Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Sanctuary Part 2

The next day Jillian found herself heading towards St. Thomas to see Father Bob, as “Rescue Me” by Fontella Bass played along on her iPod.  She had yet to figure out exactly how old Father Bob was, just somewhere between older brother and Dad age.  She had taken her First Communion from him, and he’d been there for her ever since.  If anyone was her guardian angel in this world, Father Bob would top the list.

That night the vampires left her for dead, someone had brought her out of the blood-soaked club.  For dinner or rescue, she was never sure.  But she was left alone and someone else came along and took her to St. Thomas and Father Bob.  Her life had quickly gone to hell in a hand basket after that, but the priest pulled her out of the fire again and again.

Father Bob gave her life back.  There was little she wouldn’t do for the man, so when she turned the corner and saw a squad car, her heart sank with dread.  She dodged the uniforms at the main door, snuck in through the side entrance and made her way to the offices.

Father Bob was seated behind his scarred desk, his fingers absently drumming the worn wood.  He looked almost angelic with the stained glass window illuminated behind him.  Well maybe an angel with a weakness for Hostess Twinkies. 

“Father Bob?”

He looked up at her.  “Ah, Jillian.  I was just going to call you.”

“Are you all right?  I saw the squad cars out front.”

He waved her concern away.  “Just a little break in.  No one was hurt.”

She sat in the chair across from him.  “Was anything taken?”

He shrugged.  “It’s hard to tell.  Right now there is a mess to clean up.  They tossed the place pretty good.  The damage is limited to the office area at least.”

She watched him for a few heartbeats.  “So…”


“So what is it you aren’t telling me?”

He snorted.  “You are getting to know me too well.”

“And you are avoiding the question.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward, probably pleading for patience in dealing with her.  She tended to have that effect on people.

“Very well.  So far the only thing I can tell is missing are some files.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion.  “Like financials and things?”

“No,” he shook his head.  “Jillian, someone took the church’s file on you.”

            Luckily she knew perfectly well what was in her file – nothing.  Oh there was basic info like her birthdate, her parents names, her baptism records, things like that.  Nothing of any real importance though.

“Huh.  I don’t think I’ve ticked anyone off lately.  Anything else missing?”

“The files have been gone through.  Yours is the only one missing.  I thought you should know.  Now then,” he leaned over and placed his hands over hers.  “How are you doing?”

“You’ve heard then.”

He shrugged.  “The gossip mill is as speedy as ever.  I was hoping you’d contact me after it happened.”

This time she shrugged.  “I wasn’t really ready to let the world know that the bank let me go.  I should have known better about gossip in a small town.  I needed to sort things out a bit first.”

His grey eyes peered into hers.  “I had a bad feeling about you last night.”

“Last night was rough,” she admitted.  “I just drove around last night.  I ended up by the bridge over on Jefferson.”

Concern furrowed his brow.  “The Leap?  Jillian …”

“Look, I’m in one piece, all right?” she snapped impatiently.  “Geez, Father.  I just looked out over the water for a while.  That’s all.”

“And you know as well as I do that is the one place in all of Holeyoke that is notorious for jumpers, so you see my concern,” he answered in that annoying compassionate tone of his that she knew so well.

She blew out a breath.  “Ok, I was in a dark mood, I admit.  I looked out over the water a while, realized it is entirely too cold to even think such morbid crap, and ended up in some bar off the square.”

“A bar?” he asked.  “That’s not like you.”

“Tell me about it.  I ended up drinking coffee with the bartender before heading home.  Michael somebody, over at Sanctuary.”


He had a funny look upon his face.  “You know the place?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

She would bet her last dollar he knew a whole lot more than that.  Father Bob knew everything and everybody down at the square.  It was his saving grounds.

“So you think that place was a bad place to end up?” she asked.

“Well, you got home in one piece, right?”

She leaned forward.  “Come on, Father.  Was I half out of my mind last night, or did I stumble onto a bar catering to the paranormal set?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that …” Father Bob trailed off.

“I’m not the church board, you know.  And we both know there are things out there that most of the good people of St Thomas’s would rather ignore.”

“There are things I cannot say, even to you, Jillian,” he said finally.  “Just be careful.  Sanctuary itself is a kind of neutral ground, but the area around it is still pretty risky to walk around in.  Don’t go hunting there.”

She shrugged.  “Now, Father.  You know …”

“Jillian …” he warned.  “Don’t lie to your priest.”

She sighed.  “Ok.  I did do a bit of hunting off Michigan Avenue last night.  I think I ran into another hunter.”


When it became no additional response was coming, she prompted, “Father, are there any other hunters I should know about?”

“There may be,” he said vaguely. 

“A white lighter with a glowing sword?” she added helpfully.


She rolled her eyes heavenward.  “Father, …”

“I cannot tell you much, but he is one of the good guys.  Don’t get in his way.”

“Well, gee.  Thanks.”  She huffed in annoyance.  She hated feeling left in the dark.  So to speak.

“Jillian, there are things I cannot tell you.  This is one of them.  Now then.  You went hunting last night.  Any casualties?”  He reached for his purple stole even as he asked the question.


“Well, then.  Shall we?” He arranged his chair so it sat directly across from her.

It was a ritual they had repeated hundreds of times over the past three years.  Honestly, she didn’t even know if she had a soul left to save.   

She nodded, bowing her head.  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned …”


 Jillian made her way up the stairs to her apartment, three floors up.  It wasn’t much, but it was an east-facing corner unit and the hallway gave her access to the roof.  It was a quirk of hers, but she liked being able to see the sun rise.  In fact, she looked forward to it every day.

Today, she felt oddly reluctant to go home.  Things felt, well, off.  Heavy.  The air itself had a charge to it.  She half wondered if this was what foreboding felt like. 

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself.  You’re just feeling spooked because of the break in at the church.  Because some looney took your file was no reason to get all paranoid. 

Except her address was in that file.


Really, the odds of someone tracking her down were pretty huge.  She wasn’t anybody.  No family left.  No money.  A few bills.  Maybe a late library book or two, but really nothing remarkable.

Unless someone figured out her little hobby of hunting down the occasional vampire or demon.  But even then, she only took out the ones determined to kill.  It sounded funny, but unless their aura was completely black, she sometimes let them go.  She didn’t believe them all to be soulless.  You made choices in life, for right or wrong, and that held true for the paranormal set too.  Demons were generally a little more cut and dry, but there were a few of the lesser ones she let be.

She shook her head.  Maybe she was really crazy after all.

It was one of those slow motion things.  She was deep in thought as she came in the door.  She put her keys on the little table in the entryway.  She set down the mail.  She walked down the hall, past the living room.

And promptly backtracked to the doorway because there was a man standing in her living room.

Correction.  There was a demon standing in her living room.

“Jillian Petrosky?” he asked smoothly. 

Ok, he seemed to at least be a very polite demon, wearing a suit even.  His silver hair was slicked back, and his eyes were an icy gray.  Based on first impressions, neutrals seemed to be the only thing in his color palate.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “And who might you be?  And what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

He tsked.  “Some associates of mine would like to speak with you.  We believe you possess something of interest to us.”

“No thank you.  I try to stay out of demon business.”

He nodded approvingly.  “Ah, you know then.  That makes things easier.  We can make it worth your while.” 

She had a really bad feeling about this.  “No.”

He shook his head sadly at her.  “I’m afraid, we insist.”

Her apartment exploded in flames.

Jillian was shoved violently towards the door.  She stumbled as she tried to regain her footing.

“Go!” a male voice hissed into her ear.  And a powerful hand grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the apartment.  She tripped as she was forced down the stairs, but powerful arms somehow kept her upright.  She barely kept her balance as she found herself on the street, skipping along until she was released and slumped against a brick wall.

It all happened in the matter of seconds.  She tried to suck clean air into her smoke-filled lungs, choking and sputtering for endless minutes.  She wiped at her watering eyes, trying to focus upon the figure beside her.  Recognition made her wheeze and sputter again.

“You!” she gasped. 

“Yeah, you can thank me later,” Michael growled. 


“Later.  Get moving.”

He hauled her down a series of alleyways, only to come to a skidding stop.  She crashed into his back.


Michael was staring at something in front of them.  She peered around him to see the demon from her living room standing in front of them.  Ah, shit.



“I want the girl.”

Michael shrugged.  “You can’t have her.”

“There is no claim on her—“

“I am claiming her now.”

Really, no self-respecting female of the modern century could let that one go.  She stepped out from behind him.  “Now hang on a minute—“

The demon gazed at them thoughtfully.  “The others will not be pleased.”

Michael’s gazed never wavered.  “Not my problem.”

“You know she carries a mark.”

She caught herself looking down to see if there was a large X on her anywhere.  She did not know exactly what was going on, but a ‘mark’ didn’t sound like a good thing. 

Michael raised his arm, his palm pointing towards her.  Then a spot on her collarbone began to burn, slowly at first, then hotter.

She pulled the collar of her shirt away from her skin and looked.  Sure enough, there was a little cross burned into her skin.

