It's just-"
Whatever he was going to say was cut short as Bobby's cell started ringing. Dean looked towards him with a heart-breaking amount of hope and Bobby dug the phone out of his pocket. "Yeah?"
"We made it to your place," came Ellen's voice, and Bobby switched the cell to speakerphone. "Me, Ash, and Ronald."
Dean, who's hope had been dashed when he heard Ellen's voice, did raise his eyes at the inclusion of their Mandroid buddy.
"I'm getting the boys down in the panic room, then I'm headed your way." Ellen's voice booked no room for nonsense. She was in action mode now, and that did make Dean feel just a little bit better. "Soon as you tell me which way that is."
"Green Bay, Wisconsin," Bobby replied, tugging at his cap. "That's where we're headed, for now. We'll fill you in when we got something more specific."
Right in the middle of the conversation – which Dean might not have anything to add to but at least took some consolation being a part of (at this point, he'd take anything just to feel like they were doing something) – pain flashed through the time traveler's brain like a sledgehammer to his skull. Dean stumbled into the side of the Impala, clutching at his head.
"Dean?"
He gasped as another flash hit. Light blinded him from behind his eyelids, and he bent double against the front of the car as his legs threatened to give out. He couldn't focus on anything but the agony in his head, like a gripping vice trying to squeeze something in that didn't have room to fit.
"Dean!"
There was another flash, this time coalescing into a rectangular shape on the undersides of his eyelids. The edges were a deep blue, dim and hard to discern, like it was further away. The rectangle sharpened until it was less a blinding light and more a too-bright sheet of paper. No, not paper, an envelope. An envelope with an address. The squiggly lines shifted in and out of focus, but Dean tried to pour all his concentration onto those words.
Freeman Daggett
121 Summerland Road
Appleton, Wisconsin
"Dean!"
The younger hunter very nearly lost his footing, collapsing entirely onto the Impala's hood, with only Bobby's arms and his own holding him up.
"Holy shit," he mumbled once his vision cleared and he could properly feel the inside of his mouth again rather than just one big mass of cotton. And his legs, and his arms. Dean pushed off of Baby, only stumbling a little, as he got his body back under him and fully functional.
"Andy?" Bobby asked, voice so full of hope Dean almost couldn't look him in the eye. He nodded.
"Andy," he confirmed, licking his lips and closing his eyes for a second. He had to shake off the lingering spikes of pain across his eyes and temples. "I know where they are. Bobby, it's not good… but it's close."
The old hunter had his phone pressed back to his ear, ready to rattle off the destination for Ellen (who was hollering at being ignored). He thanked whatever cosmic power existed in the world that he and Dean were less than two hours away from the infamous Morton House.
-o-o-o-
Andy spun at the clatter of noise behind him, breaking his concentration. It was okay, though. He was pretty sure he'd gotten the message out.
Ava had collapsed to her knees, hands on the sides of her head. There was a wicked looking hunting knife on the ground in front of her – the clatter of which had startled Andy out of his concentration. He immediately crouched down, reaching out one hand for the woman's shoulder. She jolted at his touch, looking up at him in fear and then suspicion.
"Sorry," he signed, mouthing the word as well so she might better understand him. He picked up the knife from the ground, Ava watching closely as he did. He used the arm on her shoulder to guide her back to her feet. Then, with a smile, he handed her the knife, hilt first.
"That was… you?" she asked, eyeing the blade before taking it back, knuckles white around the hilt.
Andy nodded, making the same sign again to apologize. He didn't bother telling her he couldn't control it. That much had to be obvious, and it's not like she would understand him. He gestured for the door, mouthing, "We should go downstairs. Find Sam," and hoping she understood.
Whether she did or not, Ava followed after him as he left the room, massaging her temples like she had one hell of a headache. He only felt mildly guilty about that as he headed for the stairs.
