Chapter Text
“Angels?” I say incredulously.
“Yep. Angels,” Bobby repeats.
It’s a lot to take in, and I can tell Dean is skeptical. He’s never really believed in the existence of God, so the idea of angels challenges everything he’s ever known to be true.
The truth behind his skepticism is more complex than that, though. He admits he’s deeply uncomfortable with the idea of God himself deciding he was important enough to pull out of Hell. Having that kind of attention on him isn’t something he’s used to, or ever wanted.
After the summoning at Pamela’s house went sideways and left her eyes burned in their sockets, Bobby dropped her and me off at the hospital. I stayed with her until she was stable. The boys checked into a hotel in the city. By the time I got there, they were all gone.
I called Sam, who spun a story about not being able to sleep and heading out for a burger. Dean and Bobby didn’t pick up their phones. By the time they got back, in the middle of the night, I’d already fallen asleep. We headed back to Bobby’s house the next morning, where they shared what had happened, and what Castiel had told Dean.
Dean and Bobby going off to summon Castiel on their own—especially after what happened to Pam—hurts in a way I don’t quite know how to name.
Bobby has now stacked every book in his library concerning angels, and we spend the following days reading everything.
On day three, Dean and I are in the living room together—me on the couch, him at the table. The only sounds are the flipping of pages and the clock ticking. It’s a strange reminder of the last moments we spent together before he died.
“Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?” I ask quietly. “To summon Castiel?”
“Are you kidding?” Dean says. “That thing burned that poor woman’s eyes out. I didn’t want you anywhere near it.” He looks up from his book for just a second before lowering his eyes again.
I get that. It fits the protectiveness Dean has always carried. But it feels different this time, like he’s deliberately keeping me at a distance. I watch him for a few more seconds, but he doesn’t meet my gaze, just keeps flipping through the book in front of him.
I sigh and return to my reading until Bobby walks into the study.
“I’ve been trying to reach a friend of mine one state over, Olivia Lowry, about this angel thing,” he says. “Been a couple days now. She hasn’t answered. That’s not like her.”
By the time we get to Olivia’s place, we find her dead on the floor, her insides ripped from her chest. There’s a line of salt at the door, an EMF reader nearby.
“Spirit activity,” Sam observes.
“Yeah, on steroids,” Dean says. “I’ve never seen a ghost do this to a person.”
Bobby calls a few other hunters nearby. None of them pick up. We split up, visiting each of their homes, and find them all dead, murdered in the same way. A heavy knot twists in my stomach as we discover yet another body, badly mauled.
“I need to call Russ,” I say. “See if he’s okay.”
I step outside and dial his number.
“Hey, kid. Everything alright?” His voice makes me breathe out a sigh of relief.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Long story short—Dean’s back.”
There’s a pause. “Back? From hell? How is that even possible?”
“It’s a long, crazy story. I’ll fill you in later. That’s not why I called. Something’s happening. Hunters are dying. It looks like spirits, but the bodies… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He’s instantly alert. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I’ll check in with some other hunters. We’ll stay in touch. Stay sharp, kid. And be safe.”
“You too, old man.”
The moment I hang up, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The air drops a few degrees. I know this feeling.
I spin around to head back inside and warn the others, but my path is blocked by someone with a familiar face. My heart sinks.
“Ethan?”
He steps forward. “Hey, Sue. Long time no see.”
I struggle to find words. My first boyfriend. The boy I lost my virginity to. His face looks exactly the way I remember—except for the pallor of death.
“How… how are you here?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“You didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?” he says. “Thought you could just move on. Like I never existed.”
I know this isn’t right. Ethan was cremated in Greyhaven. There’s no way a personal object of his could be here—no anchor. This has to be part of what’s happening.
I left my shotgun inside.
He steps closer and I back away. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Is this even really you?”
He laughs, then his voice turns icy. “Don’t you recognize me? Guess I mattered less than I thought. You were important to me, you know. First love. First time. First heartbreak.”