“Hey, ow, that hurt-

“So now she has two.  And she still has free will.  My claim will stand.”

“We shall see.”  And the demon disappeared with a poof into the night.

Michael scanned the area, apparently looking and listening for things she could only imagine.  “Come on,” he said, once he deemed the area all clear.  He tucked her into a nearby parked car and they drove off.

It was several seconds and a later that Jillian was able to form a coherent thought. 


He kept looking straight ahead.  “Shoot.”

What the freakin’ hell was that?”

He tsked.  “Such language.  That was Luthor.”

“A demon,” she interjected.

“A demon,” he nodded.  “He wanted you, and I said no.”

She held up her hand.  “A couple of things there.  First, what would a demon want with me?”

“Not really sure.”

Oh, there was so much he wasn’t saying, she fumed.  “Ok then.  What about the other thing?”

“Which thing?” he asked, turning left into another series of winding alleyways.

“About you not letting him.”

“What about it?”

“You said you ‘claimed’ me.”

“Luthor gathers souls.  My job is to not let him.”

“Ah.  And your job is?”

“I’m a Guardian.  A type of angel.”

“Of course.”  She rubbed her head again, checking for any new lumps that may explain brain damage.  “And by ‘claiming me…’”

“If he wants your soul, he going to have to get through me first.”

She had no idea what to say to that.  “I feel like I should say thanks here, except none of this makes any sense.  Well, that and you freakin’ branded me back there.  This is not the Wild West.  And I am not a cow.  It's 2014.  Chicago.  Modern times ... Where are we going?”

He finally turned to look at her.  “Your apartment just got torched.  Do you have someplace to stay?”

“I could go to a hotel, I guess—“

“They will be looking for you,” he interrupted.  “There are extra rooms at Sanctuary.  We have a kind of safe house there for cases like this.”

She stared at him hard a few moments.  “We are already half way there.  I don’t have the feeling that I have much of a choice, do I?”

“You catch on quick.” 

Monday, January 20, 2014

Technical difficulties

Blerg.   I just noticed some font and text size problems on the last post.  Working on it, but Blogger is being terribly cooperative right now. 

So here are some pics in the meanwhile.

Snowy view near my house.

My dog Gracie.  I think she is plotting something.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Sanctuary Part 1

This next bit is a little idea I've have rolling around my head for awhile now.  It's a modern day paranormal version of loins and tigers and bears - oh my.

It deals with a lot of shades of gray.

The angels in this story are of an Order called the Guardians.  Some are the fabled Guardian Angels, while others are more of the soldier variety.  They most resemble the humans they are in charge of protecting.  They are not perfect, but they can walk earth amongst humans with little notice.  Mainly they are in charge of keeping evil in check.  They may not be able to stop it entirely, but they can at least keep it from taking over.

Comments are welcome, but play nice.

Supernatural Fan Fic - Part 3

Part 3 of 3

Ronnie was walking with Gallahad along the far side of the bog when the dog stopped abruptly, cocking his head as he stared out into the night.

"Hello, Veronica."

Ronnie spun around, her Glock already in hand. When she saw Castiel, she swore under her breath. "Castiel. It has not been nearly long enough."

"You are angry. I am sorry."

"You think? Why are you here? Wait, never mind. I don’t care. And tell your angel friends to keep their little presents from now on."

"They are in good hands with you, Veronica. They can help you."

"Oh no," she protested. "No way. I keep those things around, and I will learn what they do. I do that, I know you will send me on some sort of god-forsaken quest. I just want to be left alone. I won’t make deals with the demons, so I certainly won’t make one with you guys either."

"You haven’t been given anything you aren’t trusted to handle."

She snorted. "Then I just wish God didn’t trust me so much."

Castiel sighed. "We could use your help. You came back for a reason. Please reconsider."

And he was gone.

Dean walked up to Billy in the store. "You see Ronnie lately?"

Billy clicked a pen against the counter. "Out back. Just follow the loud music."

Dean paused. "Is it safe?"

Billy looked at him. "Can you tell what’s playing?"

Dean cocked his head. "CCR."

Billy chuckled. "Yeah, you’re safe. Tread carefully if its Bob Segar though."

Dean entered the pole barn doubling as Ronnie’s garage out behind the house. Loud notes of Creedence Clearwater Revival hung in the air as he walked in. Ronnie had her Jeep up on a lift, finishing an oil change. Various car parts and fenders, most of them dented into oblivion, lined the shop table and along the wall.

"Hey, Ronnie."

"Dean." She never looked back at him.

He fought back an invisible chill. "Do you have an air compressor I can use? One of my tires is getting a little low."

"Help yourself. Pull on in here. Hose is along the wall there."

Dean watched her a moment.

"Was there something else?"

He paused a beat. "Why a Jeep?"

She smiled. "Because I can order all my parts off the internet and no one looks sideways. It’s like a big toy set."

He turned to leave, pausing as he saw a car with covered with a dustcloth. "What’s this?"

Ronnie followed his gaze. "That’s my grandmother’s grocery getter."

Dean picked up the corner of the cloth and peeked beneath it. "That’s a GTO. Your grandma got groceries in that?"

Ronnie smiled. "Fastest milk run in the county. Makes hyperspace look like a cake walk."

Dean stared at her. "She runs?"

Ronnie walked past him, wiping her hands clean on a rag. "Leroy runs."

Dean gave her a look of disbelief.  "You named her Leroy?"

She snorted and pointed inside. "Stick shift. It’s been awhile, but I’m pretty sure boys still come with sticks."



Dean entered the living room to find Sam pacing the floor.

"What’s up with you?"

"I’ve been doing a little digging. You know Ronnie owns the hardware store, but I’ve found she also holds a P.I. license. And there’s more. Ronnie said she had an accident, except it was no accident. She was attacked."


"Two years ago she was attacked in here in the house by three men. She went missing for months. Medical reports indicate it was brutal. She dug herself out of a shallow grave, drug herself to the highway. And there’s more."


Sam nodded. "Her attackers videotaped the entire thing. It’s been making the rounds via the internet for months now."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Ok. How bad is it?"

"As bad as it gets. She spent three weeks in ICU."

"Tell me the police arrested somebody."

Sam shook his head. "Not enough evidence. Three against one, and they were saying things were..."

Dean swore under his breath. "Right. Do we know who?"

Sam cleared his throat. "I saw part of the video. It looks like the three guys from the store yesterday."

Dean opened the laptop and began to watch the video. After two minutes, he turned the sound off. When it was over, it took all he had not to throw the laptop across the room.

"What kind of sick bastard records something like that?"

Sam shook his head. "I don’t know."

"Do me a favor. Bobby doesn’t see this."

Ronnie entered the room, but was brought up short when she saw the look on the three men's faces.

"Okay," she said slowly. "What’s up?"

Then she saw the laptop.

"Anything good on the internet today?" she said lightly.

"Not really," Dean answered.

She nodded in understanding. "You found the video. Great. Here I was kinda hoping that there were at least a few people in town that hadn’t seen me naked yet."

"Ronnie-" Bobby began.

"Look," she shot out. "Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Bobby. Don’t you dare. okay? I’m still standing. I can deal with this. Plus there is the bigger issue of a hell’s gate in my backyard, which makes my piddly problems seem like a drop in the bucket. Can we deal with the bigger issue here?"

Bobby took in the stubborn look in her eyes and sighed. "I hate it when you’re right."

"Yeah, well, I usually am. Get used to it."


Ronnie shook her head as Dean poked his head into the backroom of the hardware store.

"I don’t need a bodyguard."

"Good. I’m not playing one. Is there a car part shop here in town?"

"The hardware store usually doubles as one for the locals. What do you need?"

"My car. It’s a classic. I usually go to Bobby, but since he’s here…"

She snorted. "Again, what do you need?" She headed deeper into the back.

"Oil filter. You just can’t walk into any old store and find-"

"’67 Impala, right?" she asked, checking the shelves. "And you’re right. It is a classic, but I think I have some things here ... yep.  Here you go." She pulled a box out and tossed it to him, along with a case of oil, an oil wrench and a drip pan.

At his puzzled look, she snorted. "Who do you think finds this stuff for Bobby, anyway?"

"He has a guy?"

"Congratulations. Bobby’s guy has boobs." Her gaze flickered to something behind him. "Crap."

"What? Hey – where are you going?" he sputtered as she sprinted past him. She was weaving between the massive shelves stretching the length of the warehouse, darting from aisle to aisle nearly soundlessly.

"Ronnie!" Dean hissed, setting the boxes down, and taking off after her. 

Dean heard a soft shuffle to his left and an instant later he felt the prickle of awareness. They were not alone in the warehouse. Muttering under his breath, he drew his gun out from under his jacket.

Ahead he caught a glimpse of her, and aisle over and ahead of him. He also saw a faint gleam of metal. She was armed. Where the hell did she pull that gun from? She’s wearing coveralls, for pete’s sake.