-o-o-o-
Sam, alongside (and keeping a close eye on) Jake, had found scant little in terms of weapons so far. They had started on the first floor, taking the east side of the house while their other two companions took the west, before making their way to the basement. The kitchen had been picked clean – not surprising, given how long this house had been obviously abandoned – and the basement wasn't proving any more fruitful. There were army rations, so at least they wouldn't starve. Sam tucked one into the pocket of his jacket. It would probably be bland as hell, but he knew Andy was always hungry. He'd appreciate food in any form.
"There's not much down here," Jake said after they'd picked through the dark room using their single light source. Sam wished they had flashlights, having to instead make do with Jake's phone, which had no service, of course, but did have a working flashlight. The man turned that light on Sam now, making his way across the room to join the hunter over by the rations. "Who the hell lived here?"
"Someone paranoid," Sam answered satirically.
"Someone who thinks a bomb shelter's actually gonna save his ass," Jake muttered sarcastically as he turned the light in a slow circle, actually looking for a bunker. He didn't see anything obvious, but there was an old coal-burning furnace in the corner. He made his way over to it. It didn't have a door any longer, but it looked like it could be made of iron.
He grabbed the cone-shaped portion meant to hold the burning goal, and yanked. The whole thing gave easily, crumpling in his hands as he pulled it free from the vertical vent and three-foot base. Jake chucked it to the side, instead focusing on those three feet. He ripped one clean out of its bolted foundation. Glancing over his shoulder, he waved it at Sam, who had come closer once Jake started making a racket.
"Would this work?"
The hunter raised surprised eyebrows, glancing at the crumpled iron on the ground next to them. He huffed in disbelief at the mangled wreck created by very human hands. "Yeah. Yeah, that's great."
Jake handed the iron rod to Sam, then tried to prop his phone up on the ground so it lit the remaining two legs. Sam bent down, picked the phone up, and pointed it at the space Jake had been trying to light. It worked a lot better than the propped-up attempt.
"Thanks," Jake said as he ripped free another leg and handed it to Sam. The hunter couldn't help but stare at the end of it, where the metal was twisted and deformed: ripped from its anchoring in the floor.
"I'm not Superman or anything," Jake said, a little self-consciously. Sam looked back down at the man to find he was being watched. Jake shrugged, again looking self-conscious, and turned back to the last iron leg. "It's no big deal."
Sam offered something close to a smile. It was weird, being around this guy and knowing what he was- well, might be capable of. After everything Dean had told him – and yeah, it hadn't been particularly detailed – Sam had been expecting a monster. But the kid in front of him was… well, just that. A kid. One that was as freaked out as the rest of them, dealing with it the best he could.
"You were in Afghanistan when this started?" Sam asked conversationally, that little flame of hope once again flickering to life. If he could connect with Jake, convince him they were on the same team, maybe he could change what had happened in Dean's timeline.
"Yeah, I started getting headaches." Jake ripped free the last leg and stood. "Then there was the accident. This guy flipped his vehicle on a bad road. He got pinned underneath. I lifted it off him like it was nothing. Everybody said it was a fluke adrenaline thing."
Sam chuckled, having lived this tale in another form. "But then you did it again, right?"
"Bench-pressed eight hundred pounds, stone-cold calm." Jake held out the last of the iron rods for Sam to take. "I never told anybody of course, it was just too crazy."
"Yeah, well, crazy's relative. Keep it," Sam nodded at the furnace leg in Jake's hand, well aware this man could kill him with it with a single swing. Then again, he was pretty sure Jake didn't need a weapon to take out a human being. Not with that kind of strength. "It works against ghosts. Interrupts them. They kinda… flicker out and it takes a few minutes for them to reappear."
Jake lifted the bar, giving it a little toss to test the weight. He looked back at Sam. "And demons?"
The hunter gave a humorless smile. "I wish it were that easy. Exorcisms are the simplest way to get rid of one, but those take time."
