Cowboys and Angels (A Dean Winchester/ Supernatural FanFiction)

Chapter 21: September

We found some cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink, and once that had been distributed, we began wiping down surfaces, getting rid of the dust, as well as pulling sheets off of furniture and wiping it down as well. I travelled from one familiar room to another, waves of memories passing by as I did so.

At one point, I couldn't hold back giggles. I used to complain about having to do chores, which included cleaning certain rooms, but now I almost relished it. Despite the apprehension that had built up inside me since our arrival, it was almost comforting to be back in this house. I just had to avoid the west wing. I knew if I went back there, at least, I would run and never come back.

Sighing, I slipped out of one of the bedrooms I was in upstairs. Turning and facing the final room I had left to clean, I paused. I knew that I had deliberately, but subconsciously, left this room to be cleaned last. I had been avoiding it.

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm my shaking hand, I popped the door open, reaching in and flipping the light switch on the wall right beside the door, where it had always been. A decorative lamp popped on in the back corner, illuminating the large bedroom.

The walls were a comforting, light gray, decorated by many a painting and photos of a very familiar girl with friends long gone from her life. A large queen size bed sat in the back corner of the room, covered in a flat, black and white patterned comforter, the bedside table harboring the lamp that was currently highlighting the room sitting to its left, the painted wood beginning to peel due to a lack of use. In the opposite corner of the bed, a small writing desk sat, currently empty, a layer of dust apparent on its surface. A large window covered the wall adjacent to the window. My reflection shone in the glass, and I clenched my fist, leaning against the door frame.

I hadn't seen this room since the night my parents were murdered, and now I was having completely mixed feelings about coming back. The nostalgia was hitting me hardest in here. I stood there and stared at the room, completely numb and unable to move, but eventually something propelled me to step in and begin the process of cleaning it up.

The rag in my hand slid smoothly over every flat surface, wiping away the years of abandonment that were now behind them. I found myself stopping every now and then, reminiscing, sometimes bitterly, at each object I passed. All of the late nights I had spent at my desk writing papers, and all of the dark, rainy nights I had spent sitting on my window sill watching it rain, and all of the long hours I had spent lying sleeplessly in my bed, hoping every approaching day would be better than the last.

But the one thing I remembered best was that fatal night—the night after my 21st birthday.

I had been lying in my bed when I had heard the shattering of glass from downstairs. I didn't think much of it, figuring my mom had gotten a bit tipsy and accidently knocked a glass off the counter, but it was when I heard the shattering of another glass being dropped and the sound of wood being smashed that I had jumped out of bed.

My heart had been racing—I figured it had been a burglar, but little did I know it was what would turn out to be one of my worst enemies. Reaching down, I opened the bottom drawer of my bedside table, drawing out a small handgun my father had given me a few years back in case anything went wrong. Looks like it was time to use it. Sliding across the floor of my room to the door, I propped it open, quietly shuffling out and over to the stairway that lead downstairs, looking over the banister.

I didn't see anything in the hallway below, but I could hear thumping coming from somewhere to the right. Then I heard my mom scream, and with that I bolted down the stairs. When I reached the landing, I saw two sets of shadows running down the hall, one set that matched the stature of my parents, and another set that resembled two heavily built figures, most likely male, chasing after them.