Again, a shuffle of footsteps up ahead. He pressed forward, wondering just how far back the warehouse went. It seemed endless. An endless maze of metal shelves and boxes. Followed by boxes and shelves. He skidded to an abrupt halt at the top of a short set of steps.

At the base of the steps stood Ronnie, aiming her Glock directly at him.

"Whoa, Ronnie," he said softly. "Put the gun down."

She shook her head. "Can’t do that, Dean."

"Sure you can. No one need to get hurt here. I know we got off to a rough start…"

She let out a frustrated breath. "Dean?"


"Shut up and duck."

Dean hit the floor. She fired.

Dean nudged what was left of the human carcass with his boot. "So. Demon, huh?"

Ronnie came up beside him. "Yup."

"How did you know?"

She shrugged. "I have a real acute sense for these things. Thanks for not shooting me, by the way."

Dean nudged the lifeless arm with his boot again.

She shot him a look. "Want to double tap it in the head, just in case?"

His eyes went back to what remained of the skull. There wasn’t much left. "Nope. We’re good. Nice shot, by the way."

He paused. "Why did you warn me?"

She shrugged. "Why did you duck?" She headed back up the aisle towards the store. He followed.

She caught him looking at her curiously. "What?"

"You. You see, I can read people, but you are all over the place. First you give me the cold shoulder, and now you just saved my hide. What gives? Where did we meet before?"

She stopped and picked up the pile of oil change supplies from where they dropped them, shoving them into his arms. Her eyes were down right frosty.

"When you remember, you’ll let me know. Or we can pretend things never happened. Your call."


Dean eased the Impala to a silent halt a block away from where Ronnie’s Jeep was parked outside an old warehouse. While the outside looked rundown and abandoned, there was fresh garbage in the dumpster and the door Ronnie just entered opened without so much a squeak.

First she had stopped at the local catholic church where it appeared she was on friendly terms with the priest there. She loaded up the jeep with several cases and jugs of bottled water. Holy water, if he had to guess. Then she left for the warehouse.

Someone had the warehouse up and running, and wanted to keep it on the down low. And Ronnie had a key to the back door. That, and the fact that she clearly ditched him on purpose was all giving him one of those feelings. He wasn’t easy to ditch.

He made quick work of the lock on the backdoor and slipped inside. The halls were bare but cleanly swept. The overhead fluorescent lights glowed a sickly greenish gray color as they flickered to life. Down the hall he heard a file cabinet door slide shut. He slid his pearl-handled pistol out from the small of his back and silently made his way down the hall.

At the end of the hallway was an office, the desk lamp the sole source of light in the dark room. A nearby file cabinet sat open, and a pile of invoices were spread on top the desk, as if someone was looking at them and was interrupted. The monitor screen was black, but the tower below hummed actively.

In the reflection of the monitor, Dean saw a flash silver. Gun.

He kicked the door the rest of the way in and came face to face with Ronnie.

She let out a sharp breath. "Dean? What are you doing? I could have shot you." She lowered her weapon.

Dean stayed on alert. "Following you. What are you doing, Ronnie?"

"My job," she replied with a roll of her eyes. She walked back to the invoices and flipped through them.

"What exactly is that? Auntie Mae got ghosts? Disgruntled former employees? An unhappy ex-husband?"

Ronnie snorted. "Nothing nearly that exciting. The building is clean. Employees are all happy to have a job since the factories pulled out a few years back. Auntie Mae is alarmingly virginal."

Dean tried to wrap his head around her choice of words. He couldn’t. "Then why are we here?"

"I am here because the bills won’t pay themselves. You are here because you are a pain in my ass."

He looked at her a long moment. He grabbed her arm and pulled her closer.

"Hey! What -- did you just sniff me?"

He gave her a hard look. "You smell like apples and cinnamon and …"

"Nutmeg," she finished for him.

"Pie," he countered. "You are Auntie Mae?"

She closed her eyes a moment. "I knew you were going to be trouble the second I saw you in the hardware store. What? I have to make a living."

"You can cook?" he asked incredulously.

"That’s your biggest question?" she countered. "Of course I can cook.  I have to eat.  My grandmother taught me all her recipes and I have an arrangement with the diner. I try things out there and then once I’m satisfied, I send it into production. The pies are the company’s best sellers. And I’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet. People round here think Auntie Mae is someone’s little old aunt. Wholesome as, well, apple pie."

"And not you."

Her eyes darkened. "Yeah, well, I seem to have a little problem with PR department lately. I don’t think the image of little ol’ Auntie Mae killing demons on the weekends would sell well. That and I’m pretty sure if word ever got out, I’d have about a dozen marriage proposals from the old guys hanging round the diner all day. No thanks."

But Dean wasn’t listening. He was staring at a plaque on the wall that said, "If you can survive hell and back, you can survive out the frying pan into the fire."

When his eyes met hers, she knew it had clicked. He remembered where they met before. Hell.


"Dean!" Bobby yelled. "What is going on?"

Dean had all but thrown Ronnie into the front room. He was wielding Ruby’s knife.

"Just a little housekeeping."

"Dean, really?" she finally said. "As if the ride in the trunk of your car wasn’t fun enough with a tire iron jammed up my—"

"Dean?" Sam asked.

"She’s not Ronnie. She’s a demon."

Now all three set their sights on her, and she knew they were mentally gearing up for a fight.  Not to mention there were no less than a half dozen weapons all within easy arm's reach for them.

"Alrighty now," she said a soothing tones. "Let’s not get a little nutty here."

"How do you know?" Bobby finally asked.

"Because I remembered where I met her before. In hell."

"Now hang on guys," she said nervously. "Let’s all take a second and –"

"Shut up, you demonic bitch," Dean snarled and hit her in the face with a slap of holy water.

And nothing happened.

She spit a mouthful of water out onto the carpet and wiped her face clear of water with her hands. "Fantastic. You rip me a new one – literally – for an entire year, and I’m the one accused of being a demon. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

She walked out of the devil’s trap and went to the desk, pulling a silver knife out of a drawer. She drew the blade across her forearm. It only bled. She grabbed the holy water out of Dean’s hand and took a healthy gulp.

"Any other tests you want to throw at me?" she challenged.

"How?" was all he asked.

"From what I hear, the same as you. An angel popped me out and I woke up in my own grave."

Ronnie perched upon the edge of the table. Sam, Dean, and Bobby all sat around her on the chairs and sofa.

Bobby rubbed his eyes. "So when you told me you popped back up, you meant…"

She nodded. "Literally. It happened the night I got jumped here in the house. Dad was gone and Brian was freshly buried. I was distracted and I walked in to find a demon in the house. And he brought some friends."

"Wyatt and his cronies?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "Ever since I showed up in town, there have been rumors. Rumor and stories about my tattoo. Ever since high school, Wyatt was obsessed with seeing it. He was positive it was some tramp stamp and he was going to prove it. So they tied me up. I fought. I fought hard.

"Somewhere along the long Wyatt started choking me, trying to get me to stay quiet, I suppose. I think the others were losing their nerves. And then I was dead.

"They panicked. Wrapped me in a tarp and dumped me in a shallow grave in the woods. The demon happily carted me off to Hell."

"Must have been a shock to Sheldon when you popped back up," Bobby said quietly.

She shook her head. "To say the least. Justin and Zack, I think they are plain terrified of me. But Wyatt, he’s convinced that I’m a witch. And the tattoo and all confirms it.

"So after clawing my way out of my own grave, I made my way to the highway. Frank, the guy at the hardware store, found me along the side of the road and took me to the hospital where the doctors determined I was in shock. I told the police the story of Wyatt, but they didn’t believe me. The timing was all wrong. Apparently I’d been gone for months and my injuries were too healed compared to what I’d been through. So I had to settle for a no contact order."

It was a long moment before anyone broke the silence of the room.

"So when you went off the grid …?" Bobby began.

"Yeah. That’s when I was … down under. I called you once from the hospital. I didn’t know how to even start to explain what had happened. You had your hands full with these two at the time, complaining about something they had done."

"Sounds about right," Sam chuckled.

"It was such a normal thing," she continued. "It kinda slapped some sense into me."

"What did you do, Ronnie?" Bobby asked quietly. "You were the poster child for good behavior growing up. You never gave your parents one lick of trouble. What could you have possibly done to deserve hell?"

She glanced over to where Sam and Dean sat, and let out a slight smile at the sudden sheepish looks they had on their faces.

"Well, other than the time these two got me grounded for breaking curfew, it was the usual. Selfish, vain. I didn’t really go out of my way to help anyone, Bobby. Sin by apathy, I suppose."

Bobby shook his head. "That’s a bit harsh for hell. If that was the case, the gates would be flooded going downstairs."

She shrugged. "Honestly, Bobby?  I have no idea.  But if I have to go back, I’m going to make damned sure I earn it."


Dean found her several hours later in the warehouse of the hardware store with her Jeep. She looked up when she heard his footsteps.


"Ronnie. How’s it goin’?"

"Just fine." She shook her head. "What’s on your mind?"

"What makes you think I have something on my mind?"