"And a mastery of Latin," Jake replied, equally humorlessly. He shook his head, and it was obvious from his expression that he was rethinking that earlier line about crazy. Sam offered his phone back and Jake took it, but didn't move towards the basement stairs. "By the way, I appreciate what you're doing here."
Sam raised his eyebrows, lips quirked up in a sardonic smile. "What am I doing?"
"Keeping calm. Keeping them calm." The man nodded his head towards the ceiling, where their other two companions were exploring the rest of the house. "Especially considering how freaked to hell you really are. I know the look."
The smile dipped downward and Sam had to look away.
This man was supposedly going to kill him, if Dean and all his future knowledge was right. If Castiel was correct about time wishing to stay the same. This man was going to take him away from his family. But he was just a man. Hell, a kid. Nothing inherently evil. No devil incarnate.
In another timeline, he had killed this man who had apparently killed him first.
"You wanna know the truth?". Sam swallowed, the movement rough and raw in his throat as he forced the words out. "The size of this thing…. It's big. World-ending big. And I know how crazy that sounds. But I just keep thinking…"
"That we're not gonna make it out?"
Hazel-brown eyes flicked over to meet Jake's, and after a moment of analyzing the other man's gaze, Sam nodded. It felt like defeat, even just admitting it, but he couldn't deny it, either. Couldn't really keep it hidden.
"It doesn't matter if we believe it," Jake said, eyes still locked on Sam before drifting to the ceiling. "Only matters that they do."
"Yeah, I guess you're-"
Sam's words suddenly stuck in his throat like a big caught on flypaper as pain flared throughout his head. He and Jake both hit the ground, Jake grabbing at his head while Sam balanced on his knees and elbows, riding out the pain by clutching at his skull. An envelope with an address – an address all hunters knew, like their own version of a boogeyman – flashed across his brain like a red-hot brand. It receded just as quickly as it came, leaving both men panting on the ground.
"Shit," Jake swore, still massaging his temples with his hand. The phone had fallen from his grip during whatever that had been, and the flashlight was aimed uselessly at the ceiling from its place on the hard cement. "What was that?"
"Andy." Sam got his breathing to even out before pushing back onto his calves and straightening up in the darkness. "He found an address. Sent it to my brother."
"Not just your brother," Jake grumbled, stumbling to his feet and scooping up his phone on the way. He walked the couple feet over to the hunter and offered a hand. Sam eyed it for a moment's hesitation before he grabbed hold and Jake pulled him effortlessly to his feet.
"He never figured out how to target one individual," Sam explained, at least somewhat apologetically, still rubbing at his forehead and the phantom pain there.
"Well, that sucks. Guess I know why he uses ASL now."
Sam let out a laugh, but froze as the flashlight on Jake's phone flickered. He looked around immediately, instinctually tense, and his companion picked up on the change.
"What is it?" Jake raised his makeshift weapon, spinning in a slow circle, flashlight still on the fritz.
"Ghosts cause electrical interference. Could be nothing," Sam added hopefully, but his gut was anything but.
"Or, we could have incoming."
The two of them locked eyes, Sam raising his own iron rod as well. There was a short burst of static that came from Jake's phone. Just enough of a noise to cause both men's gaze to snap to the device, and then the light went out.
Both phone and iron clattered to the ground a second later, flashlight bursting back to life. Sam was alone in the basement, his own weapon still raised.
-o-o-o-
The dashboard clock indicated nine minutes passed before Tom emerged from the darkness of the cemetery with something in his hand he had not previously had. It was not until he neared the car, tucking the object into the waistline of his too-tight jeans, that Persephone recognized the shape.
A gun. An old one, unlike the ones all over television. This one looked more like the type used in cowboy movies. She'd seen one or two, usually while channel surfing in the motel room Azazel had kept her locked in.
Tom certainly didn't look like a cowboy, she thought idly, looking away as the demon opened the driver's door and climbed into the car. Azazel must have hidden it and left instructions for his spawn to find.
