#childhood home | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

underground-secret · 4 months

Text

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

97 notes · View notes