She slammed the hood down. "Because for some reason, being around you gets me all prickly and unless you are a glutton for punishment, you are not here because of my charming personality."

He shrugged. She had a point. "What you told Bobby in the house. Is it true? You didn’t leave anything out?"

She took a steadying breath. "Nope. I never killed anyone or anything. I even taught Sunday school to the little kiddies."

"That doesn’t make any sense. Unless –"

She didn’t like his expression. "Unless what?"

"There was a plan for me in hell. When they broke me, when I picked up the lash, it broke the first seal, opening the door to the Apocalypse. What if there was a plan for you as well?"

"Well, that’s a reassuring thought," she muttered.

"I was in hell for thirty years before I met you there, Ronnie. How long were you there?"

"I have no idea how long I was in Hell before you came along. It could have been a month. It could have been decades. I was chained to a wall and left to rot. Nothing. No torture, no beatings. Not a soul came by, not even down the hall. They had literally locked me away and tossed out the key. Just me and my thoughts. And the thoughts weren’t good ones.

"Then you came into my cell and they all but put a bow on me like a little present. You know that part of it. When the angels busted you out, they hid me away. I ended up with Crowley, where he made me his little house pet in his little corner of hell for awhile. An angel helped me break out, and I popped up where Shelton dumped me in the woods."

"Did Cass bust you out?"

She shook her head. "I think Castiel was the first to try that particular trick. The one who got me out, I think you know him as Balthazar."

She looked out the window. "Looks like rain. Do you want to get your baby inside? There’s plenty of room inside here."

"My baby?"

She gave him a knowing look. "I can recognize a guy that takes care of his ride. I seriously doubt a girl has ever come between you and your car."

She hopped off the workbench and swung open the garage door.


Sam looked around the garage, following the sound of their voices.  Bobby was on a supply run a state away.

"Can you reach down there? There’s a branch or something stuck up there and I can’t reach it from down here."

Ronnie sighed and hoisted herself on top the fender, belly down, her legs dangling over the edge. "What did you do?  Drive through a corn field?" She reached down into a gap. "Down here?"

"Close. You almost got it."

Sam shook his head. With Dean’s legs sticking out from under the Impala below and Ronnie’s legs above, it looked like they were in the midst of a three way with the car in the middle.

"They’re doing it wrong," he muttered.

Ronnie looked over. "Oh, hey, Sam."

She looked down again and realized her shirt was pulled down tight and she had a great deal of cleavage showing. And given the angle Dean was at below, he was more than likely enjoying every last moment of it.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered. She grabbed a small wrench and dropped it in the gap. "Oops."

"Ow! Hey!" Dean howled.

"Look out below. Sam, what brings you out here?"

Sam tried in vain to not grin as Dean hauled himself out from below the car, rubbing his forehead. "Hadn’t heard from you two in awhile. Came to check and see if you had killed each other."

"Not yet," she grinned. "I-"

Sam watched her stiffen. "What is it?" he asked.

Ronnie scanned the vast expanse of the barn. She reached into the backseat of the Jeep and pulled out a shotgun, handing it to Dean. Then she went over and reached behind a shelf and pulled out a two more.

Dean checked the chamber. It was loaded with rock salt.

"Just how many guns do you have stashed over the place?"

She gave him a grim smile. "A few."

Two demons stepped into view. "Hi ya, Ronnie. Our boss wants a word with you."

She cocked the shotgun, aiming to towards the newcomers.  "Tell him to take a number," she replied back.

One demon tsked. "Crowley isn’t going to like that."

"Too bad." She fired the rifle twice. Then she lept for a lever along the wall and threw it. A moment later the sprinkler system came on.

Dean stared at the water pouring down over his car. "What the hell? The windows are open."

She grabbed his arm. "Come on."

The demons started to follow but a moment in the water sent them scrambling back, their clothes smoking.

"Holy water?" Sam asked.

"A girl’s gotta be prepared. I had all the water rigged in case of emergencies."


She turned to face the demon.

"Crowley will not be happy. He will find you. And your friend here, Dean? He’s put a price on his head."

"Well, thanks for the warning. Gotta go. Places to go, people to see –"

They sprinted towards the safety of the house.

"Crowley ever put a price on you before?" she asked Dean as they all scrambled inside.

"Once or twice. Guess that means we’re getting close."

"Close to what?"

He flashed a grin. "Whatever it is he doesn’t want us to find."

"I think I know what he wants."

Sam shot her a curious look. "What?"

"Heaven’s weapons. Angels have been leaving their toys in my bog for awhile now for safe keeping. It’s like an Easter egg hunt out there."

"What?" Sam sputtered. "You’ve been hiding heaven’s weapons? Where?"

"In a safe place," Ronnie replied.

"Where?" Dean insisted.

Ronnie sighed and grabbed her purse, a large messenger bag looking thing.

Dean gave her a look. "You keep them in your purse?"

"Well, yeah. Kinda. Let me show you."

She reached inside her purse and pulled out a smaller bag that looked a lot like an old black leather pouch.

"What do you have in that thing? Pixie dust?" Dean smirked.

"Just watch." She reached her hand inside and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. It was twice as long as the bag it was pulled from.

"How-?" Sam sputtered.

"Pretty neat, huh?" she answered. Then she proceeded to pull seven other objects out of the bag.

"It’s like a magician’s bag of tricks. By looking inside, you cannot see what is in there. You can’t fill it, and it stretches to fit whatever you want to put inside."

"As for the toys here, I don’t know what they do, and I don’t want to know. The next angel that comes through that door is getting the lot of them."

"Kinda hard since you angel proofed the house," Sam pointed out.

She paused. "Ok, you got me there. But the next one I see …"

"You’ve never considered just giving them to Crowley?" Dean asked.

She shot him a dirty look. "Crowly is the last demon I would ever willingly give something to."

Dean shared a look with his brother.  "Well, I think it's time for a face to face.  Crowley wants to me, I say its time to set up a meeting."



At the soft knock at the door, Dean placed the gun barrel on the cloth spread out on the desk. The door opened partway and Ronnie stuck her head inside.


He shook his head. "What?"

"Can I ask you something? I mean, you know this is all a trap. Crowley wants a face to face. Why are you jumping head first into it?"

Dean moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "The way I see it, if it’s a trap, he wants us out of the way. He wants us out of the way, we are doing something right."

"Or maybe he wants to just kill you. He’s gunning for your head, Dean."

"Yours, too."

She sighed. "So there is nothing I can say that will make you change your mind on this crazy plan of yours?"

"Nope. You?"


"Well, then. I guess we’re at an impass then."

They stared at each other for a long moment. The click of the door lock seemed deafening in the quiet of the room.

Dean tilted his head as she stepped towards him. "I thought you weren’t into the whole ‘last night on earth pitch.’"

"And life is too short for regrets," she countered softly.

She stood before him. He reached a finger along her arm, raising goosebumps wherever he touched her flesh.

"You sure about this, Ronnie?"

Her response was to wrap her hand around the back of his neck as she leaned in to kiss him. He didn’t ask again.

He sighed, savoring her softness as he pulled her close. He deepened the kiss, and a moment later had her sitting astride him. He made quick work of the row of buttons down her shirt and had it on the floor in moments. When he drew the skin along the side of her neck into his mouth gently, she shivered in his arms. Finally, he fell back onto the mattress, pulling her with him.

She ran her arms along his arms, upwards towards his head. She smiled a mysterious smile as she leaned over and kissed him long and deep.

Then two quick metallic clicks broke the silence of the room and they both went completely still.

Ronnie pushed her hair out of her eyes with one hand. "You have got to be kidding."

Dean gave her a cold smile. "’Fraid not." He lightly smacked her on the behind. "Now get off me."

She shot him a look that could kill as she rolled off him. "Let me guess. Handcuffs already attached to the headboard before I even walked in the door, right?"


"Just my luck. Kinky and effective."

Dean went to rub his hand through his hair. That’s when he noticed a second bracelet on his own wrist. A pair of handcuffs dangled merrily off his arm. He shot her a dirty look.

Ronnie shrugged. "Looks like we had the same idea. Point taken. Now uncuff me."

He hopped off the bed. "Can’t do that, sweetheart. It’ll have to wait until after the big showdown." He turned to leave.

"Just be reasonable."

He shook his head. "Later."

"Dean, wait."

He turned to look at her, waiting.

She swallowed hard. "Look. There are a few things I don’t do well. Helpless is one of them."

Dean closed his eyes, but he could still see her huddled there, looking hopelessly vulnerable, fighting back ghosts. Cursing to himself, he stepped back towards the bed. He reached into his duffle bag and withdrew a pistol. He removed the clip and set the gun on the bed beside her, placing the clip just beyond her reach. He may be a sucker, but he wasn’t stupid.

"You are a lot of things, Ronnie, but helpless isn’t one of them. I figured you would have a blade of some sort close by. This is your room, isn’t it?"

He grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her flat on her back.

"Hey!" she sputtered.

He put one arm on either side of her shoulders and held himself suspended over her. He waited for any sign of protest. He saw wariness, uncertainty, curiosity even, but no protest. He brushed his lips against hers before kissing her long and deep.