Persephone knew what that gun probably was from hours reading the Winchesters' story, both published and freshly printed. A weapon that could kill anything – more than likely, herself included – and it was less than a foot from where she sat.
She kept her gaze locked on the world outside. Tom put the car into gear and pulled away from the cemetery and, presumably, towards Appleton, Wisconsin.
-o-o-o-
Sam came racing up the stairs, yelling Jake's name. He had the three iron rods tucked into one arm and Jake's phone in the other, flashlight swinging around dizzyingly as he searched for the missing man. The noise alerted Ava and Andy, who came crashing down the stairs from the floor above.
"What's going on?" Ava asked, hitting the landing just behind Andy, who was already signing the same question.
"Jake – he just disappeared," Sam panted as he regrouped with them at the base of the stairs. "I think a ghost took him."
"We need to find him!" Andy signed immediately and the younger Winchester nodded.
"We need to get out of here," Ava breathed out in barely contained panic, unaware of the conversation happening between the two boys. She looked on the edge of an anxiety attack, holding her head like she was dizzy and in pain. Probably residual effects from Andy's message, Sam thought.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. He reached out to place a stabilizing hand on her elbow. Ava looked up at the contact, big doe eyes filled with unshed tears.
"No, I'm not alright! We're stuck in a- in a haunted house, and you're telling me one of us just went missing?" She was sliding right into that panic attack, breaths coming faster. "How is any of that alright?"
"It's going to be okay," Sam tried, cupping her elbow more firmly. He raised his other hand in a calming gesture of up-and-down motion and hoped she might subconsciously sync her breathing to it. "We'll get out, Ava. But we have to find Jake first."
Those hazel-green pools widened, filled first with surprise, quickly followed by stunned disbelief. "Find- Sam, he's gone. A ghost took him! We have to get out of here before we're next!"
"We don't know he's gone." Sam settled that second hand on her other arm, physically slowing her breathing down with slow, steady circles since that first attempt clearly hadn't worked. "We have to try to find him, Ava."
As she finally began to calm, expression still dazed, Sam gave her arms one more squeeze and let go. He turned towards Andy. "That address- did you find anything else to go with it? Anything on Freeman Daggett?"
Andy's expression gave away his confusion long before his hands made the sign for 'what?'
Sam pinched his eyes shut for a moment, running a hand through his hair in an effort to keep his own stress levels under control. "This house, it's the-"
Ava screamed. Both Sam and Andy spun to find a new man – loose suit, old-fashioned glasses, Dick-Tracy fedora – standing in the foyer not five feet away from them. He was rubbing at his chin, swaying side to side in a need for movement, clearly on edge.
"What the hell?" Sam muttered, pushing both Andy and Ava behind him warily.
"Look, buddy…. I'm sorry, that's it," the man announced out of nowhere, lowering his hand from his chin to gesture at whoever he was talking to. It wasn't the three kids; the guy wasn't quite facing them, looking off to their left. He raised his second hand, both arms out in a beseeching manner. "I'm telling you, that's all the money I got-"
Before he could finish, gunfire came out of nowhere. Literally. Sam stumbled a hasty step back, taking the others with him as the guy took three to the chest and fell back. His dying scream echoed, even after he had already disappeared.
"Oh my god," Ava breathed out, before letting out a blood-curdling scream.
Sam rounded on her, trying to interrupt the panic attack. Andy stared at the space the man had just been, signing a similar reaction to the empty room. He turned to the other two kids, stepping into Sam's field of vision even as the hunter kept working to calm Ava down.
"A death echo?" Andy signed, expression dumbfounded. "Someone got shot here?"
"No, not…" Sam shook his head, struggling to understand it himself. This was the Morton House; he'd researched it once, when he was still a wet-behind-the-ears kid who'd heard the name in passing. One of Dad's hunter friends (at least when it was convenient to John) had been talking game about it. Like an old fishing buddy with one of those 'the size of that fish, let me tell ya' stories he never stopped telling. It had piqued young Sam's curiosity just as much as it had left him rolling his eyes at certain embellishments.