“I couldn’t have you involved in the life I was living, Ethan. You deserved to have a normal life.”
“You could have at least shared it with me, instead of keeping it a secret. It drove me nuts knowing you kept secrets from me. Not knowing why you suddenly left.”
“I didn’t know you would follow me, Ethan. I’m sorry. If I’d known…” I say, my throat becoming dry.
“If you’d known, you’d have done what? You would have been honest with me? We both know that’s another lie,” he says.
“…I would have stopped you,” I say in a soft voice.
“But you didn’t. You just kept lying to me. How ironic that I’m standing here with you now, as a ghost. As the same thing that killed me.”
“You don’t have to be,” I say carefully. “Vengeful spirits are born out of anger. You can choose not to become that.”
“But I am angry,” he says, his face twisting in disgust. “Because from the moment you came into my life, I was doomed. I should have been going to college by now. Or maybe I would have graduated already. That life was stolen from me because of you. You should have stayed away. If you knew your life was too dangerous to have me in it, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with me in the first place.”
I swallow. I know he’s right. It was nice to have something normal, a regular boyfriend. To feel like a normal person for a while. But the closer he tried to get, the more I pulled away. I was selfish. I should have just said ‘no’ to him when he asked me out on that first date.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, almost in a whisper.
He steps toward me again, reaching for me. “You should be,” he snarls.
I stand there, frozen in place as his hand moves closer to my chest. I notice a small mark on his hand right as he’s about to touch me, and then suddenly I hear a loud bang and Ethan disappears, revealing Dean holding a raised shotgun.
“You alright? What the hell was that?”
I exhale sharply, my body still trembling. “Someone from my past,” I say.
“Well, why were you just standing there? Do you want to end up like the others?”
“No, I... I left my weapons inside,” I say in a hoarse voice, shaking my head. The shadow of Ethan still lingers, the guilt triggered by his words heavy on my chest.
“You sure you’re okay? You look really spooked,” Dean says, moving closer to me, his shotgun now lowered but his posture still alert as his eyes scan our surroundings quickly before looking at me again.
“I’m okay,” I say. “We should get out of here. Find out what the hell is going on.”
Sam exits the house as well, a look of distress on his face. “Bobby’s not picking up his phone.”
We rush back to Bobby’s house, where we encounter more ghosts from our past—Dean gets a visit from Meg, Bobby gets trapped in the scrapyard by two children he failed to save, and Sam ends up face to face with Agent Henriksen. People we failed to save, or worse, who died because they got involved with us.
We fight them off, and Bobby takes us to the circular panic room he built underground. Solid iron walls covered in salt, a huge fan spinning in the ceiling, letting in sunlight through an iron pentagram. There’s a cot, a desk with a radio and books on it, ammo, and countless weapons hanging from the wall. Everything a hunter needs to withdraw safely while coming up with a plan of action.
“Wow, Bobby,” I say, wide-eyed. “This is insane.”
“It’s awesome,” Dean says with a grin.
All of us saw the same mark on the ghosts that came to us, and Bobby and I start digging into it while Sam and Dean fill more shotgun shells with rock salt.
“Found it,” Bobby says after a while. “The symbol you saw? The brand on the ghosts? Mark of the Witness.”
“Witness?” Sam asks. “Witness to what?”
“The unnatural,” Bobby answers. “None of them died what you’d call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts, they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They’re like rabid dogs. It ain’t their fault. Someone rose them. On purpose.”
“Who?” Sam asks.
Bobby shrugs. “Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark. A brand on their souls. Whoever did this has big plans. It’s called ‘the rising of the witnesses.’ It figures into an ancient prophecy.”
I feel a chill run through my body as I realize I’ve heard of this before.
“What book is that prophecy from?” Dean asks.
“The Book of Revelation,” I whisper.
“Yep,” Bobby says. “This is a sign, boys.”
“A sign of what?” Sam and Dean ask simultaneously.
Bobby sits back in his chair, letting out a heavy exhale before answering.
“The apocalypse."