Then he stood abruptly and backed towards the door.

"Gotta go, Ronnie."

She sputtered indignantly, cursing herself for being every kind of idiot, and lunged for the clip, using her fingernails to inch it within reach. She strained against the taut chain of the cuffs, willing herself to reach millimeters more until her fingertips brushed its edge. Once in hand, she slid it into the pistol in one fluid motion. She fired off one shot just as Dean cleared the doorway, putting a hole in the wall behind him.



"Was that a gunshot?" Sam asked, seated across from Bobby downstairs. Bobby was back from his road trip and he and Sam were mapping out details of Dean's plan. 

Sam and Bobby rose to their feet as Dean came tearing down the stairs.  "Ok. Let’s get a move on."

"What about Ronnie?" Sam asked skeptically.

Dean shrugged. "She’s a little tied up at the moment. She said to go ahead and leave without her."

A loud shrieking noise came from the ceiling, like someone was dragging a rhinoceros across the floor above.

"What the hell is that?" Bobby demanded.

"She’s rearranging furniture. The Feng Shui is all wrong up there. We’re losing daylight."

They were outside and almost to the Impala when she threw open the upstairs window. She was only wearing her bra on the top half they could see.

"Dean Winchester, you have about 10 seconds to get your ass back up here and uncuff me-"

"Aw, come on, honey. Go back inside and get some clothes on-"

Bobby shot him a glare.

She huffed. "Don’t you dare start quoting Armageddon to me!"

"Bye now."

"Dammit, Dean!"

He looked up to see her aiming the pistol at the car.

"Now don’t do anything you might regret," he said, moving slowly towards the door. Sam could see he was holding his breath, hoping she was bluffing.

Oh, she was temped, all so tempted to shoot that smug look right off his face, but the reality was that they had bigger fish to fry. She could exact her revenge later.

"Gah!" She let out a frustrated breath and let the arm aiming the gun fall harmlessly to her side.

"I’ll pick up some spackle on the way home," Dean called out as he slid into the front seat. Sam and Bobby got in the car as well.

"Do I even want to know what that was all about?" Bobby asked after the house faded in the distance behind them.

Dean looked up in the rear mirror into Bobby’s disapproving eyes, fighting the overwhelming urge to squim. "I seriously doubt it."

Ronnie was still fighting with the handcuff attached to the bed when Castiel popped in. He took one look at the state of her undress and tilted his head in a look of confusion.

"This looks like something out of one of Dean’s movies."

Ronnie sighed. "I’ll explain later. Well, no, I won’t, but I do need you to get me uncuffed from this thing! Now!"

A moment later, the cuff released from the bed. Ronnie glared at the bracelet dangling from her wrist. "Now I personally would have released THE PART ATTACHED TO MY WRIST-"

"Where is Dean?"

Ronnie snatched up her shirt and pulled it on. She swung the long strap of her purse over her shoulder in one fluid motion. "Off doing something stupid. He went to face Crowley. Without me."

"Oh. He was nobly attempting to prevent you from coming to harm at Crowley’s hands."

She shot him a glare. "Yeah, and when I find him, I am going to kick his ass and his noble intentions into next week. Come on. I’ve got an address on Crowley. Hopefully we’re not too late."

Castiel sighed and tapped her on the forehead. A moment later, Ronnie’s head spun and she had to fight to stay upright or else fall in a heap on the floor. She shook her head to clear it. Someone reached out to steady her on her feet. She looked up to find Bobby, and her triple vision was reduced to double.

"What the hell was that?" she spat out.

"A faster way." Castiel nodded to the house in front of them. "You have the weapons on your person?"

"Oh now you ask." She patted her purse. "They are here."

"Open the bag." She opened her purse and withdrew the black bag.

Castiel took the bag from her and set it on the trunk of Bobby’s Nova, and opened it. He pawed around inside a moment before withdrawing a round item wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it and handed the stone back to Ronnie.

"Take this with you."

She stared at the opalescent rock about the size of an egg. "What is it?"

"Angelstone. It can temporarily give you heavenly powers. Only use it if necessary."

"It’ll give me angel juice?"

"Just for a short time, and only to special people. You are special, Ronnie."

"That’s what my grandmother always told me."

Castiel gave her a look. "She would know. She used to be one of us."

Bobby shook his head. "I guess the old bat wasn’t that crazy after all." He shot a sheepish look at Ronnie. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "No, you have the right of it. She was battier than a belfry. The guys already inside?"

Bobby nodded. "I just finished rigging the sprinkler system for holy water when you showed up."

Ronnie nodded back. "Good. Now Cass, get him out of here."

Bobby stared at her incredulously. "Now hang on a minute, missy-"

But Cass already reached him and *poof* they were gone.



Sam and Dean groaned simultaneously as their bodies were slammed against the wall by some unseen demonic force.

"Well, nice to know thing are going according to plan," Dean wheezed.

Crowley smirked from across the room. "I’m disappointed, boys. You come all the way down here and you have nothing to offer. You didn’t bring dear, sweet Veronica and you didn’t bring any of heaven’s toys. You have nothing to bargain with. Why, it’s a wonder I’ve left you alive this long."

Dean’s vision swam and another wave of searing pain enveloped him. He could hear Sam groan not far from him, undoubtably fighting the same pain. This wasn’t good. Crowley was going to kill them and it was take a miracle to get them out of this mess.

The door swung open. It wasn’t pushed open. An energy forced it open.

"Aw, crap," Dean muttered. "Now what?"

In strutted Ronnie.

She shot a look at Dean. "Nice to see you, too, sunshine. Give me a sec with your friend here, will ya?" She pinned her gaze on Crowley and marched on in like she owned the place.

"Crowley, love. I’ve been looking just everywhere for you. We need to chat."

Crowley smirked. "My day keeps getting better and better. First the Winchesters and now you. You need to die." He lifted his hand, arm outstretched towards her and shot a bolt of energy towards her.

She remained standing, unfazed. It barely ruffled her hair. "Please. Ooh and that reminds me. I need to borrow a cup of sugar, neighbor. I’ll be right back. Now don’t you move a muscle. I’ll just help myself."

And she walked right by Crowley and went down the hall.

Crowley looked at Sam and Dean. "What. Did. You. Do?"

Dean was struggling to come up with something witty to say, but he was distracted by something he saw in Crowley’s eyes. And it kind looked like fear. Of Ronnie? What was going on here?

And then Ronnie marched back into the room. "Thanks, love. You had just what I needed. By the way, you are now minus three of your little watch demons you sent to kill me. Now we don’t want to intrude, so me and the guys will be going now."

"So you just think you can waltz in here and then leave?" he demanded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." She snapped her fingers and Sam and Dean were released from the wall. "Remember Crowley. I know lots of your secrets. Don’t think I won’t use them."

Ronnie turned on her heel and went out the same door she came in, Sam and Dean falling in step behind her.

"Ronnie," Dean began. "What the hell?"

"You guys alright?" she replied, picking up her pace.

"Yeah," they replied.

"Can you run?"

They looked at each other and they hauled ass out of there.

Inside Crowley stroked his chin thoughtfully as he pondered the evening’s events. Veronica continued to be full of surprises, just like the last time.

The last time.

"Oh, balls," he muttered and zapped himself out of there.

A moment later, the PA system in the house turned on. Debbie Boone’s "You Light Up My Life" warbled through the speaker system, along with a Latin incantation to hold any demons in place. About half way through the chorus, a massive explosion ripped through the building.



"I tell you, Sammy," Dean began. "A woman who knows her way around explosives is a beautiful thing."

Ronnie snorted. "Aw, I’d say you are a flatterer, but I know you’re after the last piece of pie."

Sam laughed. "She has you there."

Dean shrugged. "All kidding aside. What was that mojo you used back there?"

Ronnie pulled the stone out of her pocket, setting on the table. "This is called Angelstone. Very rare. It gives the holder temporary powers, and it gets drained like a battery. Story goes that certain decendants of a certain bloodline, born during a certain phase of moon, yada yada yada … you get the picture."

"And you just happen to be one of those lucky people?" Dean asked.

"If you can call it that. I’ve kept a pretty low profile up 'til now. I guess you can say I’ve officially thrown my hat into the ring. I took Crowley by surprise. He’ll be ready next time."

Sam tapped his finger on the table. "I think I’ve read something on Angelstone. Ronnie, who else is in your bloodline?"

"Mostly normal folk, with one exception. Samuel Colt. Oh, and one slightly off-kilter grandmother who claims she used to be an angel."

"Samuel Colt," Sam whistled.

"An angel?" choked Dean.

Ronnie took a long, cool swallow of lemonade. "Yep. Sunday dinners were a real treat at my house."

After dinner, Ronnie went to the kitchen to clean up, and Sam volunteered to help. Dean watched them thoughtfully as he leaned back in his chair.


Dean went still. Bobby only used that tone when he was about to say something disapproving. "Yeah, Bobby?"

"Earlier today. With the handcuffs. You two got something goin’ on or what?"