Which meant adult Sam knew that no one had ever been shot in the Morton House. Not that he had ever found.
"I don't know," the younger Winchester continued, rubbing Ava's arms and telling her they were okay, they weren't in danger – to which he received one hell of a look. At least it confirmed the whip-smart girl was still with them. "This is the Morton House. The only death I know of before it became an infamous haunt was the last owner, Freeman Daggett. He had a heart attack in '64."
Andy frowned, pulling his head back in a motion so reminiscent of Dean, Sam momentarily forgot the predicament they were in. "That makes no sense. How is it here?"
"I don't know," Sam repeated, his own frustration – both at the situation and with himself – coming through clearly in both body language and tone. "None of this makes much sense."
Silence fell between the three of them. Ava was still working on her breathing, muttering that they had to get out of there, Sam rubbing her arms, muttering comforts, which left Andy frowning at the excessively haunted house around them. He raised his hands, cupping them in front of his chest and bringing them up with a huff of air that blew his hair off his forehead.
Sam frowned at the sign he didn't recognize. He pointed to Andy's hands and made the gesture for 'what?', brows pulled into a questioning frown of his own.
Andy's eyebrows went up in return and, despite the darkness and horrors around them, he was grinning as he fingerspelled the word. "B-A-L-L-S."
Sam choked on his own spit and it took him several seconds of coughing and recovery before he could say, "You've been spending too much time with Bobby."
The kid just grinned all over again, this time with a touch of pride.
"Um… excuse me, hello?" The two turned as one back to Ava, who Sam was still holding by the arms. Her eyes were huge, face disbelieving, eyebrows of her own up in disbelief and annoyance. "Stuck in a haunted house, remember? Want to go home? Curl up on the couch with my fiancé, have bad popcorn and watch an even worse movie! Can we maybe work on that!?"
She ended almost in a shriek and both boys winced. Sam went back to rubbing her arms, as much good as it was doing any of them.
"Dean knows where we are, Ava. He's coming," Sam promised, believing it with all his soul. He knew Andy had gotten that message out, which meant his brother was on his way. "He'll get us out, we just have to survive until then."
Ava stared at him like he was crazy.
"And we have to try and save Jake," Sam added, closing his eyes even as he said it. He knew what Ava was thinking. Jake was gone, they were next, they had to prioritize themselves. Get themselves out alive.
But there was Sam, risking his own life (and potentially theirs as well) to save a man that was supposed to kill him. Who knew the intelligence in that decision, but in the end, it didn't actually matter. Sam knew he couldn't abandon an innocent kid – just another victim of Azazel's machinations – without trying to save him. And no matter what Dean said about his future, or how Ava looked at him like he'd lost his mind, Sam believed in Jake's innocence.
At least until proven guilty.
"I have to try," he reiterated. "You and Andy stay here, okay? Take these-" he passed them two of the iron supports Jake had ripped free from the basement furnace- "they'll protect you from any more ghosts. I'll find Jake."
Andy was already shaking his head, but Sam didn't give him time to argue. "What room did you find that envelope in?"
"Upstairs, second door on the right," Andy signed immediately, but his expression and the words he was mouthing strongly protested Sam going off on his own. The younger Winchester squeezed his shoulder, offering as reassuring a smile as he could manage. Given Andy's return expression, it hadn't been at all successful.
The hunter turned back to Ava, resting his hand on her shoulder and offering as much comfort as he could, given where they were. "Andy will take care of you, alright? Stay with him."
Andy nodded firmly, though his eyes remained on Sam. A promise to a brother more than reassurance for an innocent. Ava looked less sure, staring at Sam with that same hint of incomprehension. But Sam didn't have time to explain why he had to leave her. Why he had to do this. It was his responsibility. She would understand that even less than she had understood his insistence back in Lafayette, facing down his death from her vision.
Sam headed for the stairs, just a few feet away. They hadn't searched the house for Jake yet, but somehow he knew they weren't just going to stumble across him. Sam would check the second story anyway, to be safe, but he had a feeling they needed to treat this like a hunt. Because this was the Morton House. It may not be a leap year – another cherry on top of this nonsensical sundae – but Sam could feel evil here. And nothing like that death echo downstairs. Something a lot… deeper. Rooted in the house.
Whatever had taken Jake, they weren't going to find him easily. Which meant Sam needed research on whatever was haunting the Morton House, and he needed to find it faster than he ever had before.
He found the room Andy indicated quickly enough. It was very clearly a den of sorts. Taxidermy animals on the walls, stacks of papers and books, old filing cabinets. A mess of an abandoned life; what was left of Freeman Daggett before his unexpected heart attack. The room had some remnants of more recent activity – a spray painted pentagon (incorrectly drawn, Sam noted) and other graffiti, the furniture a bit tossed, like someone had given a half-hearted search for something interesting and given up when it wasn't an immediate treasure trove – but for the most part, the room was pretty well preserved. Not a lot of squatters or troublemakers stayed in this house – or survived – long enough to leave much of a mark beyond the first floor.
Sam started shuffling through the piles of old papers. There was a desk centered in the back half of the room so the hunter started there. Old drawers contained pens and pencils, a book on taxidermy, ripped out magazine articles on the threat of nuclear annihilation, and other odds and ends left over from an age of fear.
"An optimist," Sam muttered to himself as he tossed aside a book on surviving an atomic blast.
A stray thought had him pausing before he got to the next item, gears turning. Hadn't Jake joked about a bomb shelter? Sam looked back at the Survival Guide. Guys like that, living through the Cold War, had lived in paranoia. The army rations in the basement – more stacked on a shelf in the corner of this very room – in a house where the owner practically lived in one room. A paranoid and lonely man.
"A bunker," the hunter muttered, picking the book back up, staring at the yellow cover, a red mushroom cloud blooming across it. "A man like that would have a bomb shelter."
Sam dropped the book and spun back for the door. The first place to look for a bomb shelter would be the basement.
He immediately drew up short at a figure standing in the doorway.
"Ava," Sam said in surprise, blinking at the girl who was supposed to be downstairs. "What are you doing up here? Where's Andy?"
"He wanted to search the first floor for Jake," she said evenly, big doe eyes locked on Sam. "I told him I'd come help you."
Sam let out a relieved breath and resumed his path for the door. "You should have stayed together. It's safer that way."
Ava was still standing in the doorway, blocking his way to the hallway. After an awkward moment where he expected her to move, Sam ended up squeezing past her on one side. It was only then that she stepped aside to make more room.
"You were saying something," Ava began, rather out of nowhere, as Sam made it into the hallway. He turned back to her, brow furled. She continued, "Earlier. About Brady."
There was something in her tone that sent Sam's heart down near his feet. He knew his expression crumpled right along with it. He could see it reflected in Ava's own face, and he looked away. "Ava…"
"No, Sam." She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. She still had the iron rod in one hand. The other had a knife. The knife he'd given her three months ago. Sam stared at that blade a second longer than was normal, something teasing at his brain. But he didn't know what – the dim light wasn't giving much away – and Ava's voice drew his stare away from that knife and back her to face. "If you know something, you have to tell me. I deserve to know."
There was something in the way she said it. Something… unstable, that gave Sam pause. This wasn't the time to tell her she'd lost her fiancé. They needed to keep their heads, focus on escaping. Grief would only push Ava's panic further over the edge.
"Ava, I don't think now is a good-"
"Time?" The woman tilted her head back and laughed. With her defensive body language it came across as crazed. Her eyes matched as she lowered them back to the man in front of her. "We're being picked off one by one, here, Sam, so now seems like a pretty damn good time to me."