"Don’t worry about it, Bobby. We’re not going steady or anything. Apparently we were both using bracelets as a means to an end." He nodded towards the kitchen. "Besides, I may be the wrong one to give a talking to here."

"Good. ‘Cause I’m about the closest thing to family she has left, and I’d hate to have to kick your ass for stepping over the line." Bobby paused a moment. "You really think those two will hit it off?"

"Too early to tell. She seems like a decent girl. Too decent for me anyway. If Sam takes an interest in her, I won’t stop him. There has been way too little decent in his life lately."

"Well, isn’t this cozy."

They all leapt to their feet as Crowley appeared in the middle of the room. Crowley shook his head.

"Now, now. Don’t get up." With a wave of his hand, they were all slammed against the nearest wall. He closed in on Ronnie.

"You, my dear, have been exceptionally busy. Breaking into my house, stealing my stuff, blowing it up into smithereens. Whatever did I do to you?"

She glared at him. "Broke into my house, stole my stuff … oh yeah. You had me freaking killed—"

"It was nothing personal, love. Just business, until now. Now it is very personal."

He gestured to Sam, Dean, and Bobby, all pinned to the wall. "And now you’ve gone and paired up with these knuckleheads. Tsk, tsk, Ronnie. You’ve been slumming."

"If you’re looking for heaven’s toys, you’re too late. They are already gone."

Crowley let out a frustrated breath. "That’s too bad. They were the only reason you are still alive."

With a wave of his hand, she began to slowly rise up along the wall, pushed toward the ceiling by some unseen force, finally stopping only when she was fully against the ceiling, pinned there.

Crowley grinned. "I believe you boys are familiar with how this next part goes."

"No!" Sam cried out.

"Leave her alone," growled Dean. Bobby watched in horror as she struggled against the ceiling.

A gash tore across her abdomen and she cried out. Blood began to seep out and soak her clothing.

"Crowly, you son of a bitch-" she bit out.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."


He looked up at her.

"You forgot one thing. I’m not a marshmallow. I don’t get toasted."

And she flung out her arms and legs with all her might. Only then did they notice the devil’s trap she had created on the ceiling with her own blood, using her body as the pentagram inside.

Crowley shriek and a fire ring welled up around him. Ronnie chanted in Latin, and soon he was engulfed in flames. She spoke a few final lines and poof, he was gone.

And with Crowley gone, there was nothing left to hold her to the ceiling.


And Sam and Dean watched as she hit the floor.

Bobby glared at them as he grabbed a carpet and began beating at the flames starting to engulf the room. "Well, don’t just stand there like nimcompoops."

"Right." And they rushed to her side to help her up.

"Well, the landing needs work," she quipped and she wobbled to her feet. She held steady for a second, then collapsed.

Bobby stared at the wall of flame starting to creep around them. "Get a move on, boys!"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Plus most of the furniture is loaded."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Sam grabbed her, Dean grabbed her bag, and they hauled ass out of the house.

Ronnie stared at the blazing house from the hilltop.  It was fully engulfed and half the county's fire engines were parked in the front yard, lights flashing.  The firemen were aimlessly milling around, drinking coffee.

"Boy, you guys sure know how to show a girl a good time."

Sam sat down beside her. "Sorry about the house, Ronnie."

"Yeah, well, the fire department pretty much called it a wash once I warned him about all of dad’s ammunition inside."

Another large explosion burst into the night and a portion of the roof fell in.

"There goes the library, and the C4." She shrugged. "Well, there were a lot of ghosts and bad memories in that house anyway. I have some things at the store. Can you give me a lift?"

A few moments later they pulled into the empty lot of the hardware store. They had just reached the store door when Ronnie went completely still. Ronnie raised her head. 

"Do you feel that?" she asked Sam and Dean.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"I – I’m not sure. Wait. A reaper. There’s a reaper nearby. Something’s about to go very, very wrong."

From the shadows, figures emerged to stand before them. There stood Wyatt and his cronies between them and the impala. And Wyatt held a gun. Mrs. Cavanaugh stood beside him.

"Great," Dean muttered. "All our reinforcements are in the trunk."

"What are you doing, Wyatt?" Ronnie asked.

"We have unfinished business," he replied.

"Let’s put away the guns and we can talk about it." She saw out of the corner of her eye that Sam was discreetly hitting buttons on his phone. Reinforcements, she hoped. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

"Don’t think so," Mrs. Cavanaugh said. Then she pulled a gun out of her purse and shot Zach and Ben.

"Crap," Ronnie sighed. "She’s possessed."

"What did you do that for?" Shelton demanded.

"They were weak and would have been in the way," Mrs. Cavanaugh replied.

Shelton stared incredulously at Ronnie. "You did this. You’re a witch. You put a spell on her."

Ronnie raised her hands in a shrug. "No, Wyatt. No magic. No witchcraft. Your new friend here however is possessed by a demon."

She turned towards Mrs. Cavanaugh. "Christo."

Mrs. Cavanaugh shuddered violently, the demon possessing her protesting against the Latin word.

Dean reached over and grabbed a bag of rock salt and heaved it at Mrs. Cavanaugh’s feet. The bag split open and spilt around her feet. The demon howled in protest, fused to the spot she was standing. Quickly Ronnie recited the exorcism rite and a moment later the demon poured out of the body.

Ronnie tilted her head thoughtfully. "Isn’t that how it went down last time? A demon on your shoulder? Isn’t that how you got into my house that night? Convinced you that it was alright because, hey, I was a witch after all?"

"You are a witch! And witches are whores!"

"Really, Wyatt? Is that why you tied me up? Because I wasn’t whore enough for you? What’s the matter? The tramp stamp you were looking for wasn’t there?"

"You have a tattoo!"

Ronnie stepped closer. "Yeah. A tattoo to ward off evil. Didn’t do me much good against you, now did it?"

Wyatt seemed to deflate before her eyes. "You wouldn’t stop screaming. You kept fighting."

"And what? You had to kill me?"

Wyatt stared at her in horror. "No. No. This cannot be happening. I –"

He turned and stumbled over the curb and into the street.   A bus came out of nowhere, horn blaring, and with a sickening thud, Wyatt was gone.

Dean stared at the spot where Wyatt had just been. "Ok. That was unexpected."

Ronnie rushed to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s side. The older woman looked up dazedly. "What happened?"

"Are you ok? Are you hurt?" Ronnie asked.

"There was black smoke and … and … I – oh my god, I killed those boys!"

"A demon. You were possessed. It wasn’t you."

"What? I don’t understand."

"A demon, Mrs. Cavanaugh. True evil. It is real."

Sam caught up with Ronnie as she left Mrs. Cavanaugh’s side, after explaining everything to her, including about her son’s death.

"You alright?"

Ronnie sighed. "I suppose. It’s been a long a day."

Bobby came up beside her. "Do you have some place to go?"

She gave him a small smile. "Yeah. I have a place of my own down by the lake. It’s safe."

"You can’t be alone right now."

She stilled her racing heartbeat once she realized it was Cass that just popped into view. "I’m fine."

"Perhaps, but Crowley is looking for you." Cass turned to the Winchesters. "You need to take her to Chuck. He has something you will need and she’ll be with you."

"I thought we just zapped Crowley back into hell?" Dean asked.

"Temporarily. He will be back."

Ronnie shook her head. "Chuck? As in The Prophet Chuck? No. I’ve got a life here and-"

"Why Chuck?" Dean asked. "I thought he disappeared for a while."

"Well, he’s back. And he has a message for you."

And then Castiel was gone.

Dean shrugged. "Ok then. Sounds like a roadtrip."

Ronnie struggled to her feet, wincing and pressing her hand to her stomach. "No."

"Yes," Dean countered. "I’m going to have to insist."

Ronnie jutted out her chin. "What? Are you going to make me?"

Two hours later, Ronnie stared sullenly out the window from the rear seat of the Impala. "I cannot believe you two hog tied me and threw me in the back seat."


Friday, January 17, 2014

Supernatural Fan Fic Part 2

Once back at the house, Ronnie, Bobby, Sam and Dean all tromped inside, once she wrangled her dog outside. Not an easy feat, considering the dog was curious about the visitors and weighed as much as she did.

"Don’t worry about Gallahad here," she cooed, rubbing the dog behind the ears as she shoved him inside the library. "He’ll be alright."

Bobby looked at the enormous beast skeptically. "Are you sure that’s a dog?"

"Wolfhound. Responsible for ridding Ireland of wolves back in the day. No bigger or better protector."

"So what exactly do you need protecting from?"

"I’ve got more supernatural creatures stomping through my backyard than I can handle. Gallahad here has a sense for them, gives me a heads up. Leprochans, vampires, zombies, you name it, I’ve seen it. Worst of it are the demons. They are all over the place lately. People are starting to notice too."

"Like how many are we talking?"

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I’d say about twenty-seven."

Bobby choked. "That’s a few."

She nodded. "Yeah. And that’s just since last Tuesday."

Bobby shot a look at Sam and Dean.