"Ava…" Sam resisted the urge to take a step back, confused as to where the instinct to do so was even coming from. This was Ava. A good kid scared out of her mind, sure they were going to die. The only thing he should fear from her was losing her. But his instincts were screaming something entirely different. He just didn't know what. "We're going to make it out of this."
"Are we?" She looked away, biting at her lip as her eyes filled with unshed tears. But there was something in her posture that didn't match the crushing fear in her eyes. Her body said one thing, her face another. "We might not, you know. Not all of us."
Guilt flashed through Sam's gut, for Jake and the man's unknown fate. He needed to be looking for him if there was any chance of saving the kid.
Ava misread the guilt as something else, and her expression crumpled into further despair. "What happened to Brady, Sam? Where's my fiancé?"
Sam couldn't meet her watery eyes, but knew he couldn't keep it from her any longer. "I'm sorry, Ava. When the demon broke into your house to take you…" The younger Winchester took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the memory of bloodshed. "Brady didn't make it. I'm sorry."
He expected tears. Screams, denial, a sobbing woman in his arms. But none of that happened. Something in Ava shifted, but it didn't go the direction the hunter expected. Every instinct in Sam's gut warned him – firmly now – that he was in immediate danger.
"No," Ava ground out from between clenched teeth. Her fists tightened around both weapons, knuckles turning white.
Sam's brain told him to step up, to offer a comforting hug to his friend who was suffering a major loss. His feet didn't move.
"No, he can't be…. He can't be dead. That would mean that all of this… everything I've done was for… for what?" She laughed, then. It was cold. Hard. Broken. Sam found himself taking a step back.
"Everything you've done?" the Winchester echoed, brain starting to turn sluggishly in a very, very bad direction. "Ava…?"
Watery green eyes met his, but there was no fear in them now. Sam took another step back as the iron rod she was holding clattered to the ground. Ava raised her free hand to her temple, pressing the pads of her fingers into her head like she had a headache. Those previously-doey eyes closed and her face scrunched up in pain. Her other hand, still clenching the knife, raised it to press the knuckle-wrapped handle to her head.
The blade slipped into a stream of moonlight coming in through the filthy windows, and Sam realized what it was that had been bothering him. He hadn't seen it clearly in the dark, but shining in the filtered white light, he couldn't miss it.
There was fresh blood on that knife.
"Ava? What are you-"
A presence manifested into existence behind him. He could feel it, like a shadow of undulating hatred against his back. Every hunter instinct that Sam possessed lit up, all screaming red alert. He straightened, breath quickening with every 'Run!' signal that hit his brain in rapid succession.
Bracing himself, Sam turned around.
There was a man – no, a ghost – right behind him, blocking his path back to the stairs. He was tall – taller even than Sam – with a tightly buzzed hairline, janitor overalls from decades past, and a truly gruesome face, both blank and full of rage simultaneously. He was a terrifying sight and one that was far, far too close for comfort, even for a hunter.
The younger Winchester recognized that face from research years old, now. Freeman Daggett. The last owner of the Morton House.
-o-o-o-
Castiel stared at the television screen hanging on the wall (a relatively new design, according to Gabriel, who seemed very proud of the device) showing the now-empty hallway of the haunted house Sam Winchester was trapped in. Her eyes blazed an ethereal blue and fingers dug into the wooden arms of the chair she was strapped to.
Sam was in imminent danger. She had to escape Gabriel's captivity. She had to save Sam. She had promised Dean that she would be there to save his brother. To stop the beginning of the end. Castiel had to escape.
But how?
Her grace was no contest against Gabriel's. She would not be able to break his bindings on her own. And it was unlikely that she would successfully talk Gabriel into releasing her in time. Sam Winchester was out of time. He needed Castiel now.
So she had to escape her brother's grace without using her own. An impossible task, it may seem, but Castiel was good at puzzles. If she could not use her grace… then she would have to use Gabriel's.