"But hey. It’s late, and you guys have to be exhausted. There are three rooms upstairs if you want them. There will be hot breakfast in the morning and you can get a fresh start."

Bobby gave her one of his rare smiles. "Ronnie, that’s the entire reason I came."

"Bribery with a home-cooked meal?" She smiled and shook her head. "I should have thought of that sooner."

Sam and Dean headed upstairs. Bobby watched as she poured herself a mug of coffee.

"A bit late for that, don’t you think?"

She bit out a short laugh. "Yeah, well sleep has been little more than a distant memory lately. Usually I’m up to greet the sun."

"So how long has it been?"

She took a tentative sip from the steaming mug. "I was still in high school the last time you were up here, Bobby."

"True. How time flies. But I meant how long has your dad been gone?"

She stilled, met his eyes, and leaned forward in her seat. "Almost two years now. He went out one night and never came home."

"What about your brother Brian? Where’s he when you’ve got this mess?"

"He’s gone too, Bobby. It’s just me now."

Bobby gave her a hard stare. "So you are by yourself and you didn’t think to tell anyone? All those times on the phone you could have just said, ‘hey, by the way?’"

"And what? There was nothing to do. Nothing anyone could do." She nodded towards the steps and the Winchesters upstairs. "Word gets around. I know what you have been up to, what you’ve been up against. I didn’t get the notice to the papers, Ok?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I know you and Mom and Dad were close. I guess part of me was hoping Dad would stroll right through the front door, near to bursting to tell the tale of his latest adventure."

"So, Brian too. What happened?"

"After Dad was gone, Brian stayed close for a while. Then just like Dad, one night he doesn’t come home. I knew it in my gut."

Bobby measured his next words carefully. "You ever … find them? Take care of things?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Sent them off, nice and proper. The full Hunter’s funeral and the works." She took another sip of coffee.

"A while back I had a bit of an accident. Had time to think, to watch. I started noticing things."

Bobby’s eyes never left her face. "So all those phone calls. What, you decide to pick up the family trade?"

"Come on, Bobby. You know this isn’t a game for amateurs. I know enough not to get dead."

"True. But you’re hardly an amateur. How many?"


"Don’t try to fool me, girl. How many kills?"

She took a deep breath. "Forty-three, give or take."

Bobby rubbed his eyes.

"Twenty in the past two and half months."

He stared at her.

She gave him a sheepish shrug. "Like I said, things have been a little crazy around here. Figured it was time to call in the pros."

"Forty-three," he repeated.

She nodded.

"Pretty good for a rookie."

"You know Mom and Dad never wanted this life for me, Bobby. I’ve been lucky."

He nodded. He was silent a moment.

"Christ, girl. You ain’t no lucky rookie. You’re a hunter."


Dean slowly awoke to daylight streaming in through frilly lace curtains in the bedroom. Soon he was aware that the bed he was on was adorned with a ridiculous amount of lace and ribbons. The walls held not-as-faded areas where he imagined were once adorned with rock band posters and photos. Shelves were covered with stuffed animals and romance novels. A girl’s room.

"Fantastic," he grumbled.

Then he was keenly aware of something else. Food. Warm scents of cinnamon, butter and bacon beckoned from the doorway and down the hall. His mouth watered.

He dressed in record time, and collided with Sam in the hallway. They scuffled their way into the bathroom, washing up before crashing into each other all the way down the stairs. Bobby sat at the kitchen table already, shaking his head. Of course, it was a matter of survival to get in front of these two when it came to food.

The kitchen table was heaped with bowls of scrambled eggs, muffins, platters of pancakes, pitchers of orange juice, and plates of bacon.

"It’s like Christmas," Dean muttered in awe, before seating himself down. "I tell you, I’d marry a woman who could cook like this. You available, Edna?"

Edna twittered. "The mister might have something to say about that." She shot a grin to Ronnie.

Ronnie was busy trying not to choke on her muffin and balance a cup of coffee. "Help yourself, guys. Edna here will help keep the food coming. I’ve got to open the store."

She bussed the older woman’s cheek. "Thanks for helping out here, Edna."

"No problem, sweetie. It’s been a while since I’ve had a house full of men to feed. Or you either, for that matter." She winked.

Ronnie rolled her eyes, and grabbed her keys and her bag. "Gotta go." She let out a low whistle and Gallahad loped after her.

Dean watched her go. "So what’s her deal?"

Bobby waited until Edna left the room. "Raised in the life. Mom and Dad were both hunters. Her brothers too. Her dad wanted something better for her and tried to keep her out of it. Now they are all gone and she’s smack dab in the middle of it."

"They’re all gone?" Dean asked. "How?"

Bobby shrugged. "Keith was the oldest. Died in a car accident. Her mom died of cancer a while back. Her dad apparently went out one night and never came home. Brian was the youngest. Survived a couple of tours overseas to die in a hunt. Now it’s just her."

"She any good?" Sam asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

Bobby shrugged. "She’s kept it quiet until now. I think you’ll find she can hold her own.  I take it you didn't notice that there are only three bedrooms in this place.  While we were all sleeping of sunshine and kittens, she was down here, keeping watch.  I'm thinking she hasn't had a nice, long sleep in a good while now.  "

Dean reached for another muffin. "Former cheerleader, huh? She have some sort of Buffy complex?"

Bobby gave them a thoughtful look. "I’m thinking maybe she’d knock Buffy on her ass."


"I need your help."

It took a second for Dean to get his breath back after nearly choking on his orange juice. Edna finished cleaning up and headed out for the opening shift at the restaurant. Bobby had just left the room to make a phone call, and a second later he saw a trench coat in his peripheral vision. He never seemed to get used to Castiel popping in and out like that.

"Cass. Good of you to drop in. Muffin?"

Castiel gave him an odd look. "No thank you. I hear they are delicious though. I need you to find someone."

"Can it wait? We’re kinda just starting something here."

"No. Her name is Veronica. She is special and needs to be protected. I’ve gotten word that there are plans to harm her."

"Popular name around here. Why can’t your angel friends handle this?"

"She’s hiding from us. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she won’t listen to me. She must not come to harm."

"Why is she hiding from angels?"

Castiel sighed. "We were protecting her, but we failed. Now she doesn’t trust us. She thinks we have forgotten her."


"Somehow she was lost forgotten. Because of our mistake she was injured gravely. Now that we have found her again she must be protected. Crowley is after her."

"Great. So where do we find her?"

Castiel tilted his head. "Right here. This is her house."


"I’ve heard she sometimes goes by that name. I need to go." And poof he disappeared.

Dean turned to Sam. "What the hell?"

Sam shrugged. "What do angels want with Ronnie?"

Ronnie was stacking can goods on a shelf when she caught Sam staring at her for the dozenth time in the past few hours.

"You know," she began, "you guys never did say why I suddenly need a baby sitter."

"Just a hunch," he answered. He was quiet a while, then started the staring thing again.

She sighed. "What?"

"You and Dean. You two meet before?"

Ronnie moved to the wall to stack more boxes on the shelf. "You could say that."


She paused. "Yeah. Your brother and I kinda crossed paths a couple of years ago. You weren’t together. It didn’t go well."

"Did you and he …"

She snorted. "No! God, no." She paused. "What did he say about me?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing. He says you are familiar, but he doesn’t remember how you met."

"He doesn't remember."  Her voice was flat.  She paused, her thoughts far away. "Alright. Fine. Let’s just say it was bad and it may be best all around if he never remembers."

The front door chimed. Sam looked up in time to see her turn to greet the customer. She froze, a stricken expression on her face. The next instant, it was gone. Sam half wondered if he imagined it.

"Hello, Mrs. Cavanaugh," she said softly.

Sam was shocked at the look of pure hatred the older woman radiated. If looks could kill…

Mrs. Cavanaugh spat out her words. "Still here, I see. Wyatt said there were federal agents talking to you. I suppose it was too much to hope for that this town was rid of you at last."

"’Fraid not," Ronnie smiled tightly. "I’ll get Frank to help you today."

As Ronnie turned to go into the store room to find Frank, Mrs. Cavanaugh hissed, "You are an abomination. Why can’t you just disappear like your father?"

Ronnie only faltered a moment before continuing on. "I’m afraid I’m not my father. Frank will be right out."

Sam came up to her later, after Frank had taken care of Mrs. Cavanaugh. "What was all that about?"

"Leave it alone, Sam."

"Better yet, why were you taking it?"


"Ronnie?" He wasn’t going to let up. One look at his expression told her that.

She let out a heavy breath. "Mrs. Cavanaugh’s son went to high school with me. He died, and she blames me."

"You? Why?"

"Because I was with him when he died."

Ronnie pulled up two stool and gestured for Sam to take one. She went to the mini fridge and grabbed two beers, tossing one to Sam. She opened the bottle and took several long swallows before she continued.

"After I got kicked out of Catholic school, Dad had me enrolled me in public school here. This is a small town, and the gossip mill here runs faster than most. Word got out and I was a hot topic for quite a while people tried to come up with a reason why I thrown out. Meanwhile, there was a rash of demon possessions that was making its way through the athletic department at the high school. So I tried out for the cheerleading squad."