The grace the archangel had imbued within her was currently tendrilled around her core, working on the most egregious damage. Eventually, it would integrate itself into her own and become hers, but right now it was still very much the Archangel's grace and would be for some time. It had been left there with the intent to heal, so that is what it was doing, all while encouraging Castiel's grace to do the same.
But that exchange was a two-way street. In a normal healing, the injured party was a more active participant, making the healer an assistant to their recovery, not directly in charge of it. Which meant Gabriel's grace was likely to listen to her input, so long as it did not clash with its intended job: healing. Perhaps Castiel could convince the grace that the best way to heal her was to release the binds. If she was allowed access to her own grace, she would certainly heal faster.
It would not be a simple task. Castiel had never attempted subterfuge on grace before. She would only have one chance; if that energy sensed any deception, it would cease to listen. She would have to proceed slowly.
Sam might not have time for slow but, unfortunately, Castiel had no other choice.
"If Sam Winchester perishes and you do not free me to stop it," she began aloud, her gravelly voice even deeper than normal with the severity of her words. Castiel turned her head and fierce gaze to her brother, sitting beside her in his red recliner. "I will never forgive you, Gabriel."
The archangel stared in silence for a long, drawn-out moment before snorting so hard he almost spilled his soda out of the wrong orifice. He broke into laughter, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"Oh, Cassie, your spunk is positively adorable," Gabriel announced once he had his breathing back under control, but he kept his eyes on the television screen, playing out the horrors of the Morton House.
Outwardly, he remained relaxed. Jovial. Perhaps a tad dickish. Inwardly, Gabe found himself annoyed by the promise his sister had just made, grave as the hole Sam Winchester would find himself in at the end of all of this.
The archangel shifted in his seat, irritated with his own irritation, and decided to blame Castiel for it. He picked up the remote and aimed it at the flat screen.
"Let's see what Dean's up to, shall we?"
-o-o-o-
The Impala rumbled along the smooth asphalt of the Interstate, pushing all sorts of speed limits as she roared towards the Morton House. An old tow truck followed behind (a far less loved, though no less cared for, vehicle), headlights a consistent and comforting presence in Baby's rear view mirror. Dean's eyes kept checking on those lights, as if to make sure Bobby was still with him if Sam couldn't be.
His fingers tightened on Baby's wheel, the leather creaking beneath his white-knuckled grip.
Sam would be fine, Dean told himself, over and over and over again. Even though he was racing Time, in more ways than one. Even though his brow was furled in the brooding way that meant bad shit was going down and they didn't stand a chance of surviving it. Even though he didn't believe it, himself.
Sam would somehow be fine.
If his kid brother wasn't, if Dean didn't get to Sam in time to save him – to stop it, all of it, from starting all over again – he wasn't sure what he'd do. He knew what he couldn't do. What he wasn't supposed to do. What he promised he wouldn't do.
But what else could he-
-o-o-o-
"Booooooriiiiing!" Gabriel hollered at the television screen, rolling his eyes and head in Castiel's direction. "One track record, this boy. Am I right?"
The archangel grinned winningly as he clicked the back button on the remote with such dramatic flair. The screen switched back to the Morton House and, beside him, his sister had a go at fratricide with nothing but a pair of pretty blues and an adorably optimistic amount of spunk.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
A/Ns: Oof, that one killed me. But it's done, it's edited, and now it's out in the world. Fly free, you little bastard of a Battle Royale chapter. Fly free.
Why didn't Bobby get Andy's message: Mostly to match canon, but if you need a real reason (*cough* always *cough*), Andy was actively trying to send it only to Dean, and he partially succeeded. Those close to him still received the message, cuz the strength of it to reach so far was big, but the further away from Andy, the more direct the message got, targeting only its intended subject. Everyone in the house just got hit by the wake of the psychic bullet! By the time it got to Bobby, the wake was itty bitty and he didn't even feel it, let alone get the message. (I'm a visual person, this is how I visualized it, shhhhhhh, it totally makes sense XD)
Hope you all enjoyed, thanks so much for your patience!
Cheers,
Silence