Sam was doing his best not to make a face, but she saw it.

She smiled. "Yeah, I know. But I wasn’t making any friends anyway, so I figured what the hell. Cheerleaders have access to all the sporting events.

"It was football season, at the Homecoming game no less. Chris, Mrs. Cavanaugh’s son, had been acting odd for a few days then. Not himself. At halftime he disappeared under the bleachers. I followed him. I got there just as he was about to kill a girl in the color guard."

"He was possessed?" Sam asked.

Ronnie nodded. "Anyway, we fought. I got him tangled up in a devil’s trap under the far end of the bleachers."

"Good planning," Sam said. "Did you exorcise him?"

She nodded again. "What I didn’t realize at the time was that Chris had been stabbed and the demon used his weakened state to possess him. He was dead within minutes."

Sam rested a hand upon hers. "You know there was nothing you could have done, right?"

"Yeah, I know. It still sucked. Anyway, he died and I was found with his body under the bleachers."

"And his mom blamed you."

"Can’t really blame her. Between the rumors about me and the dozen witnesses that saw me with the body, I would have blamed me too."

"How did you get out of it?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Autopsy showed he’d been dead for days, even though the entire student body saw him score two touchdowns and an interception during the game."

Sam shrugged. "That will do it. Can I ask you one more thing?"


"Why did you get kicked out of catholic school?"

She let out a strangled laugh. "My grandmother."

"Your grandmother got you kicked out of catholic school?"

"Yep. For my sixteenth birthday, she hauled me down to the local tattoo parlor and got me a tattoo."

Ronnie pulled her hair to the side and moved the collar of her shirt away from her neck. There at the base of her neck was a familiar design. He and Dean had similar ones tattooed to their chests.

"Wrecked havoc with the dress I was going to wear to the semi-formal that fall," she continued. "Even if I had wanted a tattoo, I pretty much would have gone a different one. A unicorn maybe. Probably something to really irk the old man. Gawd, there were times I really hated being from a family of hunters."

Sam laughed. "I bet. What did you do?"

"The nuns got wind of it and I was promptly kicked out a week before the big dance. Apparently early Christian symbols based upon pagan lore are frowned upon. That and my date turned out to be a vampire and my dad cut his head off. My social life has kinda been in the crapper ever since."

"I think I know what you mean."

That night Ronnie came home to a command center. Newspapers, maps and print outs littered every flat surface. Laptops and extension cords crisscrossed her floors. At some point during the day, weapons were cleaned and the dirty rags were strewn everywhere. An occasional beer bottle left rings on her tables. And as a crowning touch, the sink was full of dirty dishes. Fantastic.

"Hi, honey, I’m home," she muttered.

Dean called over to Sam. "Did you bring some pie?"

"Diner closed at eight, man."

"Man," Dean whined. "Small towns suck."

He caught Ronnie’s expression. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "How could I possibly take offense at that?" She opened the refrigerator to survey the damage. "Any food left in the house?"

Bobby gave her a sheepish shrug. "You said make yourself at home."

"I know. I just forgot what it was like with my own two brothers around. Thanks for knocking off the sugar coating off that memory." She grabbed her keys.

"Luckily I have a deep freezer in the garage with extra supplies. Be back in a jiff." She turned to glare at Dean. "Extra veggies for you."

Bobby followed her out. "I’ll give you a hand. These guys can eat a lot of food."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Dean watched her leave, and shivered. "I swear the temperature drops ten degrees whenever she does that."

Sam chuckled. "Dude, what did you do to her?"

Dean stared out the window into the night. "I wish I remembered."

Bobby followed Ronnie out to the garage, watching as she surveyed the contents of the deep freeze. His gaze rested on a mangled pile of wood that looked suspiciously like a massive old oak dining room table. Jagged slices marred the splintered wood and an axe jutted out from a table leg.

"That looks like your folks’ old kitchen table."

She never looked up. "It broke."

She pulled out several tin foil containers and shoved them into his arms. "So, what did you want to ask me about?"

Bobby shrugged. It was clear she wasn’t going to talk about the table.

"The other employees at the hardware store. How well do you know them?"

"Well enough. I trust them, Bobby. More importantly, they trust me. They kinda adopted me."

"Adopted you?"

She let out a short laugh. "Yeah. After Dad and Brian were gone, I had nobody left. I think people kinda felt sorry for me. Anyway, after I popped back up, Frank was the one who found me half out of my mind on the side of the road and took me to the hospital. After I got out, I bought the hardware store to have something to do. Frank needed a job. Turns out he makes a good manager, so bonus for me when a job comes up.

"I came across Willy on a job. He had lost his best friend and room mate to a ghoul and I was looking into it. He ended up being good in a fight and started hanging around. He started poking his nose into what I was doing. So I took him in to keep an eye on him so he didn’t get himself killed, and he ended up having my back with human trouble."

"Wyatt Sheldon?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. That’s the thing about human trouble. You can’t just shoot them. Makes the neighbors anxious. Anyway, I met Edna and her husband when they were having a problem with a poltergeist at the diner. They just bought the place, used their life savings, but with the poltergeist chasing away customers, they were about to go under. So to thank me, Edna and Rick make sure I have a decent meal when I’m on a job."

She nodded towards the stacks of foil containers in both their arms. "Apparently she thinks I work up quite the appetite."

"Well, it’s our gain. Why did you pick up the job?"

She faltered. "Before, there was always someone else to go chasing things out of the dark. Now Dad is gone, and my brothers too. Things were happening bad things to good people. I just couldn’t keep passing the buck."

"That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?"

She shook her head. "No. Nobody missed me when I was gone. No missing persons report, no nosy neighbors, no one noticed the papers piling up on the front porch, nothing. Now, for whatever reason, I’ve got people that for whatever reason seem to give a damn about me."

"Sorry. I didn’t know."

"I know. You kinda had your hands full with the whole wheelchair and end of the world thing. You didn’t need my piddly problems heaped on top of it."

"Ronnie, I don’t know what you think, but you do matter."

"Thanks, Bobby. But now its time I earn it."

Before long the inside of the house smelled of home-cooked comfort food, reheated anyway. Biscuits, chicken and noodles and mashed potatoes. And an extra large bowl of green peas.

"Ronnie said most of her sightings have been here on the property, near the bog," Bobby said, pointing to an area on the map bought at the gas station. "What I can’t figure is why they are centered here."

"Are they gathering here? Some big boss demon coming to town?" Dean asked out loud. "Cass mentioned a certain one."

"What do you have so far?" Ronnie asked.

"We got this," he shot back, waving her back into the kitchen. "Just let us do our thing."

Bobby looked over just in time to see an expression cross her face that he could only guess that meant she was sorely tempted to dump the entire container of mashed potatoes on Dean’s head. Then she sniffed the air, rushed over to the oven and pulled out two trays of biscuits.

"Supper’s ready," she bit out between clenched teeth.

No response.

"For cryin’ out loud," she muttered.

She marched over to the table and gestured to the three laptops. "Move ‘em. Now."

They all took in her expression and promptly picked up the computers.

She leaned down to turn a lever hidden in the woodwork of the table leg, and promptly flipped the table top over, scattering the papers everywhere.

On the backside of the table top was a topographical map of the area with the farm highlighted in red. Notes framed the outer edge with dates, names and various other info. Next Ronnie went to the wall, pushed at a seam in the wainscoting and the wall slid in two sections to reveal newspaper articles, weather info and other pieces of research. Basically the entire case in a nutshell, easily accessible and yet could be hidden at a moment’s notice.

"Dad bought this place because he thought it may be handy to have a hunter living basically right on top of what he thought was a gateway. The town has a history of odd happenings and what better way keep things locked down than to have a sheriff in the jailhouse. With mom sick and all, he didn’t want to leave home for long periods of time with us kids growing up. Thirty years ago the town was nearly wiped off the map due to what officials then credited to brush fires from lightning strikes. That plus the missing persons reports from that time period, weather data and what have you, makes it pretty clear to me that there were other things at work.

"Dad traced most of the more recent activity down to an up and coming demon. Working on getting his street cred, I suppose. I’m pretty sure you guys already know him as Crowley."

The guys all went very still at once.

"Yeah, I can’t stand him either. Now to add to the mix, I’ve got angels stomping all over the place, leaving their little toys all over my bog. Honestly, I don’t care to deal angels any better than the demons, but that’s what I’ve got. The most recent stuff I’ve got tagged and flagged on the map here in front of you. Notes are on the sidebar."

She flipped the table back over, revealing smooth wood once again. "Now that you are all up to speed, take five minutes, eat something before it gets cold, then get back to ‘doing your thing.’ Gallahad needs his walk." She spun on her heel and marched out of the room, grabbing the leash hanging on a nail by the doorway on her way out.

"Wow," was all Sam said after a moment.

Bobby chuckled. "Does the phrase ‘backwards and in high heels’ mean anything to you